In an endearing but bittersweet scene, local man William Boffa spent yesterday in the hospice unit with his lover of the last four years, Matt Fair, planning Matt’s tragically anticipated final dispositions. Matt, who is not expected to survive his stage-four cancer more than a few more days, envisions a traditional but secular funeral that opens with a somber rendition of Bach’s Pachelbel Canon, followed by short readings of poetry and biblical verses from a small selection of close family and friends. After the service, the couple plans to have Matt’s cremated remains carefully mixed into a pot of William’s favorite chili recipe, together with several pounds of burning hot Carolina Reaper peppers, so Matt can savage William’s luscious little butthole one last time.

Reminiscing over the last four years, which William described as “magical,” the two lovingly recalled romantic and familiar moments together: a snowball fight in a wintry meadow in the country; a long, romantic dinner in a small town on the Amalfi coast, followed by a quiet evening stroll along an Adriatic beach; and, Matt going to town on William’s plump, spread booty like a crazed Viking warrior pillaging a helpless, terrorized village. William knows these experiences with Matt are irreplaceable, but at the very least, he hopes the pot of chili will come close.

Matt and William, who often finish each others’ sentences, recalled the awkward time when Matt finally met William’s family, including William’s 96-year-old grandmother. “She was so sweet,” said Matt. “She kept calling me Matthew dearest.” Afterwards, Matt remembered with a chuckle, he spent several hours demolishing William’s innocent, white nether-cheeks with a non-stop assault of hard, drilling cock.

While William struggles to imagine life without his partner, he takes comfort knowing that even in death, Matt’s ashes will give him a sense of closure, as well as one final, reminiscent, inflamed anus.

By Joe Lichtblau and Catricia

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