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Necrophilia Story
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
I woke up cold. She had stolen the blankets in the night. I took
the blankets back and she rolled over to me stiffly. When I tried to
snuggle up to leech some of my warmth back, I noticed how cold she
was...
It shocked me and I couldn't believe it for a moment, and I
crawled out of bed backwards, my eyes fixed on her dark face, looking
for any sign of movement. She seemed unmarked, undisturbed. I leaned
over and kissed her cold lips. There was no question anymore, no
denying. I fell over her, my sobbing not making it from my gut past
the lump choking my breathing. I don't know how long I stayed there,
still but never as still as she, until I stood up and opened the
shades. The sunlight shined into our squalid little room onto a
painting I had made for her years ago. It was, loosely, a portrait; a
full length figure in a dark robe looking over her shoulder at the
viewer with fierce eyes but a naive smile that betrayed the maelstrom
around her. I fell against the door blindly and it yielded, spilling
me into the hallway.
I pushed my way through air that seemed thick like cotton, barely
letting me through. I don't know where I was going or what I was going
to do, but I might have made it had our cat not conspired to be
underfoot at the top of the stairs. I never caught sight of sweet
Pablo as he screeched and I tumbled down into quite welcome oblivion.
I awoke tired, naked and dizzy. I lifted my throbbing head from
the door, and crawled up the stairs. Pablo wanted to be fed. I made
my shaky way to the kitchen and opened a can, and let the entire
contents spill into his dish. Pablo gobbled down the spaghettios
greedily as I watched him, sliding slowly down the wall to the cold
linoleum. I didn't dare move, didn't dare get up, didn't dare make a
sound as if everything would be all right as long as I didn't do
anything. Pablo finished his breakfast that had been meant for my
lunch, and wandered out of the kitchen. I knew I couldn't let him go
into the bedroom. I somehow felt the need to protect this innocent
creature from the knowledge that lay still within. But I did not move.
I stay still for what may have been hours, or only a few seconds.
I stood. I had been unsure of my legs, unsure whether they would
support me. I walked very slowly into the bedroom. She still waited
for me, longer than she had ever been willing to wait for me before.
The sun had made it onto the bed, almost to her face. She was lovely
in that half-light, in an indescribable way she seemed satisfied. I
lit a small candle and placed it on the nightstand next to her, then
put on some pants and shoes and found my keys.
The sunlight outside was unbearable, but I found a shady spot at
the playground not far from our flat. It was Saturday, and a sunny
afternoon. The children were out in full force, shouting and running
and teasing and playing. I wanted to silence them, as if they were
sacrilegiously desecrating my loss, or celebrating it. I watched them
in silence, wishing I could join in the jubilance, wishing I could be
with them, six or eight years old, with Mom telling me not to go too
high on the swing. There was a swing left unswung, a little higher
than the rest. It must be fate, I told myself, and found myself on the
swing.
It was one of those new (maybe I'm dating myself a little bit
here) safety swings, not the assuring hard seats of my youth, but one
that hangs down, encasing your butt in plastic as you sit on it. I
threw myself at the sky with an almost reckless abandonment of caution.
A few of the smallfry around stopped and watched for a moment. I must
have been quite a spectacle, two or three times their size and weight,
pushing myself up farther than anyone's mother would have allowed.
Faster and faster I made my way up, then back, up, then back again when
I was moving as fast as I thought I could, when the framework of the
swingset seemed about to break under the strain, I let go.
I flew for a precious, timeless moment, and then my face hit the
sand. My body followed over it, as my head rolled in the sand, and I
landed with a hard thud. The kids were around me, afraid to get too
close. My eyes opened and they stepped back. All I could see was her
face in the sunlight, eyes closed, tinge of blue creeping into her
lips. One of the mothers came over and looked down. She too was
afraid to get too close, and she told the children to move back.
I stood up, a sandy, bloody mess. There was blood running down
the front of my shirt from my nose, which was numb. One of the mothers
came close now, still afraid to touch me, but asking me if I was all
right. Without answering or looking at any of their eyes, I found
myself running from the playground, away from the silent questioning
stares of them all. A car screeched to a near stop as I crossed the
street, the driver cursing me. I put my hand on his trunk as he went
past, and pushed him along.
Larry looked a little surprised to see me, as I'd given up
drinking a couple of months ago, but he filled my glass and gave me a
wet towel to clean my face with. He thought I'd been in a fight, but I
explained it had only been a small altercation with the sidewalk. He
asked about Molly and I asked for another scotch. He pressed again as
I drained my glass and he looked at me searchingly. I couldn't answer
him. Couldn't voice the truth, couldn't lie. My attempts at replying
were choked off somewhere near my larynx. I looked around the bar. I
looked back at Larry. He poured another drink. "Wait," I croaked "I
can't talk about... I can't..."
Larry seemed to understand and made me promise to tell what was
bothering me when I felt a little better. He went to attend to some of
the other customers, and I was left with the bottle.
When Larry returned, the bottle was nearly empty. I was crying
like an idiot, my eyes shot with streaks of blood. Larry called for a
taxi to come for me, although I was only a few blocks from the flat.
He told me that I should go home and go to sleep, and he told me to
return sober and give him the details. He told me that it couldn't be
that bad, that it would be all right. I looked him straight in the
eyes but couldn't say the words my tongue had tried to prepare. I
climbed into the taxi and went home.
I threw up repeatedly at home, and drank a cup of coffee. I was
still quite drunk when I again opened the bedroom door. She was still
in the same position. I went to her and kissed her again on the lips,
which were like ice and not as soft as they once were. There was still
a little light outside, but the sun wasn't coming through the window
anymore, and I closed the shades. I kissed her tenderly again, my
tongue gliding over her teeth for a precious moment, then I held her in
my arms as if she were alive and slipping from me into oblivion at that
moment. I laid her down again and left the room, closing the door
behind me. Pablo rubbed against my ankle and trotted on down the hall
gaily.
I went into the bathroom, which still reeked of my puke, and
opened the medicine cabinet. I opened her bottle of sedatives. The
prescription was dated only a few days ago, but the bottle contained
only twenty or so pills. I poured them into my mouth, and swallowed a
double handful of water from the sink. A couple of the pills stuck in
my throat, and I swallowed more water, washing them down. I wondered
how long they would take to bring me into oblivion. I turned out the
light and went back to the hallway. Pablo came trotting out of the
kitchen, looked up at me, and cried a simple mew. I picked him up and
kissed him tenderly, stroking his ears, and said goodbye. I gave him a
plate full of food, which he started lapping and munching at
immediately after I set it down, then went back to the bedroom, closing
the door firmly behind me.
I disrobed and crawled into bed with Molly, feeling her skin next
to mine. I was starting to feel quite relaxed, very tranquil. I
kissed her face, and moved down to kiss her breasts, suckling at her
dry nipple, which was firm and hard and stiff like never before.
What came next is difficult, even a little painful to relate. I
kissed her firmly on the lips, opening her mouth with mine as I rolled
onto her. I slid into her with only a little more difficulty than when
she had been animate and wet for me. We kissed fiercely, my hot breath
and the cold air in her mouth intermingling and condensing drops of
moisture on her stilled tongue, which I licked from it's rough,
sandpapery surface. I moved forward with more vigor, and her body was
moving up and down, up and down with my thrusts, her hands outspread at
her sides moving to and fro like a marionette's.
My sweat was rolling down her face, a little like a teardrop on
this otherwise still face. The candle I had lit before I had left was
now just a nub with a flame flickering its last, lighting her face like
the sun had, and I couldn't imagine her any more beautiful than I saw
her just then. The bed was creaking as I moved in and out of her more
fiercely, but I was starting to feel my muscles tiring, more quickly
than normally they would. I would have to come soon, or I wouldn't be
able to continue. "Just this last time, my love..." I whispered,
"Remember this always."
My pace quickened and her body was being pushed faster as I went
deeper, deeper into her. I felt her cold, stiff nipples brushing
lightly on my ribs, and caressed her unfeeling neck. I was near... I
could feel the rushing of blood inside my penis, and the sperm started
to make the trek out of my balls and I knew it was here. The blood
pounded in my ears and I let out a wail of anguish as my hot sperm shot
deep into her and coated me with a little warmth that hadn't been there
before.
I collapsed over her, still moving a little, then stopped and
rolled off. I pulled her body close to mine and felt the need to close
my eyes. I looked over at the painting; she was looking at me with
those harsh eyes and that niave grin still. I kissed her gently on the
forehead and said, "Goodnight my darling..." then closed my eyes and
drifted off into sleep.
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