You Look Better Dead

I found her body on my living room floor, when I returned home from work. I didn’t remember ever seeing this girl before, but she was beautiful – even in death. Her long blonde hair formed a golden halo which framed her ivory smooth face; her large dark eyes seemed to be pleading to me. Pleading for what? I didn’t know. Her full red lips held a sanguine smile. Her unmoving breasts still strained against the fabric of her tight tee-shirt, and her tiny skirt exposed long lovely legs. She was perfect; except that she was dead.

Nervousness set in on me. What if her murderer was still in the house? As I entered, I had felt the click of the deadbolt. So, I knew, no one had left through the front door. I, alone, have the key. There was no clue as to what might have killed the girl. She could have been mistaken for being asleep, but for those wide glassy eyes. I knew there had to be a murderer though. That was obvious in a situation such as this.

I quietly made my way to the kitchen. The back door was shut and locked. Since I kept my gun back in the bedroom, I took the meat cleaver for use as a weapon, and I started my search. I went through every room of the house and nothing seemed to be missing or disturbed. I saw no sign of entry; everything looked as I had left it. Nothing was out of place, except for a beautiful corpse on my living room floor.

Who was she? How did she get in? Did she break in on her own, only to die where she lay? If not, who on earth would bring her here and do this to her? I went back to the living room and sat down on my recliner. She lay at my feet, staring up at me, her eyes still pleading. The perfect golden halo of her hair and her pale skin gave her an angelic appearance. Those full breasts were made to be fondled. I realized that I had yet to even touch her body and make certain she was actually dead. Could she still be alive? I had never checked anyone for a pulse before. For a fleeting moment, I was afraid of being contaminated. I quickly pushed the feeling aside and knelt down next to her. 

Gently I took her hand in mine. Rigor mortis had set in, and her whole body lifted slightly with the act of me picking up her hand. Her hand was cold and clammy. She was most definitely dead. The floor seemed such an undignified resting place for a body, so I took her in my arms and moved her petite form to the couch. I cleared away her golden hair, from where it had cascaded over her face, and exposed her pristine features. Dead, as she was, I wondered how long that beauty would last.

“What happened here today?” I asked, not expecting an answer. I didn’t want to call the police. With no sign of forced entry, I knew suspicion would fall on me. Plus, there was the chance that someone might remember the trouble I’d had with that girl from Baltimore. I needed time to think; time to formulate some plan. It was probably due to stress, but suddenly I was exhausted. I decided to shower and go right to bed. I was haunted by dreams where I watched as the blonde beauty was murdered right in front of me.

* * *

I woke up, later, with an incredible thirst. At first, the corpse in my living room was forgotten. But, as I stepped into the hall, fleeting images from my dreams brought reality flooding back. I turned around and retrieved my Glock from its regular spot beside the bed. I never moved more silently than I did that night. Slowly, carefully, I made my way down the hall. The whole house seemed as dark and quiet as a tomb.

I entered the living room only to find the blonde beauty missing from the sofa where I had left her. Somehow, I simultaneously felt fear and relief. Had my uninvited guest left as suddenly as she had appeared? Had someone returned for her? But no, she had managed to roll off of her place on the couch. She lay face down and her tiny skirt was flipped up, showing off her panties. The whole display was slightly humorous, but the sight of that tiny ass and those little undies filled me with the ache of lust. Again, I noticed what a perfect body she had.

For a second time, I picked her up. Her breasts pressed lightly against my arm as I placed her on the sofa; this time, making sure that she wouldn’t accidentally roll off. She was harder to maneuver and seemed stiffer than before. Her skirt was still up and twisted and, as I was fixing it, my hand brushed against her thigh. I was immediately hard, my penis making no distinction about the fact that she was dead. I felt as stiff as she was.

I was now wide awake. So, I went to the kitchen and retrieved a six pack of beer from the fridge. Returning to the living room, I turned on the TV and sat down on my recliner. ‘Night of the Living Dead’ was just starting, and I thought it a good movie to watch with my new friend. But soon the events of that movie unnerved me; even though I had seen it many times before. I felt foolish but kept glancing towards the corpse, as if the movie would give her ideas. If it did, she kept them to herself. When the movie was over, I went back to bed; making sure that I put my gun back in its usual handy spot. I fell asleep quickly but it still seemed no time at all before I had to get up for work.

* * *

Work seemed more tedious than ever before, and it was torture not to just leave and go home. I thought about feigning sickness since I lived too far away to make it to home and back, on my lunch hour. I was desperate to check in on my beautiful house guest. I was worried she might disappear for good.

I considered mentioning the ordeal to Robert, my coworker and closest friend, but I dared not trust even him to stay silent. If he let something slip out at work, and later my bosses heard, it would not look good on my part. I couldn’t take that risk.

* * *

When I returned home, I could barely contain my excitement. I hurried inside shutting the door as quickly as I could, so that no one could catch even a glimpse of my angel. The house was dark and cool but, even in the dim light, I could tell that she was not where I had left her on the couch. It was as I turned towards the dining room that I noticed her sitting at the table. Her slumped and relaxed posture showed that the rigor mortis, which had affected her so acutely, was gone.

I had the surreal feeling that I was living in a nightmare. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I quietly slid past her still form, and went into the kitchen. I had depleted my stock of beer on the previous night, so I retrieved the Bulleit Bourbon, and grabbed a two liter of Coke from the fridge. I went out to the living room and sat down on my recliner. I was taking swigs from both bottles until I decided to mix myself a huge drink right in the two liter. Suddenly I felt rude and so I got out a glass and gave my friend some of the mix. I sat it in front of her on the table, but she made no move to join me. I returned to my station in front of the TV. After a few hours, and the remainder of the booze, I fell asleep where I sat.

* * *

Sometime in the night I awoke to what must have been a thud. I was drunk, and stumbled into the bathroom to relieve myself. Afterwards, I intended to just turn off the TV and go to bed. But when I went out to the living room, I found my friend was now sitting on the couch. She seemed quite happy. I noticed that her glass was empty where it sat on the dining room table. I had a vague memory of the two of us laughing together. I seemed to remember gazing upon her face quite intensely. Was I laughing alone at the time or was it all a dream?

I felt more confused than ever, but decided she would be okay where she was. I tossed her the remote control, and it landed beside her on the couch. Then I went to bed.

* * *

When I woke up, I was feeling more lighthearted then I had the day before. I still couldn’t imagine any logical scenario to explain how this girl had come into my life. But that she was in it was a fact. I blew off work hoping I could figure things out a bit more. I made my way out to see where I might find her this time, but she was exactly where I had left her. 

“Wakey, wakey,” I called to her on the couch. I then sat down beside her and told how happy she made me; how beautiful she was. I ran my hand along her leg, which she didn’t seem to mind. I told her that she should try to eat something. So I picked her up and moved her back to a chair at the table; setting her up as straight as I could. I gently rubbed my hand against her angelic face.

I made breakfast and arranged our food into happy faces; eggs for eyes, and bacon for the mouth. Angel was silent while I ate, and made no attempt to eat anything herself. Instead, she just watched me with those large dark eyes. Her full lips called for mine in a way that was painful. Her gorgeous breasts desired my caress. I wondered if there was any life, any spark, left in her? Surely one little kiss couldn’t hurt? I pulled my chair next to hers. Somehow, she suddenly seemed shy. She must want this as much as I do. Taking her head in my hands, I leaned in and kissed her luscious mouth.

Was it my imagination, or did her tongue move against mine on its own? I sat back and noticed that she seemed happier. Was this what she came here for? Maybe she was just really shy? I wanted her more than ever. I felt that I should try to stop myself, but she was so incredibly sexy. She definitely still had all the stuff that makes a woman, a woman. It was almost as if, in dying here, she had given herself to me… completely. Why else would she be here? I never asked her to come to my door.

I picked her up from the chair and this time I swear that she was helping me, holding me. I took her back to my bed. I think we were both a bit nervous. It had been years since I had slept with a woman. As always, it’s a bit weird when you make love with someone new.

She offered no resistance as I undressed her, revealing her gorgeous body. She was trim but for a smidge of belly; which might just be gases built up due to internal decomposition. Her skin was pale and even the color of her tattoos seemed muted. I took my time with the undressing. I inspected every inch of her body. So many times, with live girls, you don’t get the chance, even when you’re paying them. I wanted to know every tiny bit of my Angel. She looked pleased. I was certain this was the message that she held for me in those eyes.

“Take me,” she seemed to say. And maybe she actually did. My mind was spinning as I caressed her. I literally kissed her from head to toe. Her body was cold, but soft. The lights were all on and I looked into the wells that were her eyes. Wherever she was, somewhere deep in her own body or someplace beyond this world, I wanted to connect with her at that spot on the other side. I kissed her deeply and this time I’m certain her tongue was moving with mine. She had come back. I told her that I loved her.

I turned her over so I could take her from behind. There’s no better feeling in the world, than that of a tiny ass as it’s slapping against your groin and legs, while your cock is burying itself into a tight pussy. I reached for the lube, which usually only gets used on myself. I didn’t want this to be uncomfortable for her. I positioned her over a stack of pillows, so that I could get the angle right, and then I lubed her up.

She didn’t struggle a bit as I found the pleasure that I was searching for; the pleasure she wanted too. Without it, we would both burn out and cease to exist.

We moved together with the rough rhythm of our love making. I wanted this to last and, though it was torture, I paused and pulled out so that I could reposition her. I wanted to stare into her eyes while I orgasmed. Again, I thrust my cock deep into her sweet pussy. I swear that she was moaning in ecstasy. I’m sure that she was with me. Wherever she had been, she had come back to be with me, come back to feel me inside of her. At the very moment that I was certain of her return, I really let myself go and filled her with my cum.

I moved off and laid down beside her. I kissed and fondled her luscious breasts; breasts that, I’m certain, she wouldn’t have let me touch while she was still alive. I figured that, sometimes it takes death to change your perception of things. I kissed her chest and neck as I moved my way up towards her mouth.

“I’m going to keep you forever,” I told her and kissed her deeply.

* * *

The sound of sirens cut through the night as two police officers strung up yellow “Police Line – Do Not Cross” tape around the property. Beyond the tape, people gathered, wondering what had taken place inside the small house, bringing an ever increasing amount of police into their neighborhood.

“That is some sick shit, man. So, you’re sure that’s that college girl who’s been missing for days?” asked one officer to the other as they worked away from the prying crowd.

“Yeah, evidently she was selling subscriptions for magazines when she disappeared. But this place sure is some hike away from the college. This guy wasn’t on anybody’s radar. The gunshots are the only reason we were called here at all.”

“I still can’t figure out what the hell happened here. There’s nothing rigged up in there. No wires or devices to control her. Yet, somehow as he’s fucking and shooting up her corpse, half his face gets ripped off and his throat torn out? I mean, how’d he make her do that?”

What A Diff’rence A Year Makes

Apologies to the late Dinah Washington

I suspected that Judy was about to dump me, but I didn’t really care.  Inadequate and unexciting sex, differences on politics and religion.  I didn’t care about her clothes, which was her main interest, and she took no interest in writing, which I did as a hobby.  When my older sister Alex suggested she had an upgrade for me, I said fine, despite my sister’s odd interests.  Alex spent hours studying witchcraft and the paranormal, so I wondered who she would fix me up with.

I wanted to be upfront, so I told Judy I was going to date this friend of my sister, Lilith.  Maybe I shouldn’t have been so honest; Judy told me she had been seeing a guy who might be the real thing for her.  Oh, well.

Lilith and I set up a trial meeting at Freddy’s, a local pub, to see if there was any spark.  Seven PM at Freddy’s I spot a lone woman at a table by herself.  Bright red hair, pale complexion, and an outfit which revealed some very attractive parts.  I went to her table and said “I hope you are Lilith, and if you are, wow!”

She responded with “I’m Lilith, and if I may be unoriginal, wow yourself!”

“What would you like to drink, Lilith?”

“Bloody Mary, please.”

I got her drink and a local beer for myself.

After prompting she said “I’m working up to partnership in the law firm Dante and Drake.  I’ve been there for a few years, and I’m getting close.”  I knew about Dante and Drake, it is the premier law firm in the Portland area, and seldom loses at its corporate law cases.

“Wow, again.  I can’t compete with you at jobs.  I do the ordering for the Champion store chain.  My biggest thing I can come up with about my job is my mistaken order for mostly green winter clothes when red was the desired color that year.  I’ll have to get by on my looks.”

Her reaction to that bad joke was a surprise.  She smiled wolfishly and said “You’ll do just fine.”

After a couple more drinks, we started telling jokes both clean and anatomical.  We were laughing so loud, the whole place was looking at us.  We quickly made arrangements for a date in a couple of days.  I walked her to her car.  She leaned against the car door looking at me appraisingly.  When I was too slow, she pulled me to her and began to suck face.  I immediately got hard.  Rather than either of us being embarrassed, she pulled me tighter and I started to grind on her.  I came in my pants, something that hadn’t happened since I was a teenager fifteen years ago.

She spoke for both of us “Let’s both get ready for maximizing our upcoming date and say goodnight now.  Come prepared, so to speak.”

I was reminded of a Tom Petty song “The Waiting Is the Hardest Part.”

That night I a wet dream, another first since I was a teenager.  A woman, who resembled Lilith, entered my bedroom, threw back the covers and went down on me.  After she finished, I woke up expecting to see her, but no one was there and I required some clean up.

On our next date night, I had taken some precautions against pre-ignition I had experienced earlier.  After a quick drink at Freddy’s, we went to my place.  If possible, I experienced repeated pleasure beyond my expectations.

Before I left her I got the courage to ask Lilith “Are we an item now?”

To my great relief, she smiled and said “You bet, kid.”

Everything seemed great; I was thinking marriage, a couple of kids, the whole thing.  A couple of very odd events made me reconsider.

After a couple of weeks, we went to Dante and Drake’s monthly office party.  It was the first time I saw her fellow workers.  The men all looked like my idea of gigolos.  Sideburns, slicked back hair, or shaved bald.  They were all tall and athletic and dressed in tight suits which demonstrated what they had in their pants.  The women came in a variety of sizes, but all wore clothes, which like the men, showed the goods which were very good.  All-in-all, they did not look like my idea of lawyers, but maybe their looks worked well in the court room.

When I asked Lilith about it, she just said “Oh, we hire a type, and it works for us.”

Other than that, it was a standard office party.  Some comments and jokes from the boss, and drinks and treats.

After pestering Lilith for a couple of weeks to visit her house, she finally invited me to come over for lunch.  While she was in the kitchen, I noticed a series of what appeared to be the back side of pictures.  Out of curiosity, I flipped one over.  It contained an old photo entitled “Sam Hauser 1865-1920”.  Because I didn’t want to be accused of prying, I didn’t mention my discovery to Lilith, but I memorized the details.

Lilith had fixed a great lunch, and we had an even better nooner.

That night I dreamed of an unchanged Lilith pushing an aged me in a wheelchair.

After going through many genealogy websites, I found Sam Hauser.  His lifespan was what I read, and he was survived by his wife Lilith.

I couldn’t pretend something strange wasn’t going on.  I asked Alex what she knew about Lilith.  “Well, you know I have a lot of weird friends.  Some claim to be night demons, some witches.  Lilith says she is a succubus.”  That word meant nothing to me, so Alex continued “Succubi are creatures that have sex with men who are sleeping or dreaming.  They steal the semen from men to give to their male counterparts, incubi, who inseminate human women with the stolen semen.  Of course I thought Lilith was playacting because succubi aren’t supposed to exist outside of dreams, but now I wonder based on what you told me.”

What Alex told me was unbelievable, but fit perfectly with my experience with Lilith.

When I saw Lilith next, I told her what Alex had told me.  She was quite composed and said “What Alex told you is essentially correct.  Not only that but our office only employed succubi and incubi.  What do you think about us now?”

I didn’t immediately answer, but the idea of growing old while Lilith stayed young appealed to me.  I couldn’t imagine meeting a smarter, more attractive woman in this lifetime, and we are extremely compatible.  I was ready for a ride not normally allowed to mortal men. We married exactly one year after we met.

Only one thing upsets me.  If I wake up anytime between midnight and two AM, she is always staring at me in the dark with bright red eyes.

The Tell Tale Heartthrob

By now the story is all over the press.  How I killed an innocent man in cold blood, dispatched him in the night with an axe, chopped his body up and buried it beneath the floorboards.

You may think me mad. You may also believe that like some unhinged narrator out of Poe, I did this heinous act because his pale blue eye incited me.

On both counts you would be completely correct. But there is more to the story than has been reported.

My life with Bertram Hustle was a stormy one. Being the live-in partner and occasional Brony slave of one of the biggest dicks in gay porn is not a job for the timid or pain-averse. Often he would go in without lube just to hurt me, ramming my tender asshole until it bled. On several occasions I had to be admitted to the ER while Bertram drove around in circles in the parking lot, shouting with a megaphone: “Chris Parker loves it when I hurt his asshole.”

On that count, Bertram was also quite correct. 

So you may be asking why in the world I did it, if it wasn’t the pain, the humiliation, the bleeding or the spunk in every orifice, including some he created by gashing me in the bellyguts and cheeks. Why did I take an axe and give him 40 wacks after he whacked off in my face?

The truth? But take care, gentle reader, when you seek the truth. Sometimes a lie is far gentler. As Emily Dickinson so wisely put it, tell the truth but tell it slant. And not as in bent dick inserted with extreme prejudice into my raw rectum.

So back to the pale blue eye bit. The truth is that the eye did bother me. A whole fucking lot. He used to stare at me across a crowded room after we’d had a lover’s tiff, and the sight revulsed me on some primordial level. I grew to associate him with that eye, which was clouded over, until all I thought of when I thought of Bertram was that horrid ocular organ. That nasty thing.

I would go home and even when he was away on business I would find the eye haunting me. It would manifest floating near the ceiling and wake me up in the middle of the night. It even managed to bond with my webcam and when I turned on my laptop, the pale blue eye would stare at me steadily.

I never got used to that.

I confronted Bertram on the matter once, and he freely admitted to sending his pale blue eye out from his astral body to drive me insane. He thought it was hilarious that one day I would murder him just to stop the pale blue eye.

But it wasn’t just that. The man was gorgeous. A hunk. Ripped. Washboard abs, six-pack. And I loved his cock, a massive 10 inches with a thick circumference I couldn’t quite measure even with tape because I’m mentally challenged when it comes to numbers.

I felt quite at home and secure in the universe when he clamped his hands around my neck and pressed my head closer to him so my lips could fully engulf his turgid shlong. When he came it was a geyser, a hurricane…”here come the warm jets,” I thought, and thanked Brian Eno for his album Music For Airports.

When he rammed me in the ass it was all I could do not to whimper or scream out, but the pain always transformed into long waves of pleasure that pulsed out from my prostate gland and curled my toes and caused my balls to convulse with the sweet, sweet juice. Often times I would cum so hard I drenched the sheets. He liked to tie me up and watch him fuck other guys. I enjoyed that as well. Anything for a taste of that delicious dick, or his amazing asshole that I loved to felch for hours.

In the end, I may have just loved him too much to allow him to live. The pale blue eye did play a crucial role, naturally, but it wasn’t the whole picture. 

But there’s another possibility. Maybe I’m just a psychopath who doesn’t give a shit.

Am I? A psychopath? Well, the prison shrink thinks so. So does my cell block warden, who puts me in solitary on the regular.

In the hole, without any human contact, in the dark, where I spend most of what’s left of my “wretched” existence (although to tell the complete truth, I’ve never been happier!) I relive the precipitating events of that wonderfully terrible day.

Bertram had just completed primary shooting on a big-budget porno called “Cream Pie Bronies.” One thing you’ll need to know about the late gay porno star is that he had many rounds in the chamber, a fact he was legendary for. After a full day of shooting wads into unlubed asshole, he was raring to go when he got home, and I was loving it. Also hating it, because I’m a bit bipolar.

Truth be told, I’ll never fully understand myself because I also have dissociative identity disorder and schizophrenia.

He tried to force my head down onto his rigid tool, but something snapped inside me this time. Because his knob had a pale blue eye on it too!!! How could I deep-throat that object of horror, that wretched symbol of all that was uncanny? I couldn’t, and neither could you. 

First I bit the thing off. It’s much harder than you would think to bite off a man’s weiner, and it was only because I had a secret spring-loaded razor blade implant that I accomplished that act. Bertram immediately began to scream that I had mutilated him and ended his porn career, so I simply socked him in the throat, then when he was burping up blood, punched him in the head so hard he was thrown to the floor and lay there, making pathetic mewling noises and mumbling something about taking him to Urgent Care.

I’d had enough. Of course I was as hard as a rock, and all my pent-up rage, aggression and horniness came out in a cum-wad as thick as mayonnaise. I spurted on his bloody head as I kicked it, then went to the utility closet where we kept an axe for the kindling, came back and began to deliver the blows.

The sweetness was real, a humming eternity of relief and release. I found myself cumming over and over again as I hit him, severed his head from his shoulders, then crouched and began to drink from his spouting stump.

Only I could still see that pale fucking blue eye floating above the stump.

Jesus wept, I thought. Would I never be rid of this gorgeous hunk o’ man candy, his tree trunk thighs, his golden asshole that tasted like musty wine?

It was then that the thought came to me: chop him up a little bit more and bury him beneath the floorboards. And so I did.

In my mad fit I raised the suspicions of the neighbors, and they summoned the po-po. They broke down my door and burst in on the sight of me furiously wanking it over the area of the floor that covered his Burroughsian cut-up o’ flesh.

“I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me,” I told the incredulous pigbots. “Jeebers is muh witness.”

So convincing was I that they were about to leave when all of a sudden I heard this loud throbbing sound, as of the main vein of my superfuckinuberhottie deceased bff, Bertram Hustle. I put my hands over my ears, but the sound was in my head. 

Finally I just burst out with it. “Okay, it was me, I did it! But I was provoked. And yes, it was that pale blue fucking eye I wound up seeing everytwhere, and I mean everyfuckingwhere, but it wasn’t only that.

It was the hotness, and the throbbing of his still turgid, still erect, still cum-dribblin’ TOOL that I’d spat out and separately buried beneath the floorboards.

And, of course, that fucking EYEBALL of his. Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to scrub my brain of that image.

I’m set to be executed at dawn.

I pray for oblivion.

–Prisoner Number 16785, Federal Penitentiary, California