Wednesday, 16 July 2014
07:27:47 PM (GMT)
October 31st. Now it was official: Malory was his girlfriend. And a
great girlfriend she was. She woke him in the morning with oral sex. She didn’t
pester him when he was feeling moody. She played video games with him on the days
neither of them had class or work (which were precious few), and she was always
affectionate, to the point of clinginess, which he adored.
Halloween night, they were going to a party together. She shocked him by painting
her face in the most realistic, beautiful corpse makeup he’d ever seen. He kissed
her hard when he saw her, and she had to go fix her lipstick in the bathroom.
His costume was a pirate. He had a bit of a scruffy beard he’d been growing just
for Halloween, and a torn red and white striped shirt. It wasn’t sexy like her
costume, (a corpse bride in a white lacy dress), but it was fine for him.
The party was rowdy, with a drunk witch in every corner and on every table, a tipsy
nurse kissing a stoned werewolf over here, a black cat dancing with an astronaut over
there. He and Malory thoroughly enjoyed themselves, catching up with old friends, and
eventually getting plastered. Someone (they never remembered who) drove them home,
and the next morning he awoke with Malory cuddled closely against him in his bed. Her
makeup was only slightly smeared. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so
beautiful. With a shudder of shame, he finally admitted it to himself; he wasn’t a
somnophiliac. He was a necrophiliac. The thought of fucking a dead girl turned him on
like nothing else. He felt some relief in finally admitting it, even if only to
himself. And here was his beautiful corpse bride, lying silently in his arms…
“What are you doing?” Malory stuttered, sitting up and pulling away from him.
He’d been unzipping her dress, and now she was angry. “I told you I don’t like
that, remember? No surprise sex.”
To both of their surprise, he started to cry.
“What’s wrong? I… Hey, what’s up? Talk to me,” she said, unzipping the
dress herself. She pulled it off, ran to the bathroom and washed her face, and came
back wearing one of his t-shirts, looking very alive. She lied down and pulled his
head to her chest. He wept into her breasts and she held him. “Talk to me, baby.”
“I was denying it, Mal. To myself. And you. But I have to face it. I have to face
what I am.”
She frowned. “And what are you, sweetie?”
“I’m a… I’m a necrophiliac.” He let the word hang in the air, and he
waited for her to start making gagging sounds.
But she didn’t. She laughed. “Oh, please. So you like doing girls when they’re
unconscious. Big deal. You’ve never actually fucked a corpse, have you?”
“See? There you go.”
“But I want to.”
They both sat in silence for a moment. He pulled away from her. He was desperate for
comfort, but suddenly too ashamed to touch her. She spooned him, kissing his neck.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered.
Somehow that only made it harder to begin telling her. He sobbed and stuttered.
Finally he blurted, “The whole reason I started liking you is because I thought you
She rubbed his chest and belly. “Goth girls are sexy,” she chuckled. “You
certainly aren’t the only one who thinks so.”
“But it’s more than that.”
“Yeah… Well when did it start?”
He broke out in fresh tears. He’d never been so vulnerable, not with anyone. Ever.
He was terrified.
He turned around and sobbed into her chest again, and she hugged his head.
“She… was…” he managed to choke out. “My girlfriend.”
Malory got very quiet. She rocked him.
“I used to have these… dreams about her… where I was underground, in the
coffin with her. And her face would be… sort of… g-glowing, with this beautiful
light. And I’d cry and I’m make love to her, and I’d beg her to open her eyes,
and I’d wake up crying every time and want to go back to…”
“When was this?”
“I was eighteen. When she died. But I still have the dreams. Too often. And yet
they never last long enough.”
“Baby…” she was crying too, now. She trembled as she held him.
“Hey,” he whispered to her. “Don’t think… don’t think I’m just using
you like that. I’m not pretending you’re her. I did once, on my birthday. But not
anymore. I’m in love with you now, Mal.” It was the first time he’d said it.
She smiled and kissed him on his tear-wet cheek. “You’ve got to go to
counseling. And you’ve got to get over her.”
He suddenly felt defensive. “You don’t know how I feel. It’s not that I’m
not over her… It’s not the kind of thing I’ll just get over. It’s not…
ugh.” He got out of bed and paced the room. “I mean… I’m sorry. I just
can’t talk about this right now.”
“You’re right, we don’t need to talk about that right now. Let’s just
And so they did. But after that, he never dreamed of Ashley again.
Now it was Malory in the coffin.