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 Body Heat B1 by Jaoni |
Satan's Embrace
Night crept in quietly. I'm alone, surrounded by corpses. Young, old, male, female: They are my charges. I'm supposed to fill them with embalming fluid, but tonight I have other needs to fulfill.
How sweet she looks, the Webb's adored daughter, now lost forever. Heroin. She died from an overdose at fourteen. Anger begins to rise: If she was adored, how come she needed heroin? How could they let her die from its deadly embrace? "Don't worry, dear. I'm here. I love you even if they didn't."
She's smiling. Some might call it a grimace, a death mask. They'd be wrong. She's been waiting for me.
"Don't worry. They can't hurt you anymore." She doesn't protest as spread her legs, gently probing her intimate cavities. "I knew you'd like it. I just knew you would."
The table is perfect for our union, a cold contrast to our heat. She's patient, allowing me all the time I need. As usual, it takes awhile. I've heard of men who are quick. That's not me. I have a slow hand, just like the song says. "You were wonderful, dear. Please don't think I'm slighting you. I'm stepping out for a smoke. Don't worry. I'll be back. There'll be time for one more before dawn."
"Johnny, hurry. It's about to come on." Mom was really proud. She can't believe I was chosen for the "Success of the Week" on our local news show. Each week, they feature young men and women who've overcome hardships. I looked around our dingy apartment. If that wasn't a hardship, nothing was. Rats lived in the walls, the plumbing didn't work, and the electricity was intermittent. I don't blame Mom. She worked hard. Things would have been different if Dad had stayed. I turned my attention to the flickering television, our one luxury. Too bad it wasn't color.
 In Blue II by Antonio Vega |
I didn't watch the rest. Mom did, her face beaming. It felt good to make her proud. "Gotta go, Mom. I'll be late."
She nodded, her attention still on the screen. The guys on the street teased me as I walked to work. Let them laugh. At least I wasn't dealing dope. I had a future other than prison.
"Afternoon, Mr. James. Has the Webb family arrived yet?"
My boss pointed to the parlor on the left. "Did you see the news, Johnny? Great story. That ought to bring more business, huh?"
I waved him off, not wanting to indulge in gloating. "Sure thing, Mr. James. I'll see to the Webb's now, sir."
They were waiting, the entire family, some eyeing the coffin with uncertainty. "It's okay. Don't be afraid. She looks wonderful."
A few of them moved forward, eager to see, yet dreading the moment. "She does look good. Who did her makeup?"
Typical sister. They always ask. I didn't tell them I did her makeup. They preferred to think another woman's hand perfected the beauty of this child woman. I moved nearer to her casket. The aroma of her perfume filled my nose and engulfed me in a twisting dance of lust and admiration. Her lovely lips swelled just right, stirring my erotic imagination.
I was sixteen when I first smelled that perfume. I hadn't known it would smell so sensuous. Masturbation had already lost its ecstasy and did nothing to fulfill the lust growing in my groin. The yearning for the feel of soft, feminine flesh rarely subsided. The wine of the gods, the secret juices of women in heat, was beyond my reach. Fantasy was fast taking over my life. I didn't know how to find this sweet nectar, let alone obtain the luscious gift.
Girls didn't like me. They were afraid, rarely letting me get close enough to smell their essence. A few did but pulled away quickly, as if I was something evil. Their odor was weak and uninspiring, so I wasn't prepared for the strength of this lavish potion, used to quash the smell of death.
How silly I was. The answer was before me the entire time. It only took the murder of my cousin to reveal it. There she was, lying in her coffin, so sweet and pure--so unresisting. She didn't mind the kiss I snuck right under the watchful gaze of her mother. Everyone was deeply touched, thinking it was a goodbye embrace. If I had known how easy it was, she wouldn't have been buried a virgin.
"Mrs. Webb, why don't you sit over here? You look a little pale." She moved toward the chair, leaning on my arm, obeying as if in a trance. Family and friends were milling about, not sure of the etiquette for this pageant of bereavement and departure. It was my job to gently guide them through the wake and remind them of the funeral tomorrow. Few stayed long, gladly escaping from the heaviness of the room and her family's grief. At long last, they prepared to depart too. Mrs. Webb used her husband's arm this time, obviously unprepared to leave her daughter behind. "Don't worry. I'll watch over her tonight."
They smiled collectively, their smiles wane but clearly comforted as I stepped close to the coffin. If only they knew the joys in store for her. I smiled back and shepherded them out into the sunlight that would never shine on their daughter again.
It only took a moment to wheel her casket into the embalming room, replacing it in the parlor with another, this time an old man who lived a full life. As his family was arriving, my mind was on my date with Miss Webb.
 Study for the Death of Sardinopolis by Eugene Delacroix |
I used to dream about a girl who went to my high school. I'd be walking in the woods and find her rotting carcass. I took my time undressing her, making sure she was thoroughly aroused before penetration. Then I screwed her until her legs fell off.
I didn't get a chance to act on my desires until I'd been staking out the funeral home for two full months, making notes of arrivals and departures. She was dressed in blue silk, an enchanting blond goddess. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, casting a rosy glow onto her pallor. I could see her nipples and breasts beneath the silk--so round and firm even in death. I was reminded of Lillith, the first love of mankind, some say Satan's temptress, her beauty frozen for eternity.
That first time was the most exciting. People were lingering in the hall. They inquired if I knew her as I walked past. I bluffed my way through their sorrowful dance, shutting the chapel door before approaching her casket. I took a chance, kissing her lips, letting my lips flow down her neck, finally opening her dress to reveal her breasts. They were glorious. I laid my cheek upon first one, then the other, gently massaging her cool, lifeless flesh until I heard the pallbearers coming to carry my love away. I kissed her nipples a final time, tactfully buttoned her gown, and shut the casket. My adoring face was the last to gaze upon her. It was hard not to skip down the chapel steps, the taste of forbidden fruit still ripe in my mouth.
The night air is cool as I smoke, almost as cool as the air inside the refrigerated room. Miss Webb is waiting for our second tryst. I've promised her--and I'll keep my promise--but the exhilaration is gone. Lately my interests have been changing. Perhaps copulating with a corpse isn't the best sex. I keep thinking about that reporter lady. Would she enjoy my caress while struggling through her last desperate breaths? Someday soon, I'll find out.
