After a hard day’s work I stop by a usual haunt of mine. I step inside, and there’s hardly anyone else here.
That’s when I see her. She’s completely still by the ceiling rafter, waiting for a man like me to greet her.
I take some time to develop the courage—I’ve never been particularly suave—but eventually I approach her.
“Who left you hanging up there?” I ask. Taking a glance at her, I realize she can’t speak on account of her position.
“Let me remove that for you,” I remark as I lower her. She’s the quiet type, but she seems receptive nonetheless.
“Who left you here?” I repeat. The way she responds resonates with me. I can tell we’re operating on a similar wavelength. She’s the one who put herself there. I gesture to a nearby overturned chair. “Did you use that?” She doesn't give me a clear answer but I can tell she used it- her shoe prints are clearly visible on the seat. I realize I need to switch up my approach if I want this conversation to continue.
“Ya know, something crazy happened at work today,” I say. She seems receptive, so I continue.
“So I’ve been working as a Passport Acceptance Agent recently, which means my job is to help people apply for passports. Today, it was me and my boss. I was helping this guy apply for his own passport (which was delightfully simple; unlike most people, he actually had all his necessary documentation on hand) while my boss helped this mother and her daughter. They were applying to get a minor passport for the daughter, and my boss reminds them that, unless the mother has full custody, they need consent from both parents. The mother responds that the father has visitation rights, but they have no actual clue where the hell he is. I overhear this while printing out photos for my own client’s application, and I go ‘Isn’t there a special form for when a parent is estranged?’ to which my boss points out that yes, there is, but you have to jump through so many hoops to prove that you tried to establish contact with the other parent that it’s going to be easier to just find this deadbeat. I nod and step away to finish my client’s application. While I’m working on that, my boss is like ‘This guy’s in prison,’ reaches for the phone, calls the county jail, and just goes, ‘Do you have an inmate with this name’ and lo and behold—they have him! She just tells them ‘I’m going to email you this form he needs to fill out so his daughter can get a passport,’ and hangs up. Like, she not only correctly deduced he was in prison, but she just correctly guessed which exact prison it was. Isn’t that crazy?”
She doesn’t say much, but I can assume that she agrees. After a few more workplace stories, I go ahead and ask her.
“Hey, this place is kinda dead at the moment, wanna head to my place?”
I get her loaded up in my car and during the drive she can barely sit upright.
“Huh,“ I think to myself, “she must be tired.”
I lay her on my couch and she’s out cold. I put a blanket over her and prepare myself dinner. After a meal, I return to my couch and switch on the TV. I ask her if she wants to watch anything. We can’t seem to choose—I swear streaming platforms need to do something about this choice paralysis. I flirt with her. I lean in for a kiss. Her lips are kinda cold—but I don’t mind. I tell her how attractive I find her. My hands snake down to her crotch. I can tell this is what we want. My tongue enters her mouth. Moving my hands up her sides, I lift her shirt up and feel up her breasts. I slide her top off, and move my focus to her bottom half. I slide her panties off, and sniff them. She’s ready for this.
I take my own clothes off, and insert my penis into her vagina. My pelvis settles into a rhythm—quick thrust, quick thrust, slow thrust. I bring her face closer to mine and swirl my tongue around her mouth. I taste her teeth, her lips, her tongue, and her cheeks. While my tongue feels all the ridges of her mouth, my penis feels all the ridges of her vagina.
Eventually I feel the climax welling up inside. I pull out and move my penis to her mouth, blowing my load into it. I panic for a second, realizing that I probably should’ve asked her if she was fine with that before I made that decision. However, her serene look informs me that she is not upset with me. I treat her to a warm bath, and we share a bed for the night. I wake up, staring directly into her face. I can feel it. There’s a connection here. I want her to stay.
Luckily for me, she seems pretty willing to stick around—she might be in a rough spot. We spend the weekend holding each other on the couch watching TV. I leave for work on Monday, somewhat concerned about leaving my home under the supervision of someone I’ve only known since Friday night and seems way too eager to move herself in. Nevertheless, she seems trustworthy enough. Either she’s just that kind of person or her situation is rough enough that she can’t afford to bite the hand that feeds her—I’m not good enough at reading people to tell. I need to get her to open up to me more. So far I haven’t pried because she doesn’t seem particularly willing to answer.
I arrive home with a very hard erection. I’ve felt a little hot and bothered all day, but instead of slipping into the bathroom for some private time I've opted to save it for her. I see her on the couch, the tilt of her head indicating she knows what I want. I place my penis into her mouth and start moving. I’m impressed how deep she can take it—all the way to the base without gagging. For a second a moral question about the power dynamics at play here crosses my mind—does she really want to do this, or is she primarily worried about making sure I don’t kick her out—but the combined pleasure of her throat on my glans and her tongue on my shaft erase it from my mind. I ejaculate directly into her throat and then kiss her on the lips. Looking around my place, I don’t see anything out of place. She didn’t mess with anything, so I decide to let her stay.
A few weeks pass. I’m a little annoyed. It’s like she sleeps all day. I leave for work, and she’s in the same spot when I get back. I confront her about it. Nothing. My anger grows. I grab her by the shoulders and scream. Nothing. I shake her. Her head limply moves as I toss her around by the shoulders. Whatever. I leave her where she is and ignore her for the rest of the night.
The next morning I apologize for being so violent. She quietly accepts my apology. I tell her that I know the reason she’s so catatonic is because she’d probably been in a tough spot right when we met. “You can talk to me about it,” I reassure her, knowing completely that she won’t ever tell me a thing.
I leave for work, wondering about how our relationship is going. I really felt there was chemistry here when it started, but she’s just been so cold to me.
A few more weeks pass. We had a dry spell after I confronted her but right now we’re getting hot and bothered for the first time in a while. I remove her pants, exposing her vagina. Something smells rotten, but my penis is hard so I ignore it. I move my mouth down to her crotch, and twirl my tongue around her clitoris and labia. I get her going, and apply lube since she has issues getting wet enough on her own. Lying in the missionary position, I slide my penis inside her. I start moving. We get pretty into it, and my movement intensifies. The rotten smell gets larger, but we’re too horny to care. I throw her legs over her head. As I climax, I lean on her more until I hear a cracking noise.
What was that? I look down towards her crotch.
Her leg has detached from her pelvis.
“What the fuck!?” I shout. She doesn’t react. Perhaps she’s in shock? I grab her arm only to notice how cold it is. Her skin’s always seemed a little clammy but has it always been like this? I pull on her arm, attempting to get her to sit upright. Another cracking noise. Now her arm has detached from her shoulder. I put two fingers on her neck to check her pulse.
Nothing.
“Oh shit,” I think to myself. Did she pass out while we were banging? No—I think I would’ve noticed that. I think back to our time together. How long has she been dead? A rush of dread and realization hits me—she’s been dead since we met.
I have been in a romantic relationship with a corpse the whole time. The reason she’s been lazing around my apartment is because she’s a dead fucking corpse. The reason she’s so unresponsive is because she’s a dead fucking corpse. I see my load drip out of her rotten vagina as I ponder what to do.
“I need to cover this up,” I think to myself, “They’ll think I killed her.” I scour my cleaning supplies for trash bags. None are big enough for a whole corpse. I wince thinking about what I need to do next. I yank on her remaining arm until it comes off, and do the same for her remaining leg. I throw each into its own trash bag.
Now her limbless torso remains. I attempt to fit it into a trash bag, but the head sticks out. I attempt to twist it off, but it doesn’t budge. I grab a knife from the kitchen and begin cutting. My erection returns. I hold her head in my hands, and insert my penis into her neckhole. I spread her lips and can see the tip of my penis in the back of her throat. I move rapidly, using her severed head as a stroker. I reflect on our weeks together. What does it say about me that I fell in love with a corpse—a partner that does not move, does not respond, and is little more than decoration—and didn’t even notice?
Am I the type of guy who never actually pays attention to women?
I pull my penis out of her necrotic neck and lift her head up to match mine, staring into her dead eyes as tears begin to fall from mine. I give her one final kiss and ejaculate.
I put her head into its own bag and get on my way. I drive around, looking for dumpsters. I leave different parts in each receptacle I find, until I have only her head left. I think about that final kiss and cry again. I toss her head into a dumpster.
I figure I should get my mind off of this whole relationship, and return to my old haunt. I haven’t been here in a while, since I’ve been spending time with her.
I step inside, and there’s barely anyone here.
That’s when I see her. She’s waiting by the ceiling rafter, completely still, for a man like me to greet her.