I'd never even thought of telling you this, my darling husband.
I know. We've been married twenty-five years. We have no secrets. Except this one.
It a memory I have cherished for years. A really terrible little event, I'm afraid. I'm embarrassed to even write it down.
Don't worry. You'll never know. When I'm done writing this, I'll delete it.
But, tonight, with you in Portland on that medical convention, I've given myself permission to write this. And masturbate over it.
And then erase it, so it never existed.
My uncle was a mortician. You know that. But I never mentioned I spent a summer working for him. I'd just graduated high school, back when I had the braces and glasses. I looked awful and knew it.
No guy in school would even look at me. I mean, Tommy Morrison tried to have sex with me that once, but Tommy tried to have sex with everyone.
Anyway, I was doing odd jobs around Uncle Mike's funeral home.
And that's when I did it.
I had sex with a dead man.
God, I get excited just writing this. Yes, I know. It's sick. It's horrible. It's abuse of a corpse and a hundred other legal and moral violations.
I wouldn't have done it, but he had an erection.
I had snuck down into the embalming room, and went in and looked at the latest arrival. It was a nineteen year old boy who'd died of a brain aneurysm. He was beautiful, blond and handsome and muscled.
And his cock was sticking up against the sheet.
I'd never really looked at a cock before. And, since Mike and Sheila wouldn't be home for hours, I was fascinated. And very tempted.
But I went back upstairs and turned on the TV. But I kept thinking about that lump under the sheet, and wondered if it was as beautiful as the rest of him.
Pretty soon, I was back downstairs.
I remember the feeling, my first real arousal of my life. I was so excited, so scared, so fascinated. I didn't know what to do, but I knew what I wanted.
Finally I went into the refrigeration room and looked at him again.
His name was Jacob. That's what it said on his toe tag. I remember touching his foot, callused and cold, and feeling a delicious rush of excitement.
I slid my hand up under the sheet, feeling along his cold, hard leg. He was like a statue, only softer. Uncle Mike had showed me how to massage out rigor mortis, so I'd touched corpses before.
But never like this.
I moved up and looked at the lump, then put my hand on it. It was hard and rigid and I very nearly came just from touching him.
I kissed him. Yes, that's sick, but I kissed his slightly open mouth, sliding my tongue inside of his dead mouth. I imagined he was a fairy prince, cursed by some evil witch, and that my kiss would awaken him from his sleep.
It didn't, of course. But that kiss kind of broke through my fear. I'd already kissed a corpse. Anything more was just adding to my awful crime.
I crawled up onto the cold metal table and slid my arms around him, hugging his cold, hard flesh. I imagined he was so cold and hard because he was a perfect robot, a creature designed for my pleasure.
I kissed him again, more passionately. I left my lipstick on his mouth, which was so exciting. And, since I had to clean him up anyway...
I pulled down the sheet and looked at his penis. It was hard and jutting at a slight angle from his body. I reached down and touched it. It was cold and mostly unyielding, which I suddenly realized was a kind of strength. His cock was big and cold and hard, just like he was.
I suddenly imagined him beginning to move, finding this teen- aged girl touching him and grabbing me and pushing his big, hard, cold cock into me, fucking me with his cold, dead body.
Yes, I came. I had a wonderful little orgasm, without even touching myself.
I moved down, looking at his pale cock. It's head was bullet shaped, and the urethra was right there.
I took it between my lips. He'd been washed, but he still tasted slightly musky and salty. I ran my tongue over his cold flesh, my own flesh hot and excited. I cupped his leather-like balls and moved them slightly through the cold sack that covered them.
I wondered if he was a virgin, like I was.
I imagined I was licking a live man, but then he'd be groping at me and wanting to touch me and getting all pushy about having sex. This was much better.
I examined his cock, the flesh around the base of his glans, the shaft, with small freckles on it, his balls, all soft and hanging, yet now almost frozen like that.
I gently lifted his prick and it slowly gave and moved upward.
That's when I first realized I wanted to fuck him.
I remember I moaned, because it echoed eerily in the cold room. There were no other corpses down her today, just me and my new boyfriend. I held his cock in my hand, looking at it thrusting upward, inviting me to...
I dropped it and ran for the door. But when I touched the cold metal of the handle, just as cold as his flesh was, I stopped and turned.
He lay, exactly as before, his cock slowly falling toward his stomach. I suddenly thought he might be disappointed by my change of heart.
Maybe he was virgin, and excited by this girl who was touching him. Maybe he was looking forward to having sex, if not for the first time, then for one final time, before he was cremated after the funeral service.
I moved back toward him, unfastening my pants.
I was so aroused. I actually slid my hand down into my unzipped jeans and touched myself, hot and slimy. I'd only been like that a few times, this aroused. But now I was with another man, a potential lover.
It was just Jacob and me.
I touched myself, sliding my fingers up inside my lips. I was a very regular masturbator, but this was very special. I was touching myself, but imagining it was Jacob touching me, Jacob sliding his excited fingers into my pants and finding me wet and excited.
I touched my breasts, hefting them like he might and touching my nipples, hard and erect, and imagining his excitement as he felt them.
"I want to be your slut, Jacob," I said.
It was that period in my life. I wasn't sure if I would be a virgin for the rest of my life or become a whore. Having tried virgin for way too long, I was leaning in the other direction. And Jacob could teach me.
"Would you like to touch me, Jacob?" I asked. "Would you like to feel my body against you?"
I slid down my jeans, imagining his mostly closed eyes were watching me. I imagined that was why he had a hard-on: Because he liked what he saw and wanted to fuck me.
I pulled my jeans off and kicked off my shoes. It was cold in the refrigerator room, but so was my boyfriend. He was like an alien, who couldn't survive in the warmth, but needed this chill to keep him comfortable.
I pulled off my blouse and dropped it by my jeans. I cupped my breasts and offered them to Jacob.
"Do you like them?" I asked. "Would you like to feel them?"
I walked toward Jacob, wearing just panties and socks. It was cold in the room, but it was erotically cold, like Jacob's body. I slid up onto the icy metal table and lay my hot body against his cold flesh. I kissed his open mouth again, running my tongue against his own cold, unresponsive tongue.
"It's okay, Jacob," I said softly. "I know you can't respond. Why don't you let me take care of everything?"
I moved onto him, the slight give of his body sending an erotic shiver through me. He was flesh and tissue, not as hard and unresponsive as you might imagine.
I ran my tongue along his bluish lips, excited by the trail of saliva I left on his mouth, already smeared with my lipstick.