The Body of a Man

I’m not sure how old I was when we found the body. The oncoming avalanche of adolescence had not yet totally engulfed me, but the first tendrils of my sexuality were swirling around my ankles, and the rumbling of those turbulent teenage years was bearing down fast. It was late one summer afternoon, just after our weekly Girl Scout meeting, and my friend Aimee and I were teetering on the very brink, not quite ready to take the plunge, but way too far gone to want to back out.

There was a patch of woods behind our development, too wet and marshy for the developers to build houses on, so they had left it, a kind of irregular green isthmus, tangled and soggy and bug-ridden and private. We were headed to a little flat place that I knew of, next to the stream, for some ‘practice kissing’. I had a fairly good idea where that might lead, and I thought that Aimee did to, for all her show of hesitation and reluctance.

He was lying, face-up in the mud, a little ways off from the little stream that ran through the middle of the woods. He was wearing blue jeans with the knees torn out and a denim vest with no shirt on underneath. His feet were bare, his toes pointed skyward. There was no sign of any violence. In retrospect, I suspect that it was an overdose. The only way we knew he was dead, at first, was his eyes: half-open and staring upward, already glassy and lifeless.

I thought I knew him. I thought he’d gone to high school with my older brother, Ted. He was one of those guys who hung out in front of Emil’s gas station; scary, shady, criminal-looking, sexy, dangerous guys. His blonde hair was cut in a mullet; business in the front, party in the back. A couple large black flies were lazily circling his body, intermittently landing and taking nervously back off.

“Touch him” Aimee told me.

“No Way!”

“I dare you to,” Aimee said. There was something coquettish about the way she said it, something that warmed that special spot between my legs, the region my mother called my ‘pussywillow’, the place that I had already started privately thinking of as my ‘cunt’. “I double dare you!” Her eyes sparkled flirtatiously, and it made my cunt tingle and buzz in a deliciously tantalizing sort of way.

His skin was pale, whiter than in life. It was uncannily like touching an uncooked hamburger, soft and firm. His flesh felt strangely cold for such a warm afternoon. I jerked my finger away with a thrill and a squeal.

“You know what I heard about guys, when they die?” Aimee asked.

“What?”

“I heard they get wood. Boners. Big time woodies!”

“Eeeeewwww!” we squealed together, running giggling away into the woods.

We only made it a hundred yards or so; it was a small patch of woods. A little ways away we found a likely spot, a fallen tree that looked comfortable to sit on, and we sat.

I don’t think either one of us considered calling the police about the corpse lying there in the mud, or telling an adult. For one thing, that would have raised uncomfortable questions about what we were doing down in the woods and why; for another thing we had other, more pressing business on our minds.

My hand found hers, or her hand found mine, and our fingers intertwined and squeezed. Our lips met, pressed together. Mouths opened, allowing tongues to dart and flirt, in and out, like nervous, excited puppies.

I slipped my hand inside Aimee’s blouse, cupping the soft, warm swell of her budding breast through her bra. She made a whining, keening noise, and pressed her body against mine, kissing me harder, encouraging my touch.

Her hand had strayed between my thighs, up under my uniform skirt, and was now tackling the barrier of my panties. Far from hesitant or reluctant now, Aimee’s fingers pushed my panties aside, and danced lewdly up and down the soft, furry, damp territory, making me moan aloud into her mouth. Practice kissing indeed! Aimee and I did a lot of practice kissing that summer and into the fall; I lost track of her when we went to different high schools.

Fast forward twenty years.

I was hanging out in Martin’s apartment, three-quarters naked, sprawled out on his bed. It was high summer in New York City, and he didn’t have air conditioning at the time, and it was muggy, hot and sticky.

“Are we going to act out my fantasy now?” I asked only a tiny little bit peevishly. Martin was my boyfriend, had been since April.

“Your fantasy is disturbing,” Martin said. He was naked, flaccid, sweaty, delicious. Just a few minutes before I’d had a mouth full of his cock. “Your fantasy gives me the creeps.”

“Aw, come on!” I rolled over onto my back, regarding his nakedness from upside-down. “We did your fantasy, didn’t we?”

It was true. The previous Wednesday, I had assiduously plucked Martin’s eyebrows and painted his nails while our friend Tobi (flaming gay Tobi who did costumes and makeup for off-off-Broadway productions) applied makeup and did his hair. We squeezed him into a cute little purple dress; we padded his bra; Tobi had brought along a pair of cowboy boots that fit Martin and looked quite chic.

And then we went, Martin and me, out on the town. After a nervous, giggly drink or three, we ended up at a tiny lesbian dance club down in Alphabet City called “The Pussy Palace”.

It was dark inside, and the music was loud. Martin is not an especially small guy; he stands a full head taller than me, and he has hands like catcher’s mitts. But out on the dance floor, in the dim, sweaty haze, under flashing colored lights, nobody looked twice. We were just another pair of dykes dancing together: a tall, kind of butch girl in a short summer dress; and her shorter, bustier, somewhat chunkier, more femme girlfriend.

Someone looked twice at us. Uninvited, a girl started dancing around us, and then with us. She was cute: my height, but skinnier, with fuchsia hair and multiple ear piercings and a rather pixie-like, suggestively angelic angular face. She wore tight black jeans that showed off a sexy little ass, and a black AC/DC t-shirt.

The three of us danced together for a while, riding the rhythms of the music, enjoying and amplifying and reverberating the tension we were generating. Eventually, inevitably, we migrated up to the roof, a large, tar-papered flat expanse three stories up. The skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed over us like obelisks and monoliths, and the stars and moon were drowned out by a leaden ceiling of low cloud. The roof was bathed in a twilight-glow of reflected light pollution.

I’d been up on this roof before, back in my more exclusively sapphic days. There was a smattering of couples, dispersed around the perimeter, in various stages of making out. We staked our claim to a quiet corner of rooftop and started getting to know each other a little better.

There was kissing all around. New Girl was an aggressive kisser, with a tongue like a weasel, and she was a biter. Kissing Martin dressed as a woman felt pleasantly odd to me, out of context, strange and yet familiar in a tantalizingly sexy way. Watching them kiss each other was just plain hot.

Martin was half-sitting on the parapet, and New Girl and I were pressed up against him. I felt hand traversing my body, feeling me up, groping me, squeezing my ass and cupping and rubbing my breasts, and I couldn’t tell whose hands belonged to whom. My pussy was wet and squishy, my clit was erect, and my entire body was giddily jittery with excitement. Not just sexual excitement either, we were about to get found out, busted, and I wasn’t at all sure how that discovery would go over.

Martin’s dress had ridden up around his waist. His pretty pink panties were visible in the gloaming. New Girl’s hands were roaming, exploring, traipsing their leisurely way up his muscular thighs as she kissed him.  Any second now she would find out.

Her hand slipped inside the frilly waistband of his panties. We all three stopped, frozen in time. I watched her face intently, as my heartbeat counted the seconds away: startled; confused; dawning realization; pleasurably surprised.

“Oh, verrrry interesting, a genuine trouser snake! I haven’t played with one of these in years!”

She fished Martin’s erect cock out of his sassy panties. He was rock hard, practically glowing, and the tip was all wet with his oozing juices. I love Martin’s cock; I think it is the perfect size for a penis: not so big as to be intimidating, but definitely on the larger than mean end of the bell curve, with more emphasis on hefty girth then length, and a fat, sharply defined head like the helmet of a WWII German soldier.

His balls hung down, fat and ripe like some strange fruit, masculine and delicate, until recently furry, but shaved bare for the occasion.

New Girl slid down Martin’s body, ending up on her knees, and started sloppily giving him head.

I set about relieving her of her tight black jeans; quite a project with her kneeling on the tarpaper between Martin’s legs, mouth and both hands busily occupied; but I was finally able to tug them off. She wasn’t wearing any panties. Her naked white butt shone like a full moon in the low light. Her pussy was a neatly groomed patch of soft black hair; fat pinkish purple labia pouted out from between puffy outer lips, drooling with excitement. A few stray hairs curled around her delicate, winking, pink little asshole.

I played with her pussy while she noisily sucked Martin’s dick. She was very hot, very wet, and very slippery. I slowly traced the length of her slit, making her squirm, and brought my sticky fingers to my lips: she tasted clean, sweaty but clean, salty and a little spicy. She reminded me of cinnamon.

She came up off his cock with a pop, gasping for air and a big fat grin on her face. She wrangled my cami top off, and it joined her jeans on the tarpaper roof. The three of us kissed for a while more as she fondled my breasts and sucked my nipples, and Martin fingered her pussy, and she played with Martin’s hard cock. We must have been a sight up there on the parapet; three girls getting it on, two of them bottomless and one of them topless. A sight for sore eyes, but not such an unusual sight, at least not on that particular roof.

The touching and the fondling was getting to be too much; the delights of anticipation were being overwhelmed by the need for release. The kisses broke off; Martin fished a condom out of his purse, tore open the wrapper, and rolled it onto his rigid, bobbing cock. New Girl climbed onto his lap, straddling him, facing away from me, out toward the thousand windows of the city at night.

I felt a burning stab of jealousy as I watched Martin’s condom-sheathed cock –my boyfriend’s cock—slithering in between New Girl’s thighs, squishing up and down her juicy vulva; but the sensation was washed away by a rising tide of pure horny sexiness as she maneuvered her pussy into position, poising herself like a pole-sitter, balanced perfectly atop his straining, bulbous, latex-covered glans.

As I watched, rapt, she lowered herself gingerly down onto him, engulfing his ample cock with a satisfied sigh. It was way better than any porn, ever.

She started moving up and down atop him, kissing him viciously and mauling his fake tits. I licked his condom-covered cock when it slid out of her, licked her pussy stretched tight around his member, licked his sweaty, smooth, swollen balls, pried apart her cheeks and licked her tiny little asshole. When his cock popped out of her pussy, I swallowed him whole, and tried to cram my tongue up her gasping cunt, before helping to stick his dick back inside her.

Their movements were getting more and more frantic, their tempo was raising, approaching crescendo. I had a finger up New Girl’s butt, and I could feel Martin’s cock moving inside her. It was hot.

I slipped one long, slippery finger up the tight, muscular entrance to Martin’s asshole, shoving my probing finger in all the way up to the knuckle. His anus grasped me tight, and with a long, drawn-out, unintelligible guttural, rumbling growl, he came, humping violently up at the night sky, pummeling New Girl’s cunt.

His orgasm set her off, and she came, arching her back, fingering her clit, howling like a coyote, a long, slowly trailing off series of yip-yipe-yips. When his softened dick finally slid out of her exhausted pussy, her hands were shaking. Martin’s makeup was smeared all over his face. He looked like a tramp.

Later on that night, in the back of a taxicab, drunk and disheveled, sweaty, wired and tired, we kissed and made out on the way home. The driver watched curiously in the rearview mirror.

“That was hot!” Martin told me. One of his breasts had come askew and I adjusted it for him.

“Yeah it was,” I said. The plan had gone perfectly, far better than I could have ever hoped for.

He had his hand down the front of my pants and he was fingering me. My pussy was still juicy wet, and it felt nice, but it wasn’t going to get me off.

“We should do that one again!” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. The cab driver was stopped at a green light, staring at my unzipped crotch, “Most definitely.”

Fast forward to the following week.

“We did your fantasy. It was hot. Now we should do mine. Isn’t that only fair?”

“Ok, ok,” he said, “We’ll do it then.”

It was Saturday. Martin hadn’t answered his cell phone all day, which was unusual. We were supposed to be getting together for dinner, and I still hadn’t heard from him.

I let myself into his building –he had given me keys ages ago—and walked up the five echoing, paint-peeling flights to his apartment.

There was blood everywhere. A trail of gore led in streaks and dribbles from his kitchen, through the living room, and away into the bedroom. His bedroom door was closed.

I opened the door with trepidation. It looked like a scene out of horror movie, the kind from the ‘80s that I hadn’t been allowed to watch growing up, but I’d watched anyway. The trail of blood was thicker here, and led straight to the bed. Blood was spattered everywhere; the sheets were soaked scarlet red, blood splashed all over the wall, and to the far corners of the room; a few drops had even managed to hit the ceiling. A blood-smeared butcher knife lay on the floor, blurry red fingerprints on the handle.

Martin lay, face up and unmoving, on the bed. The crimson tide was centered on his t-shirt, no longer white, but soaked through with blood. His blue jeans were black with blood, gore streaked up his neck and onto his face.

His eyes were closed, his skin was pale. I gingerly touched him. His skin was clammy cool, and felt remarkably like uncooked hamburger.

My heart was beating so hard inside my chest I was afraid it might burst. I was pumped full of adrenaline, my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in hard and fast. My hands were shaking. Under my skirt, my panties were wet.

Carefully, with trembling fingers, I undid the buttons of his fly. His cock sprung out and up, like a stout branch of oak tree, hard as wood.

I ditched my skirt, and tossed my panties aside, taking care to keep them out of the congealing pool of blood. Then I climbed onto the bed, straddling Martin’s prone body. My knees and ankles were instantly smeared gory red. The bloody sheets felt squishy and sticky underneath me.

I grasped his erection in both hands beneath me, handling it like a dildo. My cunt was hungry and drooling. I luxuriated in it, teasing myself, sliding my vulva up and down his length, stimulating my horny, swollen clit with his inert, rigid tool.

I rocked back and forth, grinding my juicy cunt onto his hard dick, taking my pleasure in jolts and shocks, his body laid out below me like a corpse on an autopsy table.

No more teasing, no more torment. I lifted up and plunged down, relishing the sensation of penetration, the sudden fullness.

I fucked his hard cock, riding his lifeless body like a cowgirl astride a mechanical bull. There was no him, it was just me, just the angle I liked, just the tempo I needed. I felt my orgasm coming on, and redoubled my efforts, bouncing up and down like an ecstatic little girl on a pogo stick.

I came, and I came hard, grunting and huffing and puffing, my cunt contracting and my toes curling, pummeling his blood-soaked chest with balled-up fists. It was an awesome come, and it left me grinning and relaxed, riding the edge of that wave, ready for some more!

For just a moment, a bird’s-eye vision of the scene flashed through my head: me straddling my boyfriend’s corpse, fucking him obliviously away in a veritable pool of his life’s blood. The image only made me hotter.

I felt his dick twitch inside me as I bounced, though his prone body remained still, and I felt his hot semen flood my cunt, and that triggered my second orgasm, which might not have been as intense as the first, but rumbled on much longer, like thunder in the distance, and left me gasping.

At long last, I had had enough. I was sated, my cunt was tired and getting raw. I climbed carefully off him, leaving his erection still stiff as hardwood, pointing at the ceiling, slick and gooey with my juices. Our co-mingled come leaked freely from my cunt. I was more or less covered in blood, like a five-year old who had gotten hold of red finger-paints.

Martin sat up stiffly and shook his head. “How was that?” he asked.

“Fantastic!” I gushed, “Totally fucking awesome!!”

The pills he’d taken kept his dick obnoxiously hard. I tried giving him a blowjob/handjob, to no avail. Then he tried masturbating, but it just wasn’t happening. There was no second orgasm in the cards for him, and he was stuck with a big fat boner until the drugs wore off. It looked kind of uncomfortable. I was tempted to climb on for another ride, but my parts were already sore and tender.

It took forever to clean up. The sheets were a total loss; we were still finding splotches of fake blood in odd places around the apartment days later. Martin thought Tobi had overdone the gore, but I thought he’d done just fine.

“I soaked in a cold bathtub for like an hour to get my temperature down.”

“I know, it was awesome!”

“That was kind of creepy,” Martin said, “I’m not sure I liked that. Let’s not do this one again, ok?”

Oh, we’d definitely be doing that one again!

END

3 Comments »

  1. Butch said

    Weird… disturbing… I loved it!

    • ElsieFanny said

      In light of some of the other stories by our lovely Elsie, I had braced for something more disturbing and was slightly relieved at the end. Thanks Elsie for a wonderful story!

  2. I know you’ve said on this blog you’re a normal person with a very mundane life, but I do sometimes wonder… Nicely written though!

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