A Reply by Derby

Submitted by Derby on August 18, 2000

She was waiting for him, dead.

He was staring at her: the open invitation in the spread vulva, the provocatively raised knee, the bewitching face peering coyly from under its exquisite makeup. The makeup made her eyes look so feline. How had she known he liked such eyes?

A Sheryl Crowe song chose that exact moment to wander through his brain: "Darling, I'm killed / I'm lying in a puddle on the floor / Waiting for you to return." That was exactly what Barbara had done, only her floor was a bed and the only puddle was from the last drop of scotch that had spilled from the glass.

He would have to run, Derby knew. The police would find her here, and then they would question him, find out about his fantasies. No one would believe that he hadn't poisoned her. No one but he would understand that she was offering herself to him in the most complete way she knew. No one would believe that, despite all his fantasies of death, he would rather have died himself than hurt her.

But Derby would not let Barbara's offering go in vain. There would only be this one chance, this sole moment to ravish Barbara's body before that body was touched by the unkind hand of decay. Just once, for all time. He locked the door and slowly, deliberately, removed his clothes. No need to hurry. She was dead. She could wait. She could do nothing but.

He climbed onto the bed and seized her mouth with his, drawing a deep, open-mouthed kiss, breathing in the last breath that she could never exhale. Her breasts rose and fell as he breathed air into her lungs, breathed it back into his own chest. But the life-giving air could no more restore life to Barbara's body than to a department store mannequin.

He embraced her about her lower back and kissed her right breast, his tongue moving lovingly over her nipple. Her dead weight fell backward over his arms, arching her back, the air he had breathed into her forced out by the constriction of her chest with a sound much like a moan of ecstasy. He kissed the other breast, the cooling flesh warming again under the wet, probing touch of his lips.

He laid her back and entered her, the slippery channel of her vagina utterly unresisting, her breasts soft and yielding under his hairy chest. He sucked hard on her exposed throat. He grabbed her ankles and pulled them up toward his hips, raising her knees up into the air. Her body rocked, but her eyes did not open.

The pleasure she gave him was indescribable. Not all the money in the world could have bought him anything so wonderful, yet she had thought herself worthless, useless. Maybe she was worthless to herself, but certainly not to Derby.

He gripped her under buttocks and reared up onto his knees, her weight driving her vagina down on his member with irresistible force, sheathing him, engulfing him, her whole weight pressing down on his impaling hardness. Her face fell forward over his shoulder, her chin slamming into his back, and a tear was jarred loose from one closed eye to trickle slowly and ticklishly down his back to his buttocks. Derby's own eyes became wet too. The caress of her rich, dark locks on his skin as he bounced her up and down was like satin raindrops fall ing on his face and shoulders.

When his orgasm broke over him, the intensity almost snapped his mind. For a moment he forgot who he was; was he Derby or was he Barbara? The pleasure was too great for only one person. They were one being, neither dead nor alive, for when physical bliss becomes so great that time stops, what meaning does "dead" or "alive" have? Then it was over, time began to flow again like his seed inside her, and he fell forward on top of her panting heavily. Being back in the world of the alive after having been one with the dead woman was like being banished from the Garden of Eden.

He lingered a little while, ritualistically worshiping the body that had pleasured him so well. He kissed the sole of her foot, trailing a line of kisses over the inside of her ankle, her calf, her knee, her thigh, up to the glistening hair of her loins. Passing onward his lips tasted and sucked at her belly, pausing to give special attention to her navel, then kissing his way back to the breasts where he had started. He kissed her eyes, his lips coming away stained with mascara. He stroked her hair lovingly. And he realized that it was time to go.

But as he slipped into his clothes and stole away into the night, he knew that a part of him would never leave that room.