Danse Macabre

I faced death before. Back in 1991, after the departure of former President Jean-Bertrand Aristide, I was six years old. Haiti was fighting a brutal civil war. It has left the Haitians broken causing the nation to become one of the most corrupted and poorest nation on earth.

During the war I saw men killing women, I saw men killing men, I saw women killing children, I saw fathers killing sons, I saw daughters killing themselves, I saw death at her nastiest. She almost killed me too, and to this day I still don't know why she did not ravage me then like she did the others when she could.

Though she drained me of all who mattered, she did not sink her teeth in me. She left me alive--a joke I tell you because when you watch your father pull a gun and kill your mother, then your siblings, and then himself; and that the only reason he skipped you to off himself was because he trusted someone else to off you for him--, being left alive is nothing but a funny joke.

Because I am now twenty-three and that things had changed since then, for I managed to remain alive and I moved to another country where things promised to be different, I grew up a lot from 1991. I had matured enough to choose life rather than death as I contemplated the benefits and the deficits of the two in my darker days.

I chose to live rather than die when life was harsh for me in this new country because the bible says that one must live life in abundance, to the full, till it flows, and till it overflows. Please note that I am not in the least interested in Jesus--I find Him to be a pompous asshole for several reasons that I do not at this moment care to shed light upon-, but because His scriptures when I least expect it bring a measure of balance, purpose, and calmness in my life, I abide by the bible's rules whenever they suit my needs.

So things were going great. I graduated University, though I am still struggling to find something decent to do with a Business Administration degree, but life is not as painful as it was in the beginning of my tender years. The full gig I have at Danse Macabre until I find a job in my chosen career allows me to keep my creditors happy until I put the degree to use so that I continue to pay back the atrocious student loans.

So things are good, not great, but a little better as each day goes by. And that is my undoing, gentle reader. Because if things stayed as stinky as they were before when I saw things no children should be allowed to see, then I wouldn't have forgotten my fate. I wouldn't have become naive enough to believe that death had ceased to have things to do with me.

***************

Her victim was young. He used to be firm and strong, and full of stamina. He was full of energy and life. The latter has become untrue the moment he moved to the metaphysical realm not too long ago. Whether he's gone to heaven or hell, his journey here is done. And I cannot help but feel it to be downright insulting as I stare at who used to be a fine specimen-- a strong man who was rumored to be absolutely ruthless in his acquisitions in life--, unexpectedly brought down to his knees without a fight from his part.

Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps he fought death before his heart collapsed when he pounded my pussy harshly forcing it to quiver in delight. Perhaps he fought her as he held my waist and thrust his cock forcefully and rapidly in and out of me. But the end had been too smooth, had not it, for me to believe that he went down with a fight? 'Shit,' was all he sighed, and then he was silent.

I should have noticed something was wrong, for he's been inside me all night. I was his baby girl tonight because that was who he paid me to be. I was his little whore. His little fuck toy to play with. To take whenever he pleased. To dominate. He fucked me rough because he loved to give it to me rough. He pounded me good because that's how he paid me to take it. So, I should have known, I should have been able to feel even in the briefest moments that his heart was going to stop before it did.

But because I was under the impression that mid thirties dudes don't drop dead due to a heart attack while they fuck someone, I missed the signal. And now the only productive action I can take post-mortem of my favorite John is to stare at his lifeless eyes. I can't bring myself to cry for help, call anyone, or call the police--the police? The police is child play, I can handle the police. The media on the other hand will crucify me. Oh I can see the Headline all right: Sudden John's death--Hooker to blame?

I lean forward to close his eyes. My hands tremble. I pull them back. To close his eyes is to mean that he's really dead. I am not ready yet. Though I know he's dead, for his wide eyes staring at me prove it, but to close his eyes is to accept his death. I'll let reality sink in after I unlink him from me first. The idea of a dead man's cock buried deep inside me causes me to shift my butt to pull him out. I move my butt again. I move it one more time.

*******************************

When the fine gate that separates the living from the dead is suddenly thrust open so that the soul of who used to be one of us can cross over to the other side, and when the cock of the being in question remains buried deep inside you after the crossover, you'd want to distance yourself from the dead by removing his genital from you. And when your attempts are unsuccessful -- his cock stays stuck inside you--you'd want to scream to ease the fear that builds inside your chest causing you to gasp for breath, your palms to sweat, the hair at the back of your neck to stand, and your heart to rapidly beat.

It is said that there should not be a relationship between the dark and the light, just as there should not be one between the living and the dead because where there is light, there is no darkness, and in the world of the living, the dead is not welcome, for they are separate entities, selfish in their nature demanding sole loyalty from their followers. But what of those souls who are caught in the shadow, who are loyal to both, for they are unable to neither be completely exposed to the light nor able to hide in the dark or capable of being fully human for they restlessly long to be a part of the dead.

I meant to scream after I realized that I could not unlink him from me, but a gasp escapes my mouth as my body flushes in arousal. Not everybody cries in despair. Some of us get aroused. And what of those souls indeed who are incapable of staying fully human when they meet with their friends. I touch his cold face at last. The part of me that longs to be in a world so different than this one steps forward. Inexplicable happiness washes over me.

' Hello Death,' I whisper. ' it's been awhile.'

A genuine smile curves my lips. My inside tightens and then quivers. This is going to be fun.

**********************

I close my eyes. Tilt my head back. My pussy milks a cock that is dead but feels so alive. My body paces a rocking rhythm on its own. Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

I lift my thighs. The dead slips out of me. But quickly I take him inside me again. I lay my head on his cool chest. My breasts slightly caressed his skin. My nipples tighten, liquid desire spreads throughout my thighs forcing me to rotate my hip on his cock. My arms around his neck holds him close to me. And his member buried deep inside me connects us in a way only we can understand. I ride him.

****************

A deep sigh escapes me, sweat beads on my forehead and runs down my back. Around I move my hips on his cock. And up. And down. He feels good. I take him out of me. I take him in my mouth and suck his cock. I reach lower and suck on his balls. I take him down my throat.

I take him inside me again. I ride him hard. Up and down and around. His cock strokes my inside. Branding me. Reminding me of who I am. I fuck my dead john because he is dead and that is all the shit that is wrong and right with the world. Unexpected tears fall on my cheeks as what I have become slaps me on the face. And what I am is made up of such rage that I smash him in the face with my fist and scream, 'Wake up fucker, don't die on me,' and gasp, ' James, don't die on me too, don't leave me.'

I wanted to smash his face hard again so that he can wake up and tell me that I'll have the courage to choose life again after I discover who I really am tonight, or to tell me to choose a side and stick with it. Instead my hand only caresses his cold cheek never missing the rhythm as I continue to steadily ride his cock.

I kiss his neck. Down to his cheek. I go back up and kiss his eyes. I finally allow my lips to close them. I suck on his nipple, I let my tongue twirl over the delicious nub. I break the kiss and lean forward to kiss his lips. So good he feels. And my belly tightens.

It's my turn again. I scream.