What happens when we die after sex with a beautiful woman as our last memory?
What happens when we die? As if it's a replaying movie, is our last memory of life what we continue to keep after death? Is there life after death? Or once we die, is there nothing in the way that we felt and remembered nothing before we were born?
Is there God? Is there Heaven and Hell? Are there Angels? Or are we humans nothing more than descendents of aliens who have come to this planet thousands of years ago in search of another place to live after their planet was uninhabitable? With billions of galaxies and billions of stars in each galaxy to think that we're alone is ludicrous. Who are we to think that we're so special that we're not alone and that we're the best and most advanced life form in the universe?
Having seen another dimension with her own eyes, what she saw is her own private version of the Twilight Zone and the Outer Limits. With someone or something living in her bedroom closet, Emma suspects that what she's been living through for the past 30 years is as creepy and as scary as having monsters living under her bed and the boogieman hiding in her closet when she was a little girl.
* * * * *
Emma lay in bed exhausted from another day of taking care of difficult patients at the nursing home. Old men, her life was filled with angry, and bitter elderly men. Too old to live without assistance and medical care, they were too healthy to die. Being the good woman that she was, she wished there was more that she could do to help them to have a better life. Finally, she stumbled across the magic cure that made men happy to see her.
Home alone with no one to talk to but for her bad self, she was lonely and she was horny. Being that they were all old men, with some more than three times her age, normally her patients didn't make her horny but this time, 69-year-old, Mr. Benchley did. Needing a man in her life and needing and wishing she had someone to take care of her, she had been horny all day and was still feeling horny now. She touched herself while thinking about all that she allowed Mr. Benchley to do to her and all that she did to him. Just as she was his magic elixir, he was her sexy dreamboat.
Lifting her nightgown to her chest, she closed her eyes and fingered her nipples while rubbing her clit. Inserting her finger deeper inside of herself, she imagined having sex with a man, any man her age. Having the Monday off before Christmas, she was happy that she had a long weekend ahead of her to relax and recoup her energy. She was exhausted from caring for the elderly. Even though she'd be working Christmas Day, working the holiday didn't bother her since the residents, all but for a few, were always so cheerfully pleasant on Christmas with family and friends visiting them. They didn't revert back to their old selves until after the new year when all the festivities were over. Then, overtired, as if they were little kids, they grew grouchy and hard to handle.
Wishing she had a hard cock to fuck and a big prick to suck, she had to settle for her finger and her imagination. She rubbed and fingered herself until she felt that warm sensation and that sexual excitement that she always wished would last longer. Just a fleeting moment, masturbating herself wasn't nearly as good as having a lover masturbate her and make love to her while kissing her. With her sexual excitement turning to lonely depression and with her nightgown still bunched around her chest, she closed her eyes and was nodding off when a noise awakened with fright.
It was an unusual sound emanating from her bedroom closet of all places. At first she thought that maybe she had a mouse but after hearing the sound again, she thought differently. Sounding as if there was someone breathing in her closet, every now and then there was a whooshing sound as if a gust of wind was blowing against her closet door. Afraid but with her curiosity overtaking her fear, she got out of bed to investigate. Not making a sound to listen, she stared at her closet door expecting God only knows what to emerge. With her hand poised on the doorknob, afraid to open her closet door while fearing what she'd find, she took a big breath of courage. As if hoping to surprise whoever was hiding in there, she flung open the closet door.
With panicked fright overtaking her, too late to flee, she stood frozen when she saw what it was in her closet before passing out and collapsing to the carpeted floor of her bedroom in an unconscious heap. When she awaken, whatever or whoever they were, were gone. She screamed, but no sound came out of her mouth. Never having been so afraid, she wondered what would happen next and would she survive the experience?
* * * * *
Emma worked as a nurses' aide at the Happy Valley nursing home, an exclusive elderly care facility with plenty of private rooms for those patients who wanted and could afford to pay for their privacy. Because her body was exceptionally shapely, a porn star in a tight, white, nurses uniform, every man's fantasy nurse, most of the men and even some of the women at the nursing home requested her for their baths and for their physical therapy in the swimming pool and the whirlpool bath. Who'd blame them for requesting someone who looked as hot as she did in her uniform?
Impossible for her to keep count, she had been groped and fondled so many times that it didn't bother her in the way that it once did. Grossed out in the beginning, her aversion to being touched, felt, and groped diminished with the sexual pleasure she felt from being so sexually used and abused. What was once an annoying part of her job grew to be the most enjoyable part of her job. As if she had been hypnotized by something or someone not of this earth, there were times when she was horny enough that she wanted to be touched and felt so long as the men were respectful of her. As if she was the one chosen as a vessel between life and death, she accepted her role.
Especially in the beginning when she first started working at the nursing home, feeling violated, it upset her for a male or female patient to touch her where they'd never touch her were they strangers on the street. It was the rare occurrence, mostly when thinking about her grandfather feeling her when she was a young woman, that she felt sexually excited by the feels and gropes of elderly, horny men and old, withered women. She's been told so many sexual jokes that she's heard than all. She's heard so many lewd comments, that she's become immune to them.
Five years ago, when she was just starting her job, she chastised the patients whenever they touched her and felt her, but it never made a difference. As soon as she scolded them for touching her, they'd feel her again. What did they have to lose actually? Most days, except for the attending nurse or a visit from the doctor, she was their only contact. Feeling and touching her was what most of them lived to do. Now, going with the flow, especially in this recession of an economy, she's just happy she has a job.
Despite their desperate gropes, the cheap feels, and their horny touches, the worst is always when they try pulling up her short uniform to stick an elderly hand between her legs and to fondle her pussy through her panty. Having an older man, a man old enough to be her grandfather, touching and feeling her panty clad pussy made her sick to her stomach. It's not easy to preserve her modesty when she's pushing a meal cart, changing a diaper, carrying a bedpan, and/or leaning and bending to make a bed. As shocked as she was sickened the first time that it happened and as if there was a switch in her head that transformed her thought process, she realized that her patients are not just names on a chart but are people like her, only older.
As if a real mental and psychological transformation within her has taken place, sometimes, she sees some patients as if they were younger, her age even. When she sees them in that way, she feels a sexual attraction for them. For those men who she thinks are still cute and especially when she's in a horny mood, slow to react, she'll allow them a cheap feel of her big breasts and a big squeeze of her round, firm ass while pretending that she doesn't know that they're touching her and feeling her. Her patients best kept secret and their secret defense was that many of the men faked that they had dementia or Alzheimer's disease so that they couldn't remember and be blamed for their wicked behavior. Only, when no one was looking, by their subtle winks and happy smiles, she knew better. Having a natural fascination for pricks, many of the men could still get stiff erections and she was always enamored by a hard cock, even one three times her age.
