3. Close Encounters of the Dead Kind

Under the cloak of darkness, I pull into the garage. The gas light glares angrily at me, but there was no way I was stopping to fill up. Not with my new specimen in the back. I open the old, rusted door and hop out with a renewed pep in my step.

My stomach does a round of somersaults. I'm almost… giddy. That's a new feeling.

I open the back of the hearse and maneuver the metal stretcher out. The white plastic bag is zipped up tight, concealing my John Doe from the public's sensitive eyes as I push the gurney toward the funeral home's secluded back door. Don't want to attract too much attention from the neighbors and give them all coronaries. Our place isn't in the open alongside other businesses like a strip mall or amongst the concrete jungle where it could be easily spotted. It's more tucked away in the suburbs of the city's outskirts with a mix of homes and other small businesses. At this time of night, though, there's no one around, but you can never be too careful.

My clammy hands leave oily prints on the cool metal. I pull my lips back in a grimace. This is not my favorite time of the year. The late June air is humid and sticky, thanks to Casco Bay. I can't wait to get inside to find some reprieve.

The fluorescent lights flicker their welcome as I roll the body into the preparation area. The chilly air greets me like an old friend, and it's absolutely glorious. I keep this room at thirty-one degrees because when you're working with the dead, you don't want their bodies getting warm for obvious reasons. I use my working space as an escape from more than people. Plus, the heat doesn't work well with my layered, all-black attire.

Putting on a cheery facade, I throw out my arms, Vanna White style, and announce, "Okay, Johnny boy, this is your new home!" I do so as if he's alive with a heartbeat and can hear me welcoming him into his new, humble abode. One that even he would appreciate, regardless of its frosty accommodations.

I roll him in beside the other body lying open on my table. The old man is patiently waiting for me to remove his organs. Grabbing hold of the remote, I turn on the loudspeakers, and Slipknot plays from my curated playlist. The musician screams the lyrics, and I mouth along, pulling on my latex gloves with a sharp snap.

I'm in business,I think, then get to work.

Hours rapidly pass while I'm lost in my task of removing organs, weighing, and taking samples of tissue. Then, I get to return all the pieces like a grotesque jigsaw puzzle. Periodically, my attention keeps getting snagged on the pristine white body bag and the extreme erection making itself known.

The only time I've seen a penis in real life has been here.

Well, except for that one time.

The hairs on my arms stand at attention, and a shiver races down my spine. I'm taken back to when I was a teenager and I saw the guys training on the high school's football field. With their tight pants and bare chests, I was intrigued. We don't get many clients that look like those boys, as most of the bodies in our morgue are older. I was so curious, and my teenage hormones were blooming at an extreme rate. At least in my eyes, that is. Without having girlfriends to compare experiences to, I could only go off my own assumptions. I was eager to learn the perplexities that went on in the boy's locker room, so I snuck in while they showered. Their toned bodies were sleek with water, looking like well-oiled machines. I shouldn't have been there. I had plenty of chances to leave, but my heart raced at the idea of getting caught. I remained statuesque, frozen in place by my own desires. That was until a player came in late and snuck up behind me.

"You're a little pervert, Adams,"he growled in my ear.

My already racing heart slammed hard against my ribs. Slowly. Oh, so, slowly, I turned to face him. My eyes widened at Cole, the star captain, and his rippling, toned physique. He was naked as well. His erection nearly stabbed me in the hip as he stepped in closer, towering over me. I bit down on my bottom lip, admiring the sight of him, completely distracted. I was so distracted that I didn"t realize the showers had turned off.

"What do we have here?" Another one of the guys saddled up to my side. He was ‘pointing' at me as well.

"I caught the little freak spying," Cole explained with a devious smirk.

"I think she wants you, Cole," a third player chimed in, and a crowd started to form.

"I wouldn't touch her. I hear she's rotten on the inside," a fourth player gossiped.

"We can find out if her pussy is rotten." There was a round of chuckles and smacks of skin. They were probably giving each other back slaps for that jab, but I couldn't see. My vision is blurred with tears.

My desire turned to shame. What I had done was wrong. I deserved this. I violated their privacy for my own benefit, for my own perverted curiosity. The wall of bodies was closing in around me. The air available to breathe became scant, slowly suffocating me.

So I ran.

I blink awaythe moisture forming in my eyes as well as the memory. It's not the fact I felt terrible for what I did as a teen, but what happened afterward. The humiliation. The name-calling. Those boys didn't keep their mouths shut. They made me learn what I did was wrong. What I'm feeling right now toward Johnny is also wrong. I know it is, but I've never wanted a man more than I do now. More than I did when Cole was pressed against me. So much so I'm willing to throw all those learned morals out the proverbial window.

I can keep him a secret, though. One no one has to know about. I picture him as the type of man who would be okay with it. He would even encourage me to take him. To use him as I see fit. With only my imagination to go on, I envision how his hands would feel touching me or the way his girthy cock would stretch me. How he could numb the pain of loneliness from the inside out. Or how his icy fingers could tease my nipples into hardened peaks that could cut glass. I bite my lip. The mere thought of what I could do with him has me clenching my thighs together, and a low ache in my clit throbs with the need to be touched.

God, why did you have to die?

Continuing to fantasize since he's dead, he is a man who won't care if my eyes and skin are unnaturally pale. He doesn't even have the capability to think my condition is the slightest bit creepy. That body of his is begging for me to touch it, to sit on his face and come all over his prominent nose. Imploring me even. As if it's drawing me in to act on my rawest desires.

Cutting the thread after my last stitch, I put the medical scissors down with a loud clatter. I leisurely stride to the gurney where Johnny is and eagerly unzip the bag with the anticipation of a child on Christmas day. His purple lids and blue lips give him character and add to his silent charm. I methodically peel off my gloves and gaze upon his peaceful form. I lift my now bare hand and run the tip of my finger delicately over the black ink swirling over his pecs as if his skin were a dainty flower petal. Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I bite down hard, hoping the sharp sting of pain derails the train my thoughts are on.

Nope, it does nothing to stop my arousal from drenching my panties.

The opening to Slipknot begins to pulse from the speakers, and I close my eyes as if to absorb the melody. My body tingles in anticipation. Then the pulse of the guitars barges into my senses, urging my blood to pump faster, straight to my engorged bundle of nerves between my thighs.

I allowed myself to ride the lyrical wave, to find solace in the momentary sanctuary granted to my soul. When the song finishes, I open my eyes and return to my reality. I pull my phone from the back pocket of my black jeans and check the time. It's only six o'clock in the morning. My assistant should be arriving within the hour. I tilt my head in contemplation, the slickness becoming uncomfortable between my legs.

I could… take care of it…take care of myself before Brandon gets here. He would be none the wiser.

Replacing the phone, I set my jaw in determination. No one will have to know. I reassure myself as I slip my fingers beneath the waistband of my jeans. My needy clit aches for attention, and I give it a slow, easy stroke. I'm letting my depraved urges take charge. Electricity courses down my spine. I slide my fingers between my pussy lips, collecting my arousal and bringing it back toward my sensitive bud. Currents pulse through my veins, and I circle it a few more times before gliding my digits inside my warm, soaking entrance. I stare at his face, trying to provide more detail to the scene in my head. The way he would lay there and allow me to take what I needed from him. He wouldn't fuss as I impaled myself on his shaft or how his cold skin would soothe the burn between my thighs.

With my newfound recklessness dictating my next move, I pull my slickened fingers out and rub my arousal over his dark blue lips, causing them to glisten in the fluorescent lights. My heart skips in my chest at my own boldness. He would let me do whatever I wanted.

Whatever I wantechoes in my mind as I return my digits to my sopping-wet cunt. No shame from my perverted ambition would be reflected in his eyes. The chill of the room envelopes me, causing my insides to quiver with my impending release. I'd enjoy every minute riding him like there's no tomorrow and the world ended as far as I knew it. My core clenches, but my imagination of how well he'd fill me up doesn't stop. My release is easy to find, or rather, it finds me. It's violent. It's quick. And it's euphoric. I double over as the surge of pleasure finally crashes down over me.

I take a sharp intake of breath as if I were on the brink of drowning, and this is my first gulp of oxygen after not being able to breathe. Each inhale of air is denser than the last as I'm pulled from the ocean of my dark convictions. The overwhelming assault of formaldehyde and cleaning solution brings me back to reality, but I'm not in the same position as I was when I began my immoral exploration. Somehow, I find myself bent over, my cheek lying upon the man's abdomen, and his long appendage is centimeters from my nose. That's a little too close for comfort.

The bell from the side door chimes, and I quickly jerk my hand from my jeans, rubbing my arousal off on the inside of my shirt. Fuck, shit, fuck. Brandon's here earlier than expected.

In my fumbling panic, and I'm not even sure why I do it, I roll Johnny into one of the refrigerators along the back wall and slam it closed. Plan! I need a plan! In haste, I open the door next to my Johnny's, and the back of my finger glistens in the fluorescent lights. I realize they're shining with my arousal. Oh no! Awkward. I suppress the giggle that fights to break free. The door to the morgue cracks loudly against the wall, and my heart leaps into my throat. I shove the digit in my mouth and lean on the old man's tray, hoping to look inconspicuous.

"Oh, shit!" he exclaims, checking out the wall where the door handle hit. There's a chip in the tile, but nothing to be concerned about. Then, he sees me. "Hey, you're still working? I'm sorry. I'll get that fixed. I think you need a new spring to keep it from swinging out like that." He waves in the direction of the wall before focusing on me again. Then his gaze catches on my mouth. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Everything is eerily silent. The music must have stopped in the middle of me finger fucking myself, reaching the end of my playlist. Recovering from my orgasm, my breathing is labored, and my face is flushed. The excitement of almost getting caught is also playing on my nerves. With my taste still on my tongue, I release my finger with a pop and clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. "Ah yeah, I kinda got lost in the music and smashed my finger."

Putting on his downy jacket, he leaves in the morgue to ward off the chill. Brandon steps toward me, reaching out his hand to grab mine. "Here, let me see."

I shove the digit in question behind my back, out of his reach. The warmth that had colored my cheeks spread to my neck, making me appear flushed. I'm pretty sure I'm as red as a tomato at this point. "I'm good. All good. Thanks!"

"Okayyyy, well, let me at least get this for you." He pushes the sleeves of his jacket up and grabs hold of the gurney, leaving me to stand off to the side and watch him work.

Brandon is sweet, but he's so young. I can't imagine what he would think about me if I admitted I got myself off here a few moments ago. The thought alone has lust coursing through my veins at the idea of him catching me in the shameful act. Why? It's not because he's him but more so the dirty act itself. I'm not sure why I am the way I am. The idea of being caught in the act has a certain thrill to it that I can't deny, and it has my cravings firing back up.

Brandon's muscles flex under the fluorescent lights, accentuating the contour of his jawline and the prominent veins in his forearms. Especially as he closes the heavy metal door to the freezer next to Johnny's new home. Then he turns toward me. It's a miracle he works here, considering the judgemental things people say when they come in contact with me. However, I can't picture Brandon ever saying anything bad about me. He's too genuine and kind. Brandon is someone my parents would have loved to see me with. Being his boss, there is no way I would cross that line, even if, by some miracle, he offered.

"Ahh, thanks?" I don't know why it's a question, but I blame the nervous sensation bubbling in my stomach with the way his eyes penetrate mine. Can he see what I've done? Is my facade flimsy? I anxiously push a hand through my hair under the pretense of smoothing it out. "That last door isn't cooling properly. I'll call the repairman to come look at it," I blurt, a lame attempt at covering my tracks.

I'm hiding Johnny like he's a dirty little secret, but I can't bring myself to reveal him yet, much less have Brandon work on him. If he had known of Johnny's presence, he would have offered to take over working on him and incinerate him later. I don't want Brandon to know he's here at all or give him the chance because then Johnny wouldn't solely be mine. I'm not sure I'm ready to lose control of my dirty little secret. I'm definitely not prepared for the awkward conversation of trying to delay Johnny's annihilation so I can keep him around longer.

"I could call for you. Take the task of getting the freezer fixed off your hands," Brandon offers.

"No, no, that's okay. I can take care of it. You can monitor the phone. If we get a call, you can get the client. Mr. Jenson is ready for the family to go over the final details and take a deposit. His tissue samples are over on the counter, ready for lab pick up."

I give him a little wave and swiftly scuttle away, but not before I see his eyebrow arch at my more than unusual behavior. Can he smell my sex in the air? Have I been caught? I groan at myself once the door is shut, and Brandon can't see my face. I'm hoping I didn't just give myself away or give him any reason to suspect something is off. While chewing on my bottom lip, I make my way to my attached apartment to get some much-needed rest.

Andprepare for my next date with Johnny.

My insides do that funny flip-flop thing again. Exhilarated? Nervous excitement? I'll stick with giddy. I think that's the best way to describe the way I'm feeling right now.