8. For the Love of Lurch, Arts and Crafts

Charles wasn't lying when he called the other day. The amount of body parts I had to collect from the hospital was outrageous. The staff needed some time to release all the victims, as they had to carefully match limbs with a couple of the individuals involved in the accident Most of the bodies were disfigured beyond repair, and their insides turned into tomato soup. Which is sad… I've been looking for an inflamed pancreas to add to my collection of jars. It would've looked nice next to my blackened lungs and a broken heart. Oh, well, maybe next time.

I haven't moved the arms and legs to the incinerator because that means I'll have to give up Johnny. It's not often we receive random body parts to incinerate. But when we do, we tend to add them to the lucky cadaver that's not getting an open casket or burial, as the machine takes a lot of power to fire. Putting loved ones in urns isn't always the preferred choice, but sometimes the inevitable one. Adding those few random human pieces we acquire to the cremation burn saves on energy. They receive an urn with dust and bone fragments. The savings get passed down to our clients. It's not as if my funeral home business is overflowing with money like a multi-million dollar strip mall or something. The Adams Family Parlor and Crematory is located in a middle-class neighborhood. Most families are penny-pinching to get by and can't afford a fancy funeral. This is especially true if the departed was the breadwinner.

My mind has been on Johnny since I took his cock inside of me two days ago. The memory constantly has me squeezing my thighs together. It was the most intense orgasm I'd ever felt. There's something so different about skin on skin rather than plastic on skin. Dead or not, he felt good between my folds. I may have lost my virginity—If we don't count me taking my own—to a corpse, but honestly, I don't think I'd have it any other way.

I tap my nails on the desk and let my eyes wander to the jar of body parts I have on display. I'm able to keep them out and not locked in a closet because the very few people that come back here assume it's for science. Typically, it helps with my nervousness, but I'm still drumming my fingers on the desk, allowing my thoughts to wander. I've been tapping for so long that I'm surprised the glossy black polish hasn't chipped. No matter what I do, my thoughts always return to the man with the thick twelve-inch cock in hand. He may be a dead, cold body, but I don't remember ever finding any live person being this appealing.

My feet betray me. It's as if they have a mind of their own. I'm already halfway across the room before I realize what I'm doing. I just need to see him. Maybe if he's finally out of rigor mortis, then my brain can rest, and my thoughts won't linger on him every second of the day.

The stainless steel handle of the freezer is cold in my hand as I pause. I take a moment to breathe and prepare for any outcome. You got this. There is no way you'll want him after the rigor has subsided, and his dick is as flaccid as a banana peel without a banana.

"Right, good pep talk," I mumble to myself as I twist my grip and open the door.

The white sheet covering him hides nothing. Contrary to all my hopes, all twelve inches are still standing tall and proud. I bite my lip at the sudden throb pulsing in my clit. It's like an electrical current running through my system, making me tingle. My body is desperate to rub itself against his icy, stone shaft again.

I pull the tray out all the way, wanting a better look at him. Or at least that's what I convince myself of because there's no way I'm doing that again. I was in a low place last night, so that's why I succumbed to my forbidden desires. That's all.

I may be at my lowest, but I haven't hit rock bottom yet. There's always hell. Or mornings without coffee.

With the tips of my fingers, I trail along his calf muscles, his thighs, past his groin toward his chest, mapping him out with my touch. Shivers course through my limbs, causing my insides to seem like they're vibrating. What if he could touch me the way I'm touching him?

I grab the hand lying stiff at his side. There's a slight crunch as the shoulder joint pops and loosens, becoming easier to maneuver. It's semi-cupped, which is perfect for what I need. With his fingertips, I mimic the action of grazing lightly over my arms and my lower stomach and lifting the hem of my short-sleeved shirt to allow his palm to cradle my breast. My nipples harden into sharp peaks, and goosebumps rise on my arms. I've never experienced this kind of sensual touch. It makes my pussy clench around nothing, hungry to be filled and drenching my panties.

Against my will, a moan surges from my throat, and I lose all sense of morals. After removing my pants faster than one could say, Abracadabra! I climb on top of him, aiming his cock at my center. I'm already so wet just from merely touching him. I don't waste time sinking down on his length, taking in his fingertips as well. It takes a few moments, but I'm not a quitter. I groan, rocking my hips to hit that sweet spot deep inside while I use his stiff hand to massage my breasts.

I'm so close. It's going to be quick. The whirlpool within is dragging me under. I'm almost there if I could only keep my shirt from constantly falling and covering my breasts. Getting frustrated with the material, I rip it over my head one-handed. When I do, I lose my balance, gripping Johnny's hand so as not to fall. A loud tear echoes in the room, and before I know it, I'm on my back on the cold tile floor, looking up at the ceiling. Black specks float in my vision, and my head pounds to the rhythm of my pulse. A slow and methodical beat.

A heavy weight presses down on my stomach, making it uncomfortable to breathe. I roll to my side, thinking that might help when a thud smacks the ceramic tile. Glancing around to see what landed on my stomach, my eyes land on the culprit, and I rush to my feet.

"Oh no, Johnny," I squeal, picking up the dead weight of his arm from the floor. I must've pulled it off when I fell.

There's a pang in my chest at what I had done. Accident or not, I feel bad. The dead shouldn't be dismantled like that. They are to be cherished and taken care of. Respected.

Well, screwing one counts as praising them, right?

Alrighty, get your shit together, Monica.The most important thing right now is to reattach it. With my ass naked, I sprint to my medical supplies and grab a suture kit. The thick thread should help to reconnect the limb to Johnny.

He's like my favorite porcelain tea cup that has shattered into a million tiny pieces. Every ragged piece needs to fit just right. I frown at the place where the arm needs to be reattached. His bluish flesh which has the texture of tissue paper, is torn and jagged on the edges. I attempt to angle it this way and move around, angling it another, but I'm stumped. This might not work as well as I had hoped. I jog back to my supplies and snatch medical glue as well. At least this will help hold the bones together and assist with any holes in the stitching.

While working on Johnny, my cell rings, but I ignore it. My sole focus is putting my baby back together. I apply a hefty amount of glue to the ball and socket of the shoulder joint and press them together. The sinew and tendons bulge around the bones. I push hard… hard enough to move the table until it pops back in place. Before grabbing the needle and thread, I add a generous amount of adhesive into the wound. There's some space between the arm and shoulders where the muscles are torn in uneven edges, and I slather sealant to hold it in place. Once it adheres, I'll sew him up.

Now that part is done, I can get started on my real masterpiece. It's a few hours of sewing, tearing, adding more stable slabs of skin, and spreading more adhesive before I finish. When I'm complete, I stand back with my hands on my hips in admiration. His arm is a beautiful patchwork of flesh from the dismembered parts from the crash, glue, and thread. When Johnny's delicate flesh began ripping, I had the brilliant idea to give it more stability. Holding my head high, I push my chest out. Warmth spreads behind my ribs, then tugs at the corners of my lips, proud of the achievement and artistry. Johnny now reminds me of my favorite story of all time, Frankenstein.

The ringing of my phone stops me from admiring my work. "Ugh, coming," I groan to no one but Johnny. I'm sure he feels my pain. I answer it on the third ring. "Yes?"

"Well, hello to you too, sunshine." It's Charles. There's a bit of a pause before he says, "Playing with the dead again?"

A cool breeze from the vent hits my skin, and I shiver. It's then I realize I've been running around, completely naked and comfortable in my own skin. Wow, that's a change.

I shrug as if he can see it and answer. "I find them more interesting than the living."

A weird noise crackles from the earpiece of my phone. I pull it from my face and study the caller's idea, blinking a few times to make sure I'm seeing correctly. It says I'm still connected to Charles. Putting it back to my ear, I realize Charles is… laughing?

"Wow, you finally dished it back. I'm proud of you, Monica."

Uhhh….what is going on?This has to be the longest conversation we've ever had on the phone. "Um, not that it isn't a pleasure to hear from you, Charles, but why did you call?" I'm back to my old self again, blunt and straight to the point.

"Did you incinerate that John Doe from the other night?"

My breath catches in my chest. "Yeah, why?"

"No reason, just a gut feeling that maybe there was more to it than… ahh, never mind. I was hoping you had been swamped and hadn't had time to burn it. No worries. It was probably nothing. I'll let you get back to your dead things."

Then, silence. There's the Charles I know, ending a phone call without saying goodbye.

Strange. More to it? I wonder what he meant by that. Johnny's death seems pretty straightforward. I flick my eyes over to him, and his massive fucking pringles can. Seems as straight as his cock to me.