Living amongst the Dead

by J. Morgan

  Lying down on the sofa, it wasn’t long before tiff slunk down. He groaned, moved to get up to make her room, but she held out her hand.

  “No no, it’s ok, rest…”

  He sighed in response, lying back down again, barrel chest and beer belly rising and falling as he caught his breath from all the punching of those holes and all the digging. This had been a tiring day, but he felt accomplished, he felt good, even if his face reflected weariness. She sat on a lounge chair; it was just to the side of the couch, and towards the stairs, in the corner. She looked at the sweat-soaked short hair on the top of his head, the widow’s peak, and secretly, was impressed that he went to such lengths for two complete strangers. Not ONCE did he try to get her to help, nor was he appearing to want to boast or brag at how ‘good’ he was for having done it, as though thinking he deserved a pat on the back.

  “You buried them?” Her somewhat high-pitched voice asked gently, feigning ignorance to what he had been doing. She was answered with a nod. An arm came up over the arm rest of the chair, above his head to try and get it in a comfortable position, and it just so happened to show the dirt under his short finger nails. Dirt could also be seen on his jeans.

  “That was nice of you… I wouldn’t have been able to do it.” That was a modest thing for her to say, and the hand over his head, his right hand, waved dismissively as though it was nothing, or that she could have done it herself if she tried. “No, I mean it; it’s noble of you…” His head moved slowly then, eyebrows low, looking sideways, back at her as though she just claimed to be the Sorceress of the land of Nodnol.

  “Well thank you, but really, they deserved it. Lived a long life… maintained their lovely home… probably raised a bunch of kids, who raised their grandkids, who might even have had great grandkids for them…” Richard was still winded, but still articulated himself well. “It’s just a shame that it would seem none of their relatives made it, or at least none of them made it here to care for them, so I did my best. I know if I were to die tomorrow, I’d be grateful for someone to go through all this effort.”

  “I don’t think I’d be able to do that…”

  “Good thing I’m not planning to die tomorrow.” He grinned, and though she didn’t see it, she smiled as well at the response. “God, I’m just about ready to hit the sack… I’m exhausted… and after all the sweating I’ve done today I’m sure you’re well aware of how I must smell right now…”

  “Oh don’t worry about it, it’s not THAT bad, at least we’re not stuck in a sealed-in box of a truck where it can compound on itself.” That was true, and he was glad to hear it. The thought of telling her to sleep with him tonight was tempting, so he could enjoy her, but feeling so gross, so wet, so sticky with the salty moisture, he felt too nasty to even ATTEMPT to request she accompany him tonight. Maybe when his sweat dries… and almost sensing his thought, having not heard her walk away, she had grabbed a towel from the washroom and tossed it over to him, which made him jump.

  “Jesus!... oh, thank you.” He exclaimed before giving his gratitude. He dabbed it on his forehead, but then was surprised as he felt resistance from her handling it. It was pulled away from his face, looking to her; she was kneeling beside him, looking uncomfortable and awkward in his gaze. Looking at the uppity woman strangely, he released the towel with apprehension in his features, letting her have control of it, and so laid his head back to let her go about drying him. This was most unexpected, but in a way, pleasant. Perhaps she was finding him to be a good fellow after all, or maybe she had stuck a kitchen knife in the back of her skirt and was just now getting ready to plunge it in his throat and/or face.

  That thought was too unsettling. The towel was yanked away from her, looking at her fiercely, she withdrew from his hard stare that seemed to study her. Looking from her green eyes, down her blouse, to her skirt; he was trying to see anything that could possibly be a weapon.

  “What?...” she asked accusatorily, pushing herself up from beside the coffee table onto her feet. “I was just trying to help… no need to get grabby…” the woman said defensively, going to the lounge chair to sit down, and she was right to get defensive. He was being rude in the face of her kindness due to paranoia.

  “I’m sorry, I just have a hard time trusting people… you can understand wh- no, I don’t mean THAT. I just… bah…” It sounded like he was bringing up, again, that she had tried to shoot him. It WAS a terrible thing that she had done, and he did not forgive her for it, but every time he brought it up it soured the mood and he didn’t want to sour this moment of peace and relaxation. An attempt was made to specify that he didn’t mean when that had happened, but then just gave up, hands raising in defeat before falling down, left arm hanging along the front of the couch, right forearm coming to his beer belly.

  “Ahhhhhhh…” Tiff gave a long sigh, a pained sigh, one that told of something that was soon to come up that she was hoping she’d never have to address. “I’m sorry…” a pause, a moment’s silence, and she elaborated; “I’m sorry for… trying to shoot you. I had seen you in the park, you seemed to know what you were doing, seemed to have lots of stuff with you, maybe good stuff… I was going to try to get to you, to ask you for help, or… well… if you didn’t agree to help… I would have… well I was going to…”

  “To shoot me. I get it… people have to resort to that now sometimes. I am a have, you were a have-not; you were starving. Either take what I had, or you would die… I’m saying I understand, but I’m not saying I forgive you for it.”

  “I understand, I mean, I get it… yeah… I don’t expect forgiveness; I just wanted to make things clear. In spite of… last night… you seem like a decent guy. I’m glad I spotted you when I did. I just wish I didn’t have so much company when we met, heh.” Another awkward silence between them, the joke being an admirable effort, but her little light hearted chuckle was not shared by him.

  “So you understand why I do not regret what I did…” It was said flatly, though still posed as a question. Richard was still lying on his back on the couch, facing the ceiling for the most part, his feet down towards the wide access between kitchen and living room. The walls in the kitchen were painted a sort of dark beige, while in the room they presently rested, it was more of a maroon red. An interesting contrast, but somehow he liked the dark red walls.

  “… I… understand… and…” Her words were coming out slowly, measured, as though she wasn’t sure which words were correct to use, and something about her tone made her curious, curious as to what she was about to say. “… I don’t think… I regret it… either…” The slow, somewhat sporadic sentence was finished with a tone as though she just said something she shouldn’t have, like she had taken his backpack and hidden it away or thought that when she first seen him she thought he looked like a disgusting homeless person, which wasn’t entirely untrue though she wouldn’t dare say that to him now. Not because she feared him, which she kind of did, but because she wanted to try and improve things between them.

  He grunted, sitting himself up, clearly sore and tired from the day’s work. The sweat on his head was gone now, however removing his sweater, sweat stains were revealed on his black t-shirt as well as white streaks where salt was left behind. Brown eyes just stared at her, a subtle grin slowly spreading on his face, and it made her grimace. What was he going to say NOW? Her eyes narrowed at him, frowning, leaning away from him where she sat in the chair.

  “Sorry for the smile, I’m not gonna say anything cheeky, I promise.”

  One of her eyebrows lifted, “… are you suuuure?...” his cheesy joke about ‘kissing a girl and liking it’ popped into her head.

  “Scout’s honour.” He lifted up three fingers; thumb holding his pinky down.

  “You were in Scouts?”

  “Nope.” To this she grinned back, smiling, possibly the first full and honest smile she’d had in… well… before even moving to Strathcom, the town outside of which they had met.

  “
Look, just please, don’t make this more awkward for me than it has to be? We’re both human after all…” She was looking down now, hands between her knees with fingers intertwined, hunched over, looking thoroughly vulnerable. His face went straight at the sight; perhaps he was indeed being too hard on her, too distant and uncaring. He stood with a grunt which made her look up to him again. The man walked over, towel draped over his right shoulder, left hand held out towards her.

  “Let’s go lie down for a little while, eh? Just relax for a bit…” she felt her heartrate increase and was tempted to ask accusatorily ‘JUST to relax for a little? Nothing else?...’, however bit her tongue and kept the snotty comment to herself. The hand was taken, and he helped her up. “Want some help up?” The stairs were pretty narrow, he couldn’t carry her up if he wanted to unless perhaps she was on his back, and even then there wasn’t much height. He had to bend over as it was in order to go up. He couldn’t offer her to put an arm over his shoulder so they could go up side by side, so it was a stupid thing to ask. She shook her head and said she’d be alright. He led the way up, door unlocked by the time she got to the top of the stairs.

  In she went, seeing the master bedroom for the first time. Along the wall to her right, along the westerly wall, pictures were framed, various qualities from various decades in the past. Down on the southern wall was nothing save for an angelic picture. Not a two-dimensional picture for even a stick figure technically had two dimensions. No, it sort of had two LAYERS, and featured a calm forest for scenery, a pleasant river, along which some angels fluttering about over this fresh, blue, rolling water. The two layers caused a kind of shiny 3D effect.

  In the southeastern corner was the bed, a small night stand serving to give a gap between the southern side of the bed and the southern wall. A humble lamp sat atop that night stand, and an identical one on the opposite side of the bed both in terms of style of lamp and style of night stand. At the central part of the eastern wall was the wide dresser on which a large mirror stood. Three drawers on both sides, and it didn’t take long to figure out that the left group of drawers held Charlie’s clothes while the right group of drawers held his wife’s. The walls were painted baby blue; the comforter on the bed was a sort of plaid with various different colours, mostly whitish and bluish.

  In the northwest corner, along the north wall, was a doorway that was rather higher up. About a foot above the ground, or at least close, probably leading to the attic which he had NO interest in checking out. Never before in his life had he been in an attic, and all he’d learned in the media was that it was the source of webs, spiders, maybe cockroaches, and possibly some hidden pirate treasure stowed away by a certain One-Eyed Willy.

  Tiffany went over to the foot of the large bed to sit down, over the headboard behind her stood stoically a window with curtains drawn open; she turned and faced Richard. He had just entered; his backpack close to the northern wall, roughly near the center of it, the door leading to the stairs that went to the attic off to its right from their perspective. During one of his trips up here into the room which he would proclaim as his own until they left, his rifle with safety engaged was leaned against the night stand on the northern side of the bed. The side closest to the door which was on the eastern wall along the northern side. He was filled with confidence, but did not allow it, or at least not too much of it, to show.

  The bedroom door was closed behind the man, locked with a click, and he passed his pack. Motioning to take off his t-shirt on the way but thinking that going bare buff would be a bit presumptuous, he stopped. Her eyes were zipping back and forth, from the man who was becoming nearer now, to the dresser which she seemed to have chosen as her go-to location for her eyes to look. She seemed nervous about directing her eyes to him, to the man she was alone in a room with, the only man with whom she had ever had sex with.

  “Don’t let me… intrude…” It was spoken awkwardly; the choice of words seeming odd and she seemed to sense such, cheeks turning red with a blush from embarrassment. It was obvious she meant not to keep him from doing whatever made him comfortable, and so, taking that as a sign that she wanted to see more of him, the black t-shirt of dried sweat was removed, let fall to the carpeted floor. Upper body was now exposed. A noticeable amount of hair was on his chest and stomach. Softness from stored calories caused by alcohol and occasionally gorging himself on hunted meat; he had to eat quickly to try and keep as little meat as possible from going off. Faint sign of man tits though not to an excessive amount… a perfect specimen of man this was not, but still, he stood tall, proud of his masculinity. Forearms more tanned than the area of his biceps, it definitely qualifies as a farmer’s tan.

  “I suppose you ought to see the entire package… considering what we’ve already done.” She had caught a brief glimpse of him with his upper body exposed, but aside from that short little look, did not peer at the man. Her eyes were fixed on the dresser, but it was obvious that he was within her peripheral vision. Without any signs of refusal, any wishes for his supposed ‘entire package’ to be kept hidden, he continued to undress. Belt loosened, slipped off his pants. Sheathed bayonet fell to the floor; he had forgotten that aspect. Pistol holster was pulled off, the metal tab holding it onto the hem of his jeans yanked off. She eyed the firearm nervously, and indeed when her eyes came to his body it reflected nervousness.

  Sidearm was unholstered as he walked to the nearest night stand where it was placed down by his rifle, Tiff sat a mere few feet from him to his right, to his west. Once the black leather holster was let fall to the ground near the bayonet, so too fell the denim, two magazines still in his butt pockets, a loaded 7-round one in his left butt pocket, and a 3-round one in his right butt pocket, two fully loaded mags still on the dresser from when he removed them to do the digging. With the pants down, he was exposed, no underwear in sight. Soft, his manhood was somewhat unremarkable. Uncircumcised, a somewhat generous amount of foreskin, bush above the junk, scrotum sporting sparsely placed curly pubic hairs, but she believed that it did not reflect what she felt last night. It seemed… smaller… even though this was the first time she had really SEEN it.

  Her nervous but incredulous sight to his crotch was noted. “I’m a grower… not a show-er…” Green eyes above a bright red face looked up to his own brown eyes. “It gets bigger when I get hard…” A simple explanation for what he meant and she nodded with her head bobbing, mouth opening to an ‘Ohhhhh’ gesture. Something in her features made him think that she didn’t believe what she’d just been told so was just PRETENDING to understand. Simply in being naked before someone, it was already making the member stir, making it swell a bit. Beneath his genitalia, legs kept him standing, legs thick with muscle and perhaps a slight layer of body fat. Calves in particular were clearly quite strong, no stranger to squatting down to get things since it wasn’t as unseemly as bending over, and being 6’ tall, it was quite a ways to have to bend over.

  “So, I think it’s your turn now…” Sitting down next to her, left arm going over her shoulders, he held her close to him. “Would you like me to do it for yo-?” His right hand had come forward to the topmost button of her blouse, but she had grabbed it by the wrist.

  “I… just… let me keep on my underwear at least. I mean you did say we were just going to lie down…” It sounded like a joke, but her face was utterly red, clearly quite nervous. The nearly completely nude fellow beside her, save for wearing socks, got up to stand then, revealing his taut ass to her for a moment. Back was rather hairy as well, a bit of acne up at the shoulders as to be expected. It was rather unsightly, but hey, nobody was perfect, and if she wanted human companionship then he was the only possible person to get it from without digging up the grave he’d buried this afternoon.

  He went to the drawers, opening Charlie’s topmost one. Socks, nice, he pulled out a pair and then a pair of underwear since he didn’t have any. Stretching it, it was obviously too small, so the undies were abandoned. Sitting next to her again, he pu
lled off his own socks, tossing them over towards the attic door on the far side of the room. Almost as expected, the tops of his feet also had hair, along with on the tops of his toes, however his toe NAILS were of reasonable length. It was handy to have a pair of finger nail clippers on his keychain. The new pair of socks were dawned, and they were a tad tight, but being stretchy, were still decent. In time they’ll stretch to accommodate his size 11 feet.

  While he was tending to the drawers to find these socks, she had given a nervous sigh, clearly apprehensive about doing what she was about to do, but began undoing the buttons all the same. It wasn’t long before her blouse was off, tossed to the floor just by the bed, her bra more red than the old dye in her hair, her natural brunette colour CLEARLY evident by the roots. Now she was standing as well, working on slipping the skirt off.

  “Maybe you could find some pants that Denise had; you’ll be wanting to dress more warmly as we get further into autumn.” She nodded but did not say anything as the skirt left her as well leaving her in matching red panties. He whistled, she gave a sobering glare at him, and so his lips were pursed while a hand was raised to show he had meant it in gest. Her legs had obvious hair, he’d spotted some under arm hair when she discarded the blouse, but it didn’t bother him at all. They sat next to each other now, his left arm came over her shoulders once again, right hand came forward and cupped her face, neck stiffened as he did so, and he could feel her nervousness.

  “Don’t worry… we won’t do anything you don’t want to do… we’ll just be lying down to rest… I just want to do this first.” He leaned in, she took a breath in through her nose, hitching it in her lungs; the man felt her body go somewhat rigid. Surely, even if she was a virgin before him, she’d kissed a MAN before… his lips met hers, a close-mouthed kiss; his lips which had been wetted by his tongue just beforehand met her somewhat dry and rough lips. Left hand slid from her left shoulder to the back of her head, the kiss remained for a moment, intensified, and then the lips separated.