“Charlotte,” he had said to her over brandy, “if you must pursue this goal, and looking at you I can see you must, there is one alternative you have perhaps overlooked. There is a group that studies human anatomy in great detail, and I have even heard of men using it as a stepping stone to go into medicine. A group of men I believe would not hold so much stock as to a person’s gender as most. Personally, I find it repulsive, but, knowing you, you would likely be enthusiastic.”
“Stop beating around the bush,” Charlotte had replied, “and tell me what this is.”
“Mortuary science.”
And so, she now stood at the front door of The Williamsburgh School of Mortuary Science. Charlotte knocked, was admitted, and, a few hours later, she was enrolled.
In two years, Charlotte mastered the handling of the dead and received her degree. She made the ruined whole again, or at least made them look whole. She learned amazing things about the human form: about the seven stages of death, from Pallor Mortis to Skeletonization. Then, for another year, she served as a mortician’s apprentice. She received greater hands-on experience than she could have in any medical university. At the end of her third year, Charlotte Banning was twenty-six years old, and a licensed mortician. She gave up the goal of practicing medicine; she had found her calling.
~
She used family money to purchase a house in Gloucester, Mass., a town known for its progressive thinking. She set up her mortuary in the basement with a separate entrance in the back. Her office and waiting/viewing area were on the ground floor and her living quarters on the floor above. She bought discrete ads in local papers and set out to meet her neighbors. She was a lovely and personable woman and made friends quickly. Soon enough, clients began to appear. She was providing a service, after all, that would always be needed.
After a few months in town, she met Winston DeGuerre, a handsome man who had been visiting his ailing aunt in England; she had passed away while he was there, so he had come home to his beloved Gloucester. He got word of the new, and by all accounts beautiful, mortician and made his presence known to her. For Charlotte’s part, she was not unimpressed, and allowed Winston to court her.
“Do you know,” he asked her, as the two of them sat on her front porch. “This island was visited by a sea serpent?”
“Really?”
“Truth,” Winston said. “It wasn’t so long ago. Perhaps it will come back.”
“If you’re trying to frighten me,” Charlotte said, “you’ll do well to remember that I handle the dead for a living. I’m not easily spooked.”
“I,” Winston made a face, “sincerely wish you wouldn’t mention that. It makes it difficult for me to see you as the delicate, feminine creature I so desire.”
“I like to think I can be feminine without having to resort to being delicate.” She smiled.
“You speak like a man.”
“As do you.”
“Yes,” Winston said, “but I am a man.”
“Tell me more about the sea serpent,” Charlotte said.
So, Winston regaled her with the famous tale of the Gloucester Sea Serpent. She was enchanted by the way the townspeople protected the beast from those that tried to kill it.
“I love it,” Charlotte said. “This place has such an interesting history. Thank you for telling me about this, Winston. You’re a peach.”
She kissed him on the cheek and he flushed, taken aback. She noticed and awarded him with a devilish smile.
“Did you know, Winston, that a flush, such as the one on your face right now, is caused by a surge of blood to the face, and is in direct corollary to the rush of blood to another part of the body that is usually indicative of an increased level of sexual arousal?”
“I’ve never heard that before,” said Winston, his blush deepening as he suddenly became hyper-aware of that other part of him, and the blood that was, in fact, starting to rush there.
“That’s because I made it up,” Charlotte said laughing. She stood. “I’m going to get some more lemonade. Coming?”
“Um,” Winston hedged. “I’ll just sit for a bit longer, I think. It’s a lovely evening.”
Charlotte laughed at his discomfort, but not cruelly; her eyes sparkled at him.
“Suit yourself. I’ll be back shortly. Here, give me your glass and I’ll bring you some.”
~
Charlotte Banning flipped the five switches that turned on all the basement lights. She had a new body to tend to that had just arrived. A young man, maybe twenty-three, had fallen off a roof and broken his neck. Likely killed within seconds, even instantly. Charlotte removed the sheet and did a quick visual examination. Yes, the head was at an impossible angle and she could clearly see the vertebrae slammed to one side by the impact. Other than that, and a few minor scrapes from the roof shingles as he fell, the body was in good shape. Exceptional shape. Charlotte found herself looking at his groin. It was above average, but not spectacularly large. It was straight, nestled in short, curly reddish-brown hair.
The hair looked soft, and without realizing what she was doing, Charlotte found herself stroking it idly with her fingers. Part of her mind, the rational, scientific part, wondered what the hell she was doing . . . but she didn’t stop. She took off her gloves so she could feel the hair; it was soft indeed, and she grabbed it gently with her fingers, tugging a bit. When she did, something else moved. As she stared, Charlotte realized she wasn’t moving it…it was moving on its own, growing, getting hard.
“Rigor mortis,” Charlotte said aloud. “The stiffness of death.” She knew this was possible; she had read about such cases, shortly after death, but hadn’t seen it firsthand. As she watched—still playing with the fine, soft hairs—it got all the way stiff. She took it in her hand and admired it. It was bigger than she expected, based on its flaccid state. She continued stroking, mesmerized as her hand slid up and down, up and down. She felt herself become wet.
Again, Charlotte’s rational mind rebelled, silently screaming for her to stop. She did not. She stroked the corpse’s thick meat from base to tip, and her excitement continued to grow. Without stopping, without letting go, she slipped her free hand under her skirt, pulled aside her soaked cotton panties and slowly stroked herself, too.
For a while, the manual stimulation was good, really good. It was enough. For a while…then, it suddenly wasn’t.
With a guilty look around—to verify she was alone—Charlotte completely removed her panties and climbed up on the table. With trembling legs, she mounted the deceased man. The dead flesh penetrated Charlotte’s body and she gasped in shock and pleasure. There was some pain as she deflowered herself, but it wasn’t bad. Soon, as she continued to grind against the rock hard penis, there was only wet, hot pleasure.
A knot built in her stomach as Charlotte drove herself toward ecstasy. She started to climax, and, inside her, there was a tremor as the cock she rode twitched and spasmed; the movement drove her over the edge. When she finally stopped shaking, Charlotte sat still, feeling him subside, as a live man would.
When her ardor cooled, her sanity returned. She looked down at what she was doing and was ashamed. She got off of him and straightened her clothes. She found a towel to clean him off and stopped short. There, mixed into that fine, soft hair was blood from her broken hymen and semen. He came inside her.
She threw up.
~
Two months later, Winston and Charlotte were married. It was a lovely ceremony with just over a hundred guests. After their guests left, he carried her over the threshold of his house and into the bedroom. She was giddy, happy as a schoolgirl in his strong arms.
“I do love you so,” he whispered into her neck.
“And I you, my handsome prince,” she replied. Her stomach was in knots, but she was sure it was nerves and hid it. He slid her onto the queen-sized bed. Watching his eyes, she slowly pulled up the hem of her wedding dress, exposing her legs inch by inch. He blushed crimson, and she laughed throatily.<
br />
“You’re blushing again, my darling. Is blood rushing elsewhere, too?”
“By God, woman,” he said. “You’re impossible!”
“No,” she whispered. “What I am is yours.”
She pulled him down for a kiss, feeling the heat of him. So very different from the last one, the cool and silent one. She shook her head, driving the thought away.
“What?” Winston said, worried. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” she said. “It’s... it’s work. I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy and tired. It’s not you. Come here.”
She undressed him one button at a time, while he watched her fingers. When he was down to nothing at all, she stared, drinking him in. She reached up to undo her gown, but he stopped her.
“Let me,” he said, his voice tender. He took his time revealing her flesh. When she was naked, he stared as she had.
“My God,” he breathed. “You’re so beautiful.”
“I’ve grown a bit fat, I’m afraid,” she said, looking at herself.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “That’s just a little bump. I think it’s quite fetching, actually.”
“Will you,” Charlotte asked, “kiss it?”
“My darling wife,” Winston grinned at her. “I’ll kiss anything you want.”
And he did, and she vibrated to the pleasure of his mouth. Finally, she made him stop and took her turn. He loved it, but made her stop almost right away.
“I can’t,” he gasped. “If you do that, I can’t wait. I’ll go, and I don’t want to yet.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Some other time, we’ll do it again, and I won’t let you stop me.”
“I look forward to that,” Winston said. “Now, please, my wife, lie back and let me please you.”
He teased her a bit, almost entering her, and she grabbed his face.
“Don’t make me wait anymore,” she panted.
He slid all the way into her. Her first thought was how hot he was; so much heat in one place. Her second was that he was not quite as big as her last. She quashed that thought, mortified, and concentrated on the feeling between her legs. It was easy to do; the feeling was incredible.
“Rigor Vitae,” she murmured.
“What?” Winston stopped.
“Don’t stop,” Charlotte said. “Rigor Vitae, I said— the stiffness of life. I was appreciating yours.”
“You’re a crazy woman, do you know that? I’ve married a lunatic.”
“Fine, just as long as you keep moving. Just. Like. That.”
She thrust against him with her pelvis, forcing him deeper inside her. She came again and again and the passion drove him over the edge until he spent himself inside her.
Just as he did, he felt something, an extra set of muscles perhaps, envelop him and squeeze. Almost too hard, almost painful, but wonderful at the same time. His orgasm was explosive, a level of pleasure he hadn’t imagined possible. He collapsed atop her, exhausted and dripping with sweat. Moments later, they were spooned together, asleep.
~
In the morning, relieving himself, Winston was shocked to see tiny red circles on the shaft and head of his penis. They were sore and tender to the touch. He worried that his wife had a disease, perhaps caught from a dead body, and now he had it, too. Leaving quietly, so as not to wake Charlotte, he walked to Dr. Billings’s. Billings was a friend as well was his physician, and could be counted on to be discreet.
“I’ve never seen anything like it, Winston.” The doctor examined the sores with a magnifying glass. “Actually, I have, but it was much larger and on a leg.”
“What?”
“Man came in here one summer who’d been skin diving. He had an unpleasant encounter with an octopus. Seems he stepped on the poor animal and it sprayed him with ink and grabbed his leg with its tentacles. The suckers made wounds that look exactly like these, only larger, the size of a nickel. You haven’t been doing unspeakable things with a baby octopus, by any chance?”
The doctor laughed at his own joke, but Winston was not amused.
“Last night was my wedding night.”
“Oh. Oh my,” the doctor said. “Perhaps I should examine your wife?”
“Yes,” Winston said. “I think that might be a very good idea.”
~
Charlotte woke alone in the big bed and immediately wondered if she’d done something wrong. Then she chided herself for being silly and got up. She took a long bath and dressed. She made breakfast for herself, wishing her husband was here to enjoy it, too. He walked in as she was eating.
“I didn’t know how long you’d be, so I started without you. I’ll throw another two eggs on for you. Just a moment.”
“Thank you,” Winston said, cold, polite.
“What is it?” Charlotte froze. “I did something wrong, didn’t I? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do; I’ve never done this before. Never been married, I mean. I’ve made breakfast of course. Lots of times. God, I’m babbling. Just tell me what’s the matter, Winston. Please?”
“There’s...” he stopped. “I want you to see Dr. Billings. Today, if possible. Soon after if not.”
“But, why? I don’t feel sick. In fact, I feel wonderful. Last night, you made me feel wonderful.”
Winston slammed a palm on the table, scaring Charlotte.
“I do not want to talk about last night!”
She was stunned into silence. Her appetite fled and she sat down on the floor where she was. Winston looked at her, emotions battling for control of his face. Without another word, he left the room. Charlotte wasn’t much for crying. She never had been, but tears filled her eyes then. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and stood. She grabbed a shawl from the hook by the door and went out, closing the door behind her, listening for the latch.
Back straight, she walked to Dr. Billings’s. She had no idea what to expect when she got there. Her husband’s anger had unnerved her. Was something wrong with her? Was she somehow unclean? Unworthy?
~
“Everything seems fine, Mrs. DeGuerre,” Dr. Billings said. “Is this why you and Winston got married so quickly? I won’t tell a soul, of course.”
“Tell a soul what, doctor?”
“Why, that you’re pregnant of course,” the doctor said. “Of course Winston did the right thing. He’ll be a good father, I assure you.”
“I’m,” Charlotte stuttered, “pregnant?”
“Yes, of course. About two months, I’d say. You didn’t know? That happens sometimes. Mothers sometimes delude themselves that they’re not pregnant for months. Why, I’ve even heard of women who gave birth and seemed shocked that a baby had been inside of them at all. Seems a bit far-fetched to me, but the world is a strange place, you have to agree.”
“It certainly is,” Charlotte said, thinking about two months ago and the only other man she’d ever had inside her. How there was semen on his dead body. How he had cum inside her. “Doctor,” Charlotte’s voice quavered. “Why did my husband ask me to see you? Did he know I was pregnant?” The word felt strange in her mouth, alien.
“No, no,” Dr. Billings said. “He came to see me about an odd...rash he discovered this morning. He wanted to make sure it wasn’t something contagious, that you hadn’t gotten it, too.”
“What rash? I saw him naked last night, and his body was flawless.”
“Dear me,” the doctor blushed a little. “I think it showed up this morning. I told him it was probably nothing, but he wanted me to check you just in case. I do have patients waiting, Mrs. DeGeurre. Congratulations on your baby.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said, getting up to leave.
~
Winston was waiting for her when she got home. For a long moment, they just looked at one another.
“How was your visit with Dr. Billings?”
“Fine,” Charlotte said. “He said I’m healthy and normal.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Ch
arlotte snapped. “Why? Does that surprise you?”
“Honestly,” Winston shot back. “Yes. It does, a little. Come with me, please.”
He led her to the bathroom, closed the door. He pulled down his pants and breeches and showed her the marks. They were tiny perfect circles, angry and red. Charlotte knelt in front of him and looked. She used her hand to turn him one way, then the other. His body reacted to her touch, though he was still a bit afraid, a tad repulsed.
“What are they?” She asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me. I think they happened inside of you. At the last moment, I felt something, a pressure, a tugging, a squeezing. It almost hurt, but also felt amazing. Maybe that’s it. Maybe you have some special muscles no other woman does.”
He was getting hard, talking about it, her hand still on him. She saw and smiled.
“Shall I kiss it and make it all better, my husband?”
Without waiting for him to respond, she took him in her mouth, and true to her word, ignored his pleas for her to stop. She drank him down as he shuddered all over.
He forgot all about being upset. He forgot all about everything.
~
For two weeks, she put off letting him enter her again, for fear of somehow hurting her husband. She was also very aware of life growing inside her. She was excited to be a mother, but filled with shame that it was not her husband’s. But, two weeks is a long time for a man, especially a man who just got married and has only had his wife once. Even a man who might be a little afraid of doing it again. And often, desire overpowers fear, and makes us forget we are afraid.
Two weeks is also a long time for a woman. Charlotte wanted Winston just as much as he wanted her. Finally, there really was no choice.
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