What the hell do you do or say when you feel as though you've just fucked a corpse? I'm sure it's not a situation covered in any standard book of etiquette!
Having done all the work, I lay on my back breathing heavily for a while. Pam rolled over so her back was toward me. She said nothing. Silence reigned. I felt like a guest who'd committed some awful faux pas, a gaffe so enormous that I would from this night onward be shunned by polite society.
I remained silent too. All sorts of thoughts were running through my brain and my initial instinct was to just leave, get the hell out of there. But then came the most disturbing thought of all, one that relates to a cute Australian animal called the wombat.
For many readers, this thought may lose a bit in the translation, but here goes. If you asked me about a wombat's diet, I would tell you that he eats roots, shoots and leaves.
In Australia, as well as providing below-ground anchorage for plants or trees, the word root is synonomous with fuck, screw or bonk, as in "I rooted her senseless" or "It's been two weeks since I had a decent root".
Suddenly I was a wombat. I'd eaten this woman's excellent food. I'd fucked her unresponsive body. I'd shot a load of cum deep within her. And now I was contemplating leaving, thus becoming one of those who eats, roots, shoots and then leaves! I'd always considered myself far too classy to do that.
I finally spoke: "I'm just going to have a quick shower." There was no response so I headed to the bathroom.
After a nice, long shower I returned to the bedroom and slid in alongside Pam. I'd decided to at least stay till morning in the hope of departing as a "friend" rather than as a fleeing rapist. She'd obviously made some movement while I was showering because she was wearing her night attire once more. This was a relief as it spared me from checking her pulse to ensure she hadn't died post-fuck!
I awoke around dawn, my body nestled into Pam's back, my arm over her hips and my cock at full attention against her arse. I moved my hand tentatively and pulled up the back of her gown. My probing fingers encountered a somewhat moister atmosphere than the night before.
I moved Pam's legs so I could enter her cunt from behind. She made no sound, not even a sigh. I entered gently and took time working my way in to the hilt. With my free hand I sought out her clitoris and gently massaged it while I fucked. Still absolutely no response. So I decided to simply concentrate on me.
I fucked her tight cunt for at least thirty minutes - pulling all the way out and then slowly all the way back, edging myself but not cumming, maybe half-hoping she'd at least let out a moan. And then I just went for it, hard and rough, deep and vigorous until I exploded within her. I lay there as my erection waned and wondered again about this silent, unresponsive woman.
I drifted back to sleep thinking: "Hell, I'd welcome it as some form of communication if she'd just let rip with a lady-like fart!"
When I awoke again, the bedside clock was reading 8.30. I was alone in the bed. I could hear noises from the kitchen and the wonderful aromas of bacon and coffee wafted down the hallway.
I had a suspicion that Pam would not be comfortable with nudity during daylight hours (or at any hour really), so I put on my briefs, threw on my shirt without bothering to button it up, and padded down the hall to the kitchen.
Pam - fully-dressed of course - was flipping bacon and eggs. She wished me a cheery "good morning" and gave me a brief smile as she glanced over her shoulder.
This was weird stuff. Maybe I'd stumbled on to the set of "The Stepford Wives". But I'm a polite sort of guy so I did the old "when in Rome" thing.
"Good morning. That coffee smells delicious."
"Are you hungry? Can you manage some bacon and eggs?"
What a silly question. Here's a guy who's just started a strict fitness regime, spending hours doing laps in the pool or jogging or doing sit-ups. Here's a guy who's just spent the night alternately blowing his brains out into a corpse or worrying endlessly about what the hell he'd gotten himself into. Of course I was fucking hungry!
I reduced this to a simple: "Mmmm, yes thanks. And some coffee too please. That would be great."
The food and the coffee were delicious. Additionally - here's the politeness again - I luxuriated in the rule that you don't speak when your mouth's full. Very handy because I really couldn't think of anything rational to say other than to comment on how good this breakfast was tasting.
To my astonishment, Pam was really good at post-necrophilia conversation! Gone was the rigid slow-dancer and the unmoving and immovable bed-partner. Back in town was an intelligent, attractive, articulate woman.
So, having eaten, we got into a conversation about this, that and the other and all the time I'm thinking: "What's going on here?" and I'm longing to ask some fairly searching questions. She seems suddenly very comfortable while I'm feeling like a sex offender!
"It's gone ten" she said. "What time do you need to be home by?"
"Soon, I guess. I'll finish this coffee and then head off."
Then: "Pam, I know we were sort of set up to get to know each other better last night, but I feel I've misread all the signs and taken advantage of you somehow."
"I thought the party went well" she said. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself and you've certainly done nothing to upset me in any way at all. What are you trying to say?"
Jesus wept. What was I trying to say? Do I praise her cooking and then let her know she's a lousy lay?
I settled for ringing home on my mobile. My son answered on the umpteenth ring, very grumpy at being awakened so "early". I told him I wouldn't be home for at least another hour or so and extracted a promise that he'd refrain from killing his little sister while I was gone. Then I returned my attention to Pam.
"We need to talk" I said.
(To be continued)
Having done all the work, I lay on my back breathing heavily for a while. Pam rolled over so her back was toward me. She said nothing. Silence reigned. I felt like a guest who'd committed some awful faux pas, a gaffe so enormous that I would from this night onward be shunned by polite society.
I remained silent too. All sorts of thoughts were running through my brain and my initial instinct was to just leave, get the hell out of there. But then came the most disturbing thought of all, one that relates to a cute Australian animal called the wombat.
For many readers, this thought may lose a bit in the translation, but here goes. If you asked me about a wombat's diet, I would tell you that he eats roots, shoots and leaves.
In Australia, as well as providing below-ground anchorage for plants or trees, the word root is synonomous with fuck, screw or bonk, as in "I rooted her senseless" or "It's been two weeks since I had a decent root".
Suddenly I was a wombat. I'd eaten this woman's excellent food. I'd fucked her unresponsive body. I'd shot a load of cum deep within her. And now I was contemplating leaving, thus becoming one of those who eats, roots, shoots and then leaves! I'd always considered myself far too classy to do that.
I finally spoke: "I'm just going to have a quick shower." There was no response so I headed to the bathroom.
After a nice, long shower I returned to the bedroom and slid in alongside Pam. I'd decided to at least stay till morning in the hope of departing as a "friend" rather than as a fleeing rapist. She'd obviously made some movement while I was showering because she was wearing her night attire once more. This was a relief as it spared me from checking her pulse to ensure she hadn't died post-fuck!
I awoke around dawn, my body nestled into Pam's back, my arm over her hips and my cock at full attention against her arse. I moved my hand tentatively and pulled up the back of her gown. My probing fingers encountered a somewhat moister atmosphere than the night before.
I moved Pam's legs so I could enter her cunt from behind. She made no sound, not even a sigh. I entered gently and took time working my way in to the hilt. With my free hand I sought out her clitoris and gently massaged it while I fucked. Still absolutely no response. So I decided to simply concentrate on me.
I fucked her tight cunt for at least thirty minutes - pulling all the way out and then slowly all the way back, edging myself but not cumming, maybe half-hoping she'd at least let out a moan. And then I just went for it, hard and rough, deep and vigorous until I exploded within her. I lay there as my erection waned and wondered again about this silent, unresponsive woman.
I drifted back to sleep thinking: "Hell, I'd welcome it as some form of communication if she'd just let rip with a lady-like fart!"
When I awoke again, the bedside clock was reading 8.30. I was alone in the bed. I could hear noises from the kitchen and the wonderful aromas of bacon and coffee wafted down the hallway.
I had a suspicion that Pam would not be comfortable with nudity during daylight hours (or at any hour really), so I put on my briefs, threw on my shirt without bothering to button it up, and padded down the hall to the kitchen.
Pam - fully-dressed of course - was flipping bacon and eggs. She wished me a cheery "good morning" and gave me a brief smile as she glanced over her shoulder.
This was weird stuff. Maybe I'd stumbled on to the set of "The Stepford Wives". But I'm a polite sort of guy so I did the old "when in Rome" thing.
"Good morning. That coffee smells delicious."
"Are you hungry? Can you manage some bacon and eggs?"
What a silly question. Here's a guy who's just started a strict fitness regime, spending hours doing laps in the pool or jogging or doing sit-ups. Here's a guy who's just spent the night alternately blowing his brains out into a corpse or worrying endlessly about what the hell he'd gotten himself into. Of course I was fucking hungry!
I reduced this to a simple: "Mmmm, yes thanks. And some coffee too please. That would be great."
The food and the coffee were delicious. Additionally - here's the politeness again - I luxuriated in the rule that you don't speak when your mouth's full. Very handy because I really couldn't think of anything rational to say other than to comment on how good this breakfast was tasting.
To my astonishment, Pam was really good at post-necrophilia conversation! Gone was the rigid slow-dancer and the unmoving and immovable bed-partner. Back in town was an intelligent, attractive, articulate woman.
So, having eaten, we got into a conversation about this, that and the other and all the time I'm thinking: "What's going on here?" and I'm longing to ask some fairly searching questions. She seems suddenly very comfortable while I'm feeling like a sex offender!
"It's gone ten" she said. "What time do you need to be home by?"
"Soon, I guess. I'll finish this coffee and then head off."
Then: "Pam, I know we were sort of set up to get to know each other better last night, but I feel I've misread all the signs and taken advantage of you somehow."
"I thought the party went well" she said. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself and you've certainly done nothing to upset me in any way at all. What are you trying to say?"
Jesus wept. What was I trying to say? Do I praise her cooking and then let her know she's a lousy lay?
I settled for ringing home on my mobile. My son answered on the umpteenth ring, very grumpy at being awakened so "early". I told him I wouldn't be home for at least another hour or so and extracted a promise that he'd refrain from killing his little sister while I was gone. Then I returned my attention to Pam.
"We need to talk" I said.
(To be continued)
