The Diary of Jim Part 3

Namaste and thank you for joining me today. All right, readers, this is it: the conclusion of "The Diary of Jim". I hope you enjoy it.

All night at work I waited anxiously for her to visit me, but again she did not show up. Disappointed and frustrated, I headed out to my car with my tail between my legs. On the front windshield of my car, stuck under the wiper-blade on the driver’s side was another small piece of paper. On it were detailed instructions on how to get somewhere obscure to meet her. I was beginning to be frustrated with the games she played. But at the same time it was the thrill of the chase that allured me so much; that and her dead-sexy body. There is something truly compelling about a woman who is unafraid of her own sexuality. I can’t help but wonder why she’s playing so hard to get. I suppose I may find out sooner rather than later.

          Somewhere on the other side of town after being lost for longer than I care to forget down one-way streets, I finally found my destination. The 15 story Waterhouse Apartment building stood on the edge of downtown and gazed majestically out over the park across the street where bicyclists and joggers could be seen at almost any hour of the day so busy with their cardiovascular workouts.

          My gut instinct told me to be suspicious and not to go inside the building, but y other instinct, the hormonal one, also known as libido won the battle. So inside I went and I was quite amazed by the lobby alone. Floral arrangements of fresh lilies and daises flowered the area and gave a homely, comfortable environment to the Waterhouse.

          Across the lobby were two side by side elevators. I read the piece of paper Sylvia had left me again: 11E. The thought passed through my mind on how she would have been able to afford such nice living conditions on an RN’s salary alone. That was among many other questions pondering through my mind.

          The elevators took forever to make it down to the ground floor, and once inside it took even linger to go back up to the eleventh floor. Eventually the doors opened to a long hallway going either direction. The antiseptic smell of a cleaning crew’s visit still lingered in the air. To the left and right both were lettered doors. On the left were apartments labeled “G-L”. On the right were apartments A through F. I went two doors down to the right and took a deep breath before knocking. Behind the closed door I could hear footsteps approaching the door. The deadbolt unlatched and the door swung inward.

          Sylvia looked like she had been crying and her breath smelled of cheap wine. The red, swollen rings under her eyes were a dead giveaway that something was wrong. Why she had been crying was the question still up in the air.

          “Come in, come in!” She motioned with her hand hurriedly as if half expecting someone to discover my presence there.

          Once behind closed I tried to console her by asking what was wrong. A tear drop rolled down her face as she started to redden again.

          “I shouldn’t have asked you to come here, I’m sorry.”

          “You’re sorry for what?” I asked, but then I already knew. Looking around her apartment I could see that she very much did not live alone. She whimpered softly as I walked past her into her living room. Picture frames hung on the walls, stood on bookshelves and even lay on the coffee table in front of the couch. Had she been staring at these pictures? Could the man next to her in almost every photo be the reason she was crying?

          “Is this your…?”

          “Yes!” She blurted out with an admission of guilt. “He’s my husband.”

          I nodded my head like I understood, but I was just as confused if not more than before I had known the truth of her games.

          “Why?” I asked. “Why are you telling me this?’

          “I’m afraid.”

          “Of what?” I asked exasperated.

          “To admit to you that I … I …” She paused. “He’s never here any longer. I feel so alone.”

          “That’s it?”

          “No.”

          “Well then what else is there?”

          “I’ve been trying so hard not to fall in love with you, but when I’m with you I just can’t help myself.” And she cried.

          Despite my inclination to be angry and runaway quickly, there was a weak part of me that couldn’t stand to see a woman cry. I grabbed her with both arms and pulled her head into my shoulder. My shirt was instantly wet with her tears. I had no idea what to do. I allowed her to wipe her eyes on my chest. The other half of me was red hot with anger to think she would do this to me. I wanted to lash out, but I just couldn’t. The window to my back hung open and the cool, gentle breeze helped just enough to cool my nerves down slightly; until the front door opened.

          In walks Sylvia’s husband who stares directly at me, never shifting his gaze as he removed his jacket, wallet, pocket change, and unhostered his gun setting them on the small table next to the door.

          He made some offhand comment about his day at work sucked before kissing his wife on the cheek. He sat down on the couch directly across from where I was standing. His cold gaze pierced through me straight into my soul and I did not like it one tiny bit whatsoever. The way he acted, however, was odd because he was quiet, analyzing, and threatening. I backed up to the wall as far as I could until I bumped into an end table almost knocking off their lamp onto the floor. Alienated and paranoid, I felt as if I were marooned on Mars without life support.

          From a dish on the coffee table, her husband grabbed a large handful of peanuts and shoved them in his mouth, chewing them loudly and with his mouth open. I wanted to move and leave, but I was nearly paralyzed with fear of what he may do to me for sleeping with his wife. After what seemed like an eternity, he stood back up and paced the living room. He raised his eyebrow like “The Rock”.

          “So… Who the fuck are you again?” He looked directly at me.

          Sylvia tried to speak, but shockingly, he backhand slapped her right across the face and she fell to the floor stunned. At that moment something snapped inside me. Perhaps it was my twisted emotions for this woman, or perhaps it was the way my own father raised me to never, for any reason, hit a woman. Nevertheless, something inside me triggered. With my right hand behind me, I grabbed the lamp that I had nearly knocked over minutes before. As he turned back around from smacking his wife, the vein in his forehead bulged and protruded as he carried a wicked smile across his face. That was not the look made by a first-timer, no, he had been used to roughing people up for a while.

          So I, as soon as his face became clearly visible, swung the lamp with all my strength, pulling the cord out of the wall, across his face the way he had done to his wife. The look on his face should have been made a Kodak moment. Epiphany showed on his face a fraction of a second before the ceramic shattered and splintered with a loud crash across his forehead. Blood sprayed onto the wall, the carpet, Sylvia, and myself. This big man teetered on his frame as blood flowed from a large laceration just above his eyebrows.

          In a fit of rage, out of my mind, filled with adrenaline, I grabbed this bloody man who stared blankly at me. One hand behind his neck and the other on his belt, I wheeled him around and alley-oop over the threshold and out the open window. Over 10 stories he fell, screaming, landing with a thud. Onlookers stared up at the empty window from where he was thrown. Someone must have heard the screams and called the police. Sirens rang in the distance, quickly dispatched to help one of their fallen own. And I, like an idiot, stood there a moment, dazed at what I had done.

          When I looked up into her eyes I could see the truth. For her it had all been just a fantasy fling. Her temporary lust had overpowered her logic and rational thinking, but the fact still remained now, that she did indeed love her husband very much. I, on the other hand, was a criminal now, and I did the only thing that was possible to do. I ran like hell.

          Towards the front door I leapt, over the couch. Her husband hadn’t locked the front door behind himself, so escape from the apartment proved easy enough. But where to go from there would be tricky. The elevators would be too likely, so I went for the stairs. Down I went, quickly, yet steadily, careful not to loose my balance and fall down the steps. Unbeknownst to me beforehand, the entire building was not indeed apartments; it was home to a variety of businesses, offices, sauna, gym etc. and the list goes on. Now at approximately the 6^th floor it appeared to me that this particular set of stairs may not be the best route for me to take, yet I could not stop running.

          Large paned glass office windows passed by on both sides with rubberneckers stopping their work to see me hurriedly pass by. At the opposite end of the hall was another set of stairs that I chose to take. The 5^th floor, my next departure from the stairwell proved to be invaluable. There were two doors near the stairwell exit. I tried the first, but it was firmly locked. The second opened with a turn of the knob. I found myself in a men’s locker room full of steam from a nearby sauna that I could not visibly see the location of, but old men with towels wrapped around their waists walked openly around absorbed in conversations with one another. I knew that I must find a change of clothing and remove the blood stained garments that I currently wore. Down a particular row of lockers I went, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. Some clothes that I saw were too small, others too large, but then about halfway down the row I came upon a set that looked close enough to be right. Hurriedly, I removed my clothes and wadded them up, placing them next to me on the bench between the two rows of lockers. I replaced what I was wearing before with a pair of grey pants, a royal blue, button up shirt and a grey sports jacket that matched the color of the pants.

          Scooping up the crumpled wad of clothes from the bench, I headed for the exit, tossing the clothes in the nearest trashcan with a lid. I found a pair of stylish black-tinted sunglasses in the inside pocket of the jacket. They were comfortable and the reality of my crime seemed distant if only for a moment. Woo! I felt like the Nature Boy Ric Flair; styling’ and profiling’… Woo!

          I thought after that, to hell with it, so I took the elevator. After all, they would not be looking for someone dressed like me the way I am now. Inside the elevator, two women gossiped about some celebrity bullshit that made me want to hurl. But on a quick thought, I joined in their conversation so I could be walking with them on the way out the building.

          The main lobby looked similar to as if someone had called in a bomb threat. A plain clothed detective was escorting people to the door. Without even asking, the two girls spoke for me and the detective let us pass after giving us his card with the classic line “If you remember seeing anything, you just give me a call.”

          Yeah right, like that would happen.

          The fresh air never smelled so sweet. I felt born again. But then my headache was there, throbbing in my temples. Across the courtyard toward the park I walked. Two men ahead of me to my left caught my attention. One was talking on his cell phone and the other talking to the man on the phone. Something about the two men looked vaguely familiar. Had I seen them before? I walked closer trying to get a good look. That was when it hit me the hardest. Both of the men looked exactly like me.

          “Is there something wrong?” The man hung up his cell phone.

          I was too mortified to answer.

          “Are you o.k. Jim?” The second man asked.

          I turned around in a circle. Every other face in the crowd looked like my own.

          “What did you call me? Just who the hell do you think I am?”

          “You’re Jim Carrey, of course.”

          “What the hell is going on?”

          “You’re having a dream!”

          As I sat violently up in bed, I realized that I must have had another nightmare, and my head was killing me. I managed to catch my breath and as I lay back down my arm touched someone else. A woman rolled over. My eyes got huge with disbelief. How did she get into my apartment?

Again, thank you to my readers. Enjoy the rest of this beautiful day. This is the one and only Quiet Mouse 420. 

Peace. Respect. Love.

The Diary of Jim Part 2

Thanks for coming back my avid readers. Welcome to part 2 of the Diary of Jim. Enjoy.

I kept seeing images of Sylvia’s heart-shaped ass bouncing up and down on my crotch. That was all I could think about while I scrubbed the John Doe’s limp, pale body from head to toe. To me he was just another cancer patient. Apparent his prostate was the size of a grapefruit. Good thing I couldn’t see it. That thought took my mind off her for a while. At 7:00 a.m. the boss came in and relieved me so I could go home to my quiet apartment and sleep. One thing about working the night shift for so long is that you’re pretty much just like a vampire. The blazing sun at seven in the morning feels like it’s blistering your eyes and your skin. It was as if after 6 months daylight was just a foreign concept.

          At home, all the windows are covered up with sheets and blankets. Other than that I live in a somewhat normal domicile that is except for my roommate Kevin. Kevin puts up with me and my oddities because I put up with him and his methamphetamine habit. With the exception of the sheets and blankest on the windows, I live in the best kept apartment in this complex. He’s Bob Villa and I’m freaking Martha Stewart. Between the two of us, we eat so much cereal, I literally bought stock. That was our routine; I got home just before 8 a.m. every night I worked. We ate cereal and watched the Cartoon Network until nine, and then we went into my bathroom and smoked pot out of my bong. I sleep like a baby after that. Now Kevin is a whole different breed of cat. The first thing he does upon waking is drawing up a syringe of speed and pushes it into his vein. That’s not for me, but I figure whether it be chocolate, caffeine, alcohol, drugs, sex, or whatever, everyone gets their fix one way or another. It may as well be considered an intrinsic human trait.

          Here’s the thing about most people, like Kevin, that do drugs like meth. They stay up all night long doing things that other people would never imagine like cleaning the house. They have no inhibitions or fears, except for cops, and after being awake for several days at a time without sleep, that tends to fade away as well. The only way that we really get away with this lifestyle is that the guy next to us in our duplex beats his wife. He doesn’t tell on us, so we don’t tell on him. I don’t condone that sort of behavior by any means, but it does afford us the lifestyle that we have chosen.

          My dreams, once I got to sleep, were of her, Sylvia Nelson; her curly hair, busty chest, and nice, plump, round ass danced like a dramatic ballet on the movie screen image of my mind. That was all I dreamed about all night long.

          I awoke about a quarter ‘til four in the afternoon. I could already hear that Kevin was up because he was vacuuming the hallway. Despite the fact that I’m not gay, Kevin and I act like a couple sometimes i.e. he cleans and I cook. Even though it was the afternoon by most people’s standards, for me it was breakfast time so I went into the kitchen and made sausage and eggs. I ate a generous portion, but Kevin only ate about half and that may have been pushing it. Kevin doesn’t eat very much because of the meth; it decreases his appetite. That is why Kevin is anorexic and skinny. I left for work around 6:15 while Kevin stayed home. He runs a local Internet dating service full time from his room.

          Now I’ve only been in Kevin’s room twice. It’s full of computer equipment, a stereo, a few books on varying Eastern religions and philosophies, the anarchist’s cookbook, and a futon that is rarely used for sleeping. Kevin may be considered an icon in some circles for starting his own successful business in order to meet available young women. I’ve never seen any of his movies, but it’s rumored that he used to be a porno star before we met two years ago. Supposedly he has an 11 inch penis that is as round as a coke can. Even if I were to look at his crotch (which I wouldn’t), it would be extremely difficult to tell because he always wears baggy JNCO jeans that used to fit before he got all doped up on meth and lost 40 pounds. Rather than spend the $20 at the store and get a new belt, Kevin just got out a knife and made his own holes so it would still fit.

          One luxury of not eating is that it saves a lot of money on the food bill. As I said before, I did all the cooking, thus I bought all the food. Kevin didn’t eat much, so he spent his money to buy a 65 inch flat panel, wide-screen television because he liked playing his Nintendo, Playstation, and X-box so much. He had 6 different video game systems, many of which I play on a regular basis. Kevin is more into sports games that he plays for hours and hours, me, I’m more of an RPG person myself. This is Kevin’s life. This is why I work where I work. Kevin is one of the only living people I can stand.

          Work seemed to last forever, probably because I was stuck there unable to leave, thinking about her. Sylvia was my itch that I longed to scratch, but just couldn’t reach. I wondered for a while if she was thinking about me wherever she was at. Probably not, I surmised after a while. She’s probably out with her girlfriends or something like that.

          Finally seven a.m. rolled around and I was unusually tired. My boss told me that I looked like shit and that I should go home and get some sleep. Sleep is what I needed and what others like Kevin lacked. Yet both of us were happy in our little worlds. Now he’s still happy and all I can think about is her.

          Home is the castle. Home is where the heart is. Home is coming in the front door and seeing a vaguely familiar back of someone’s head sitting on my couch talking to my best friend. I dropped my backpack, wallet, and keys on the table next to the door. They were still talking uninterrupted. They must not have heard me come in; although I’m sure I was making plenty of noise to be noticed. Kevin spotted me first.

          “Hey, Yo! What’s going on?” He seemed extra jovial this morning. The TV was not on and the apartment was quiet awaiting a reply from me. I started to ask who the stranger on the couch was, but then it hit me. Something triggered in a distant part of my brain and I knew. It was her, the woman that had plagued my every thought for the last two days. For the second time, before I could say a word, she turned around propping her elbow on the back of the couch and smiled the same smile as she had done only the night before.

          “Hey there stranger!” She seemed extra cheerful as well. Was I the only person that wasn’t with it and chipper this morning?

          “Good morning.” It was all I could think to say. Feeling witless, yet persistent I continued. “What are you doing here?” I asked in the most non-threatening way possible.

          “Why? Are you not happy to see me?” Without skipping a beat, she kept up the whole smile and peppiness.

          “I’m very much happy to see you. I just didn’t expect to come home and see you, that’s all.”

          “Well, I figured you would like the surprise.”

          Kevin excused himself to his room so the two of us were left in the living room together. I hadn’t sat down just yet, so I moved around to the other side of the couch next to her. Every time I saw her she looked more and more amazing. At this moment she’s wearing a tight-fitting pink blouse with rose prints that reveal the true size of her breasts and a pair of jeans that were tight on the midsection, but loose on the legs. Upon closer looking I noticed that down the middle of her blouse was a corset-like string. She knew how intently I was looking, so she teased me by pulling the string so the knot came untied revealing a slight, yet subtle glimpse of lacy white lingerie underneath. Now I, like most men, do not know the names of most lingerie items with the exception of bras, panties, garter belts and panty hose. The bra she wore was white with frilly lace along the top. I stared longingly at her breasts and it excited her. Her hands moved over them, gently, but firmly rubbing them.

          The nurse’s outfit she wore to work the other night gave no justice to the true exoticness of this woman. I moved in close to kiss her, but she pushed me away with her hand in my face, giggling. She stood up and wiggled her index finger for me to follow her as she backed herself toward my bedroom. Of course, I jumped up as if the couch couldn’t hold me down, nearly breaking my neck to get over and around it.

          Once behind the closed door, she pulled my shirt up over my head exposing my bare, hairy chest. She bent down and bit and sucked my right nipple. I screamed out and that just turned her on more. Vigorously, she unbuttoned my Levi’s and shoved them, along with my underwear down to my ankles where I stepped up over them. She threw my pants across the floor to the other side of the room. So there I stood, ass naked, semi-hard as she looked up at me from on her knees as she fondled the cheeks of my butt. Into her mouth she put my penis. It felt like she was trying to suck my brains out the head of my dick. My toes curled and I ran my fingers through her hair. Like never before, the excitement mixed with the pleasure had me trembling with goose bumps all over my body. I tensed up, so she pulled my member out of her mouth.

          “Not yet, cowboy.” She said.

          She stood up and literally threw me onto the bed. She growled like a tiger as she crawled over me back and forth. From the side of the bed, she reached down and picked up one of my t-shirts and tied my hands together to the headboard. I tried to move them, but the knot was too tight. Part of me wanted to say no, but she brought out this whole other side of me that was totally down with that. I was used to being in control before, but there was something about being submissive to this sexual goddess that made my head spin (both of them). Like a stripper, she removed what remained of her blouse. Then she turned around so I could see her heart-shaped ass as she slowly pulled down her jeans teasing my cock into a hard rock. She removed her bra and panties and climbed on the bed straddling me as she slid my penis inside her.

          Without too much detail I’ll say that she shagged me rotten making me cum twice before I passed out cold from exhaustion.

          The clock read 5 o’clock p.m. when I awoke. I patted the other side of the bed, but as expected it was empty. A tiny white piece of paper lay propped against the pillow next to me. I picked it up and read it. It was Sylvia’s neat and educated cursive handwriting.

Thank you for a wonderful time.

I’m very sorry it had to end so soon.

I’ll be thinking about you all day long.

See you at work, love Sylvia.

Check back soon for another installment in the Diary of Jim. This is Quiet Mouse 420.

The Diary of Jim Part 1

Namaste and welcome back. Thank you friends, family, and fellow knowledge seekers for joining me today as I am going to try something new. As many of you know, I love to write. A while back when I was in the Navy, I wrote a short story with the above aforementioned title "The Diary of Jim". I'm going to dish this tale out in several parts, so come back soon to read through til the end of my story. Until then, I hope you enjoy.
Oh, and by the way, this story is RATED R, like most of my blogs... bear that in mind. This is the Quiet Mouse Strikes Back.

The Diary of Jim

          It must have been a nightmare. As I sat violently up in bed I realized that these nightmares were becoming more and more frequent. I’m afraid I’m going to kill my liver from all the Tylenol I’ve been taking for these headaches recently. Here I am panting, short of breath over something I cannot even remember, less this persisting image of a woman. And that’s how it began.

          Ever since I met her my life’s been slightly odd; her name is Sylvia Nelson. Hmm… how would I describe her?  Her hair is naturally brown, but she goes to the salon for blond highlights. She has rosy pink cheeks and a natural smile that is to die for. She may be perhaps 10 lbs. over her ideal weight, but that doesn’t matter because she’s happy with herself the way she is and refuses to do any of the radical TV infomercial diets that they show every night between midnight and six in the morning. She loves chocolate roses and stuffed animals as most women do. Oh, and she’s married to a police detective, which is where my life was about to be turned upside down, but I didn’t know it yet.

          Half past two in the morning at County Memorial hospital on a Wednesday is like being in hell (literally). In fact, to be quite frank, it was honestly creeping the shit out of me. The long and quiet hallways of the basement would remain devoid of any personnel for several more hours, yet I felt like I was not alone. Lights flickered overhead adding to the chill climbing up the hairs along my spine.

          When you work in the morgue on the night shift, you rarely see living people except in passing, and the ones you do see have a similar resemblance to the corpses that come into the morgue. That was until April. That’s when I met her.

          We keep the doors locked from the inside down here so no one can get in. It’s ironic to me that a lock must be put on the door of a morgue. If only the eyes of a dead man could see, I wonder what stories they would tell.

          In a hospital, there are certain parts that people meet their makers in: the ICU & the cancer ward provided many bodies for me to prepare before sending off to the funeral homes. And every night the routine was generally the same. That’s the way most people like it. Most of the time change is awkward to say the least.

          Bzz… Bzz. The buzzer outside the morgue doors rang. Someone was here to get the gurney that I have aptly named “The Last Ride”. I named it after the finishing move of the Undertaker, you know the professional wrestler.

          I’m used to seeing red-eyed people with coffee stained shirts and sugar-glazed donut smiles this time of morning. Never was I prepared for what awaited me when I opened that door. Before me, an angel of feminine beauty stood, five feet and four inches of goddess. Unlike the other people I’m used to dealing with, her radiance was genuine and her smile bright and true. A lot of people don’t believe in love at first sight, but if it were true, then I was. Then she spoke.

          “Hi!” She was very bubbly and her voice was soft and sweet, much more so than anyone else, including me, in the hospital at this moment. “I need the gurney for upstairs, please.”

          It took me a moment to register a response. “Yeah,” is all I could choke out as I handed her the appropriate form where upon she signed her name in stylish cursive, Sylvia Nelson, R.N.

          “Are you new here?” I could not help but ask, not just out of necessity, but because I wanted to know more about this woman that I had met only a minute before.

          “Oh, yes, I just moved here from Cleveland two weeks ago.”

          “How do you like it here?” I asked.

          “It’s good. Everyone has been so nice to me. How about you?”

          “Me? I don’t know. No one has ever asked me.”

          “Well then there’s a definite first for everything, now isn’t there?”

          “Yes, I suppose so. In that case, I’m doing much better now that you’ve brightened up my day. Thank you.”

          “My pleasure. Well I must be going, ok. I’ll be back shortly.”

          And with the double doors closing, she was gone. My heart did a cartwheel like a first-time crush. Sylvia Nelson was a lone rose in a field of daises.

          Going back to what I was doing before, in my office I turned my small T.V. back on hitting the “PLAY” button on the VCR. On the screen portrayed a violent wrestling match of Goldberg vs. Brock Lesnar. At change of shift, my friend who worked the day shift left me his copy of Wrestlemania XX. It was a vulgar display of over-sized, muscle bound men in tights, who looked like they fell one or two steps back on the evolutionary ladder (and some of them shaved), choreographically beating each other senseless in the squared circle. No critics in this morgue to tell me, “But it’s not real” crap. So what? Were so many people really that ignorant of the fact that television shows now were all meant for our strictly mindless viewing pleasure. If they don’t like it, don’t watch it. Everyone needs to quit trying to change everyone else, bottom line, like Stone Cold says so. For just over an hour I watched the spectacle with any sports fan’s excitement over grueling matches, hated rivalries, and half-naked women (though none compared to the woman I just saw).

          Bzz…Bzz… Hoping it would be her again; I eagerly ran to the door and pushed the bar to unlock it. As the double doors pushed outward I took two deep breaths. I didn’t want her to think I was that happy to see her. I laughed to myself because I felt like a teenager again, giddy like a schoolgirl, as some say.

          As expected, nay, as I had hoped, there she stood with “the last ride”, except she looked even more amazing than before. When I had seen her just over an hour before, her hair was tied tight in a bun behind her head, but now it hung freely down just past shoulder length and it bounced as she walked with a natural curl. Like I was 13 all over again, I could feel the sudden rush of blood to my genital area. There I stood, petrified to move, afraid of exposing my untamed boner in front of a gorgeous woman I hardly knew. As she rolled in the gurney, I let her pass by me. Unavoidably my eyes fixated firmly on her heart-shaped bottom as it shook mesmerizingly. Like a long lost puppy I followed in tow. With an unconscious perception of being busted, I looked up to find her staring right at me with an almost ear to ear grin on her face. She was biting her lower lip.

          “Easy boy!” She said, apparently not upset at my blatant crudeness.

          Before she had seemed rather shy and demure. Now she was more lively and animated.

          “Tell me,” she asked. “Since you’re alone down here a lot, do you, um, ever do anything crazy?”

          Before I could answer her question she spoke again.

           “You know, I’ve always wanted to lie inside one of those drawers where you keep the bodies.”

          My God, this woman is a freak, I thought. However odd the request may have been, I was happy to oblige her bizarre fantasy if it would give me cool points with her. There was this taboo buzz of adrenaline between us as I pushed her into the drawer. That was the first and last time I will ever do that.

I stared at my watch diligently for 60 seconds to pass before I opened the drawer again. There on the cold steel tray, this woman, Sylvia Nelson lay with one arm tucked up the underside of her dress masturbating while the other hand tugged gently at the erect nipple of her left breast through her shirt. Grabbing my shirt, she pulled me in close to her and we began kissing lustfully. She nibbled my ear as she moaned with pleasure. I could feel the vibrations of her right hand touching her clit; it was all I could do not to cum all over myself inside my scrubs. Without hesitation, I rolled her off the tray and turned her around so her back was facing toward me. I bent her over and pulled up her skirt revealing she was commando, sans panties. Pulling the drawstring of my scrubs & my underwear down to my knees, she reached back and groped my penis, stroking it up and down before thrusting it inside her hot, wet vaginal hole. It didn’t take long for me to find out that she was very religious as she praised God while I rhythmically pumped in and out. She was surprisingly tight so I came quickly, pulling out onto the floor. Her skirt slid back down to her knees, but her hair was ruffled where I had run my hands through it just moments before. I felt like a virgin again, but then again, it had been several months before that since I had gotten laid and I damn sure wasn’t going to start complaining now.

          Before she left me there with the stiff she kissed me one last time, sucking on my bottom lip as she turned and walked away.

          “Hey, wait!” I called after her before she reached the door. “Can I see you again?”

          She looked at me questioningly as if I must be joking, but then she smiled again and said, “Of course.”

          That was the last time I would see her for a couple of days. The next several hours were spent preparing the body to be sent to the Shady Acres funeral home. We dealt with them a lot. My boss did all the paperwork in the morning before shipping the John or Jane Doe away. I never cared for their names; it was always just John or Jane to me. It was just easier that way. I spent a lot of time with dead people and it turns out they’re good people. They are never rude or obnoxious, I don’t have to make idle chitchat (though I do talk to them), and unlike most people, they’re great listeners. For me, this is my Dr. Phil. I take that back, fuck Dr. Phil.

This is the end of part 1.