by Jeff Strand
The blonde and brunette each downed another shot, whispered to each other, giggled, and then got off their stools and approached Stanley's table, clearly tipsy.
"Hi," said the brunette.
"Hi," said Stanley.
"You're the dead guy, right?"
Stanley nodded.
The brunette elbowed her friend. "I knew it!"
Gee, what clued you in? The rot? Stanley thought, but instead of saying anything he just smiled politely.
"Can we sit down?" the blonde asked.
"Sure."
The girls each pulled out a chair and sat down, although the brunette had a bit of trouble with the process. "I'm Mandy," said the blonde. "My friend is Dot."
"Hi, Mandy and Dot. I'm Stanley."
The brunette smiled. "What's a celebrity like you doing sitting all by himself?"
"My entourage retired for the night."
"Oh, really...?"
Stanley glanced back and forth between the two women. Were they actually interested in him? Or were they waiting for the right moment to laugh and throw a drink in his face? Even the ugliest celebrities seemed to be able to attract hot women, but did that apply to zombie celebrities as well?
Were these women zombie groupies?
"Yeah," said Stanley, taking a swig of beer in what he hoped was an incredibly masculine manner. "They're a bunch of lightweights."
"I saw you on TV," said Dot. "You're kinda cute for a dead guy."
"And you're kinda cute for a live girl."
Dot giggled much louder than was warranted by the comment. "I like guys with tattoos and piercings and stuff, but I've never been with a real zombie before."
"I'm one of a kind."
"I bet you are."
"Can we touch you?" asked Mandy.
Stanley leaned forward. "Be my guest."
Mandy ran her fingers across Stanley's face and shivered. "Ooooh, wow, that's freaky!"
Dot joined in, still giggling. "It is freaky!"
"Good freaky or bad freaky?" asked Stanley.
"I haven't decided yet," said Mandy, sliding her hand down to his chin. "I think I'm leaning toward good freaky."
"Good freaky all the way," said Dot, leaning over and giving Stanley an unobstructed view of a good thirty-five percent of the surface area of her breasts.
"So, uh, can I buy you ladies a drink?" he asked, feeling more than a little self-conscious.
"You can buy us anything you want," Dot informed him.
Stanley waved to the bartender. "One more of whatever they're having."
"Your face doesn't feel at all like I thought," said Mandy.
"How'd you think it would feel?"
"Colder."
"Well, they keep it pretty warm in here. I'm room temperature, you know."
"Really?" asked Dot.
"Yep."
"That's awesome! So you're like a lizard?"
"No, I'm not cold-blooded. I'm no-blooded."
"Does that mean you wouldn't bleed if we bit you?" asked Mandy, making it sound like the single naughtiest activity imaginable.
Bite me, baby, bite me.
Mandy and Dot removed their hands from Stanley's face as the bartender brought over their drinks. Stanley made meaningless but flirty small talk with them for a few more minutes, still not completely sure that they weren't just messing with him. He didn't think they were teasing him, considering that they were totally plastered and probably not particularly intelligent while sober, but still, he was one ugly zombie.
The bartender informed them that the place was closing. Mandy gave a mock pout, while Dot rubbed Stanley's thigh. "Do all of your parts still work, Mr. Corpse?"
Stanley shook his head.
Dot mimicked Mandy's pout. "That's too bad."
"I mean, my heart doesn't pump blood anymore, if that's what you were asking."
Dot slid her hand further up his leg and gently brushed her fingers against his crotch. "Does this work?"
"Oh, that thing? Yes, it works."
"Rrrrrreally?" Mandy purred.
"But it's...unattractive."
"Uncircumcised?"
"No, just, y'know, it looks like the rest of me."
"I like the rest of you," said Dot.
Oh my God, I believe I'm going to get laid tonight, thought Stanley. He wondered if the security guard watching him was getting sick to his stomach. Stanley would have been puking in a very large bucket if their roles were reversed.
"We could continue the party in your room," said Mandy. "Unless you have a prior commitment."
"Nope, no commitment. I mean, I have to get up early, but that's not really a commitment."
Mandy pushed back her chair. "Then lead the way, stud."
Stanley walked out of the hotel bar, a woman on each arm, and headed down the hallway toward the elevators, feeling more nervous about potential sexual activity than he had since his myriad of near-miss almost-losses of virginity during his teenage years.
Don't say anything stupid to mess this up. Don't say anything stupid to mess this up. Don't say anything stupid to mess this up. Don't be yourself.
An elderly woman was standing next to the elevators as they approached. She glared at them with a You three are doomed sinners expression that quickly turned into a By the way, the whole idea is really gross expression.
The elevator doors opened. Stanley, Mandy, and Dot stepped inside. The elderly woman decided to wait for the next one.
As the elevator doors closed, Mandy and Dot each began to nibble one of Stanley's ears. It sent a tingle of erotic pleasure through...well, just through the part of his ears that they were nibbling. The whole chewing-on-ears thing had never been much of a turn-on.
Is this such a good idea? he wondered. After all, the durability of his penis had yet to be proven. Was an energetic threesome really the best way to test it out? It would certainly be a socially awkward moment if it were to break off inside--
Stanley put that thought out of his mind. He'd be fine. He'd just ask them to be gentle.
Suddenly he realized something important. "Oh, crap, we have to go back downstairs," he said. "I don't have any protection."
"Think somebody's going to shoot you again?" Mandy asked, rubbing his chest. Stanley wasn't sure if she was joking or genuinely confused.
"Lower body protection," he said.
"Nobody's gonna shoot you there," Mandy promised him. "Unless that's what you're into."
"That can't be an actual documented fetish," said Stanley.
"I don't think it is."
"Good."
"Anyway, the issue is condoms. I don't have any."
"I have lots and lots of them," said Dot.
"Did you bring the glow in the dark ones?" asked Mandy.
"No, we used all of those in Dallas."
"What about the cinnamon ones?"
"I think those are gone, too. Let me check." Dot opened her purse and began rummaging through the contents. "I think we used the last one at that truck stop by D.C."
"Damn. I liked those."
The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the hallway. Dot continued to dig through her purse as they walked to Stanley's room. "I've got the strawberry ones."
"Nah, those gave me a rash."
"What about the chocolate ones?"
"Those were nasty."
"Are you sure? I thought you liked those."
"No, they were disgusting. They didn't taste anything like chocolate."
Stanley took out his room key and waved it over the reader. At the beep he pushed open the door and led the women inside, closing the door behind them.
"Ah, here we go!" said Dot, pulling out a strip of condoms. "Cinnamon."
"Those aren't the cinnamon ones, those are the cherry ones," said Mandy with a frustrated sigh.
Dot sniffed one of the wrappers. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. The cinnamon ones have the flames on the wrapper."
"Can I get you ladies a
beverage?" asked Stanley. "We've got a mini-bar."
"Ooh! Ooh!" Dot set her purse on the dresser and crouched down beside the mini-bar. "I vote we empty this thing by the time the night is over."
"Works for me," said Mandy.
Dot grabbed a handful of tiny bottles and tossed them onto the king-size bed. Mandy dove onto the bed after them. Dot followed. Stanley just stood there, unsure of exactly how presumptuous he should be in this situation.
He'd never had two women at once. He'd had the opportunity, years ago, but had blown it. They'd been making out on his parents' sofa, and one of the women had sexily asked him which one of them Stanley liked better. He'd answered truthfully. It had, of course, been a trick question. He got nothing that night.
Dot and Mandy each opened a bottle of liquor and chugged it down. Dot looked over at him. "Why don't you join us?" she asked.
Stanley climbed onto the bed with them. Mandy handed him a bottle, which he opened without reading the label and downed in one swig. It felt good to be financially secure enough to consume obscenely overpriced mini-bar liquor.
An image of Veronica flashed before his eyes.
Go away, he told it. This is no time for guilt. Veronica would never have me anyway. Now is the time for gettin' nasty with Mandy and Dot. Fuck off, mental image.
The mental image vanished.
"Mind if we get more comfortable?" asked Mandy.
"Not at all."
Mandy patted Dot on the arm. "C'mon." They got off the bed and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door.
Stanley cleared the bottles off the mattress. It wouldn't do for somebody to roll over on one and break it. Although these women could very well be into arterial spray.
Normally in an amorous situation, this would be the perfect opportunity for Stanley to disrobe. But despite their lack of gagging over his appearance, he wasn't sure it was a good idea to hit them with his body all at once. Let them see it bit by bit.
God, he hoped his penis wasn't a turn-off.
He heard giggling from the bathroom.
He wondered if they would satisfy each other's needs as well as his. That would be pretty cool.
He wondered what Veronica would think about what he was doing right now.
Maybe she'd approve. After all, he didn't know her very well. Perhaps she'd give him the thumbs-up and say "Good job, Stanley! Make those women happy! And drink more booze from the mini-bar! I'm proud of you!"
Yep, that's exactly what she'd say. No worries.
More giggling from the bathroom.
What was taking these cruel temptresses so damn long?
The bathroom door opened. Mandy and Dot emerged, wearing remarkably little. Mandy was in a black bra and panties, while Dot wore a red bra and a g-string. They looked absolutely spectacular. Stanley gaped at them, unable to speak.
Was he being a selfish bastard, hogging both of them for himself? Perhaps he should give Martin a call. Or try to get on Brant's good side...
"What do you think?" asked Mandy.
"Gahuh," Stanley replied, not quite sure what it meant.
Mandy and Dot turned around in a circle, modeling for him. Stanley thought that he was going to pass out from sheer bliss. How could his life get any better?
The women kissed.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Holding hands, Mandy and Dot walked over to the bed. "Think you can handle both of us, stud?" asked Dot.
"I'll do it or die trying," Stanley replied.
The women giggled. Stanley's lust was so intense that it took him a moment to realize that he'd accidentally made a zombie joke. He'd have to remember that one for future interviews.
Dot gave Stanley a gentle shove, and he lay on his back. Mandy and Dot climbed onto the bed, one on each side of him, and began to rub and kiss him through his clothes. Stanley closed his eyes and just let the physical sensations overpower him.
He was going to have sex with two gorgeous women.
Two unbelievably hot women.
Two necrophiles.
Stanley opened his eyes. Here he was, about to have sex with a pair of women who were into re-animated dead guys. He was a freakin' zombie! What the hell were they thinking? What kind of messed up chicks slept with a rotting guy named Mr. Corpse?
He'd dated plenty of women who were into kinky stuff. He could provide spankings when requested. He was always up for a good tied-to-the-bed session, both as the provider and recipient of the rope burns. Hot candle wax was never a problem, nor were nipple clamps, testicle decorations, or this scary toy his ex-girlfriend Charlene owned that looked like the crab-monster in Alien.
But he had limits. The inclusion of household pets, for example. And fantasy role play that involved him pretending to be a father, son, brother, uncle, cousin, or great aunt.
Sleeping with necrophiles was another one.
"Hold on a second," said Stanley, sitting up. "I don't think I can do this."
"What do you mean?" asked Mandy.
"I mean...I just can't do it. It's icky."
"We'll be the judge of that."
"No, really. This is just deranged. I've got a decomposed dick. You seem like two very nice girls, but you're also scary. I think you should leave."
"You're kicking us out?" asked Dot, incredulous.
"Yes," said Stanley, equally incredulous.
Mandy pouted. "Don't you like us anymore?"
"You know that Groucho Marx line about not wanting to join a club that would have him for a member? I'm thinking that any women who would screw a zombie are best left untouched."
"You've got a lot of fucking nerve," said Dot, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "You talk to us, you buy us drinks, you bring us up here, and now you aren't going to put out?"
"Sorry."
"How about just oral?"
"That's actually much worse, to be honest."
Mandy smacked his leg. "Asshole."
The women got off the bed and walked back into the bathroom. Stanley lay there, torn between wanting to call them back and wanting them out of his room as quickly as possible so he could start spraying disinfectant.
They emerged from the bathroom less than thirty seconds later, fully dressed. Mandy gave him the finger.
"You can have the rest of the booze, if you want," Stanley offered.
"Go to hell."
"Yes, ma'am."
They left the room. Stanley lay there, relieved but a little depressed. Was he doomed to be alone for the rest of his life? Would he never again know the touch of a woman? Never again know intimacy? Never again experience a really good, sloppy blow job?
Stanley's eyes widened. What in the holy name of fuck had he been thinking? Quasimodo and the Phantom of the Opera had to kidnap women to try to get laid, and he'd turned away two hot women who were throwing themselves at him! Forget a life of self-imposed celibacy! He was gonna get himself a piece of necrophile ass!
He hurried out of the room, but Mandy and Dot were nowhere to be seen. The man with the gun, on the other hand, was quite easy to see.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The man looked to be in his fifties. He wore brown slacks and a white dress shirt that was drenched with sweat. He was pale, had no eyebrows, and wore a baseball cap. The gun, pointed at Stanley, shook in his trembling hand. He stood right next to the door, close enough that Stanley could reach out and touch the gun's barrel should he be so inclined (which he wasn't).
"Hey, whoa, let's be cool," said Stanley, holding up his arms in what he desperately hoped was a "Look, I'm unarmed and have no intentions to cause you bodily harm, so please don't shoot me Mr. Crazy Person" gesture.
A tear ran down the man's cheek. "You give people false hope," he whispered.
"I do what?"
"I'm dying," said the man. His voice was so soft that Stanley almost had to lean forward to hear him, but he elected not to for fear that it might look like a cannibal zombie attack. "Cancer."
"I lost my gr
andmother to cancer," Stanley told him, hoping to establish some sort of personal connection to the guy to help keep himself from getting shot. Where were the security guards? Where were the insomniac hotel guests who needed to refill their ice buckets?
"You give people false hope!" the man repeated, his voice growing louder. "You walk around in that mask and you pretend that you're a miracle and you lie!"
"I'm not a miracle," Stanley explained. "I'm a scientific marvel. It's not a mask, I swear. You can touch my face if you want. Everybody else does."
"How can you live with yourself?" the man demanded, now sobbing. "How can you lie to the world when people like me are dying?"
"Again, not a lie. Do you really think I would've sent those two women away if it were a mask? I could be writhing in ecstasy right now! I'm trying to get them back! C'mon, put the gun down and we'll share!"
"Don't make fun of me."
"Dude, I'm not making fun of you! I'm making a generous offer!"
"Well let me ask you something, Mr. Corpse. If you're for real, why are you scared of being shot?"
"Because it hurts and leaves holes!"
The man looked uncertain.
"What's your name?" asked Stanley.
"Charles."
"Can I call you Chuck?"
"I prefer Charlie," the man said with a sniffle.
"Okay, Charlie, I want you to look at something." Stanley unbuttoned his shirt and held it open. "See how my skin is all nasty? Why would I walk around with makeup on my chest? I'm a real zombie!"
Charlie shook his head. "That's impossible."
"It's not impossible! Feel my heart! It's not beating!"
"You just want to knock the gun away."
"Well, yeah, but I mostly want you to feel my heart! I'm a zombie! A dead guy! A cadaver! What'll it take to convince you? Do you want a certificate of authenticity?"
Behind Stanley, the elevator door dinged. "Freeze!" shouted a voice behind him. "Put down your weapon!"
Charlie looked at Stanley. "Do you know what my son said to me a few days ago? He said 'Daddy, don't worry, the doctors will bring you back to life just like they did Mr. Corpse.'"
