by John Everson
They made me inexplicably excited and my intensity increased. It wasn’t long before we had both collapsed atop each other on the daybed. I slid my fingers through the tangled black hair over her ear and whispered, “Stay here with me tonight?”
In the morning, she still looked good. But now the romantic shadows that had hid the intensity of her scars was gone. She slept next to me, still nude, the curve of her ass slipped out of the sheets as I shifted, and I studied the crisscross of jagged white lines that led from above her shoulder blades down past her waist to twist like barbed wire around the globes of her warm and very willing ass. I slipped a hand across her chest to feel the warmth of a breast, and she answered with a faint groan, rolling back towards me, delivering herself into my touch. The roadmap of scars continued across her middle, and now I saw that some of them were deeper below the lines of her nipples. Her belly remained mostly unmarked, but her ribs might have had fishhooks pulled across them at one time.
“What happened?” I asked, trailing a finger across the faint indentation of one deep scar.
“He loved me,” she said simply.
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I didn’t say anything.
Her name was Kerstin. I didn’t know that until I went to drive her home. But I got to know the sound of it a lot better over the next few weeks. She spent a lot of time at my place, and after her Friday night shift, she even spent the rest of the weekend.
It was probably our third full weekend together when my neighbor decided to make good on his threat to build a bookcase for his living room wall. The hammering woke me up, but it was the high-pitched whir of the circular saw that made Kerstin’s eyes go wide.
I thought she was frightened of the sound at first, and then her lips were covering mine. The saw next door oscillated through the wall, growling high and hungry as it slipped through whatever wood Mike was repetitively slicing. Probably making the shelves for his case, I thought. The sound vibrated in my bedroom, which was on the other side of his main room wall. Kerstin’s tongue pressed hard in my mouth, and then she rolled and I felt the warmth of her engulf my cock. She was already dripping with excitement, and she’d only just woken up.
Afterwards she grinned sheepishly. “The sound of a saw just gets me going,” she said. “Don’t ask me why. But if you ever want to get me hot…just rev up a blade for a minute. I know, it’s weird.”
She rolled her eyes and I could tell she was embarrassed and afraid of what I’d say. Then she turned the tables and asked me, “Is there anything weird that gets you off? Anything you’ve always wanted to do but were afraid to try?”
I thought of the whir of a saw and the splash of blood as it bit into flesh instead of wood and shivered.
I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’ve always thought it would be hot to do it in public, in an elevator, or in the back booth of a bar or something.”
She raised an eyebrow. “A little exhibitionist, eh?” Then she put her hands on my chest and pushed me back to the bed. Rising above me, snowy-white breasts inches from my face, she bent down until her nipples brushed against the hair of my chest. “You can do better than that,” she whispered.
“A threesome would be hot,” I began, and her lips twisted.
“Vanilla,” she said. Her mouth leaned close enough to mine for me to feel her breath. “What really turns you on when you’re all alone?” she said. “What gets you hard that you’d never admit to your best friend?”
I thought of my old girlfriend’s accident, and blinked it away.
“Well, why would I admit that to you?” I grinned.
“Because I’m not your friend,” she whispered. “I’m your sex toy.”
I felt my cock stir at the same time as my stomach twisted. She was my friend. I really had begun to care about her. I had…
“Whatever you want,” she interrupted my thoughts. “You’ll never have this chance with anybody else. Just tell me. Do you want to beat the woman you fuck? Do you want to piss on her face before you make her suck you off? Or maybe you need the other side of the play… Do you want to lie down in the middle of a circle jerk and feel the rain? Would that make your cock shake? Do you want me to fuck all of them before I let you inside me? Do you want to find yourself a sixteen-year-old Lolita and plow her evil young pussy while I hold her down for you? Do you want to wear panties? Do you want to be tied up? Do you want to shave a woman clean? Do you want to cut her before you cum? Do you want to get it on with a dead girl?”
I don’t know what made me say it. Maybe I just wanted to stop the stream of embarrassing perversions that dripped from her lip like cum. Tantalizing and wicked. Maybe it was the dead girl thing and I just jumped on what I thought would be an innocuous weirdness.
“I would love to fuck a goth girl in a coffin,” I breathed.
“Now you’re getting the idea,” she said.
The next night, Kerstin picked me up and drove me across town in the dark. She didn’t say anything, and refused to answer when I asked where we were going. She wore a short black skirt and a black satin blouse opened three buttons down to show the creamy swell of her breasts against a black silk bra. I knew why when we pulled into the parking lot of a Funeral Home and around the back.
“You can’t be serious,” I said as she pulled up to the back door.
“It’s after-hours and I know someone who works here,” she said, holding up a key. “I can make your dreams come true.”
“No way,” I resisted. “I was only joking…”
“Come with me,” she said, and got out of the car. I followed her, still protesting, but she ignored me.
Kerstin led me through the back entry of the funeral home into the heavy silence of thick carpet and sob-absorbing wall hangings. This was a place that could absorb any noise, from a scream to a furtive cry. It certainly had plenty of opportunities to mask pain.
She led me away from the viewing rooms down a flight of stairs. Then we entered a doorway at the end of the hall, and she turned on a wall switch to illuminate the room. Several coffins were displayed in-line, from high-grade metal bronze boxes to ornate varnished wooden ones, with red velvet lining the insides.
Kerstin walked between the staged boxes, leading me to the end of the line, a wooden coffin with its lid propped up.
“My friend left this for you.”
In the coffin lay a naked girl. A naked dead girl. She was dark-haired and young and pale. Her eyes were rouged black. Her breasts looked strangely cold and yet…enticing. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the attentions of her embalmer, or her own hygiene, but her pubes were shaved clean. She looked plastic and fuckable at the same time.
“Her funeral is tomorrow,” Kerstin offered.
“No,” I said, backing away from the dead girl. “I didn’t say I wanted necrophilia.” I turned to look at Kirstin, panicked. “I said I thought it would be kinky to fuck in a coffin, but not to fuck a dead girl, no way, I’m not into that, I mean, that’s just fuckin’ twisted and now someone you know thinks that I want…”
“Shhhhhh.” She pressed a finger to my lips. “Come here.”
She pulled me away from the dead body and led me to an empty coffin. Its lid was also lifted, and the silky white cushions inside looked decadently rich. Kirstin pulled my shirt over my head and unbuckled my pants before I could think twice. And then as she stripped herself, she told me to climb inside. There was a stepping stool already in place, and I did what she commanded, my heart beating in a mix of fear and excitement.
The silk felt cool against my skin, and when Kirstin rose above me, and slid in atop me, it suddenly felt warm in an electric ice against fire way.
Then she reached up and pulled the lid closed and sealed us in the black of a portable crypt. My skin chilled, even with her flesh breathing against my pores.
“Whoa, girl,” I whispered. “I don
’t know…”
“It’s just you and me,” Kirstin said, spreading her legs to encompass mine. She whispered in my ear, trying to set a mood, “You are deep in the grave in a cemetery at night…buried alive…there is only me to fuck. For eternity. The dead are all around us. Can you get it up?”
She laughed wickedly, and it wasn’t her scenario, but rather something in her pitch got me excited. In minutes we were both breathless and sweating… The heat of our tomb only beaded more water on our skin and we slid against each other in a twisted scene that was as wrong as it was hot.
When it was over, Kirstin nuzzled against my ear and whispered, “You fucked me in a coffin…but I know you wanted more.”
There were images in my mind, and a pang of fear, and then she just held me, and we didn’t speak for a while. When she raised the lid, and helped me out of the humid coffin, she didn’t give up.
Kirstin took my hand and led me to the coffin of the goth girl corpse. “I know this is what you wanted, even if you thought you were joking, even if you thought this wasn’t at all what you meant…this is what you wanted. And I’m here to give it to you.”
“No,” I said, my heart pounding. The girl’s lips were blue, and my lover was here with me, warm…pink…insistent…
“Get in the coffin with her,” Kirstin said. “That’s all I ask. Do that much for me. If you don’t want to do anything else, you don’t have to. But let me see you lying with a dead girl. How many times do you have a chance like that?”
I can’t tell you why I did it. Actually I can, but I won’t admit it. I climbed, naked, into a coffin with a dead, pretty, cold, young girl.
“Hug her,” Kirstin urged.
And I did.
“Kiss her,” Kirstin whispered. I could see my girlfriend’s nipples were erect. She was getting off on this.
“Press yourself between her thighs,” Kirstin urged, and I halfheartedly said, “No.” But I did it anyway. Her skin felt cool and almost rubbery as I pushed an insanely hard hard-on up towards that shaven delta. After what I’d just done with Kirstin, I didn’t see how I could even get it up again. From behind me, I heard Kirstin whimper in excitement. “This might help,” she said in my ear, and then her hand, dripping with some kind of lubricant, slid between my groin and the belly of the dead girl. She stroked me until I was slick, and then stepped back to watch.
It was a while before we left the funeral parlor.
It was only after that when Kirstin finally invited me to her place. I was still feeling a little nauseous about the night before when she picked me up and asked me if I liked girls with scars.
“I like you, don’t I?” I answered. I’d never forced the issue to find out more about her scars. But now I acknowledged them.
“You love me.” She smiled. “That’s how I know you’re going to enjoy this.”
“Huh?” I questioned.
“You’ll see,” Kirstin said. “She’s really sweet.”
“She?”
“My roommate. She’s like, the Queen of Scars.”
My stomach trembled. And my cock did too. But I had no idea what waited for me at my girlfriend’s.
The apartment was a penthouse suite. At one point, it had probably been the recreation hall for the building, and then someone had thrown up a couple walls to carve in a couple bedrooms and a bath, and suddenly you had a spacious, still mostly open living space. The hardwood on the floor looked a hundred years old, but I had to admit, it was an awesome-looking place. To the right, as you stepped inside, was a small but modern kitchen, with shiny oak cabinets and a stainless steel sink. A half-wall divided that from a bedroom. To the left was a living room, with couches and TV. Someone had installed modern can lights in the white ceilings, which shed a subdued orange glow across the whole of the main room, which had been painted a deep, dusky brick red. Candles flickered against the walls on top of a combination TV / stereo wall unit. Lying on the couch angled across the center of the space in front of the TV, was a woman. I could see a long trail of black hair fanned across the arm cushion. Her leg V-ed up against the back of the couch as she lolled, watching TV.
“Alexis, we’re home,” Kerstin called. The girl on the couch popped up, or at least part of her did. She pushed herself up with a hand that looked…wrong, but before it dawned on me why, I saw the V of her right leg slip down as the stump of her left leg push out into the space above the floor. She had nothing below the knee. That’s when it occurred to me what was wrong with her hand: no fingers.
“Hey,” she called, in a soft, but liquid voice. “Missed you. Is this my competition?”
Kerstin took my hand and led me to the couch. “Not competition, Lex. Spice of life.”
“You just want someone with two good arms,” Alexis complained.
“That would be a benefit for some things,” Kerstin agreed, pushing me down on the couch at the end of Alexis’s good and bad legs. “Can I get either of you something to drink?” She looked at me and warned, “Don’t have any beer, but plenty of liquor.”
“Absinthe?” Alexis asked.
“Starting early tonight?”
The dark-haired girl shrugged.
“Got any bourbon?” I asked.
She offered Knob’s Creek and I took her up on it, sans ice. As Kerstin busied herself in the kitchen, Alexis turned her attention to me. She pulled her stump back onto the couch so that its smooth end nearly touched my thigh. I could see the jagged pink lines where the flesh had been stitched together.
She pressed the bare foot of her other leg against my thigh. It was missing all but her big toe. What kind of accident had she been in? I wondered.
“Kerstin tells me you like girls with scars,” Alexis said. She raised her head to watch my reaction. Her eyes were that piercing color of blue that looks almost unreal. Her face showed the pocks and gouges of glass spray, or knife play…who knew?
“Well, I…” I stammered.
Her lips spread in a slow, easy, knowing smile. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know what you did last night. You may be a little shy, but I think you’re one of us. And I want you to look at my scars. Go ahead. Touch them.”
She pushed her stump closer, and massaged my leg with her mangled foot. I put my palm on the flesh where her left knee should have been, and traced the lines in the skin there. A shiver ran up my back as a memory passed my mind and my hand clenched gently around her flesh. I could feel my cock getting hard instantly.
“Why do they turn you on,” she asked softly. “Do you like to give them?”
“No,” I said, jerking my hand back. I wondered what she would think if I told her, but then I admitted, “Nothing like that. My first girlfriend was in a car accident, and I guess after I got used to her scars…I started to see them as a turn-on.”
“Hmmm,” she said.
Kerstin came back with the drinks, and the conversation only got weirder. It didn’t take but a couple rounds before Alexis asked Kerstin, “Can we go back to your room now?”
Kerstin helped her friend up, and acted as her crutch as they walked together across the floor. “Aren’t you coming?” Kerstin called over her shoulder at me.
I didn’t need a second invitation, but I excused myself to stop in the bathroom first. The granny-tiled room smelled mildewy, and a pile of presumably damp towels lay on the floor. One looked to have the dark stains of blood on it. Where there were women, there were always towels with blood, I thought. Then I noticed the alcohol on the sink. Nosy, I opened the cabinet beneath, and looked inside. There were more bottles of alcohol there, and boxes of surgical gauze, fastening tape, and a variety of other medicinal-looking boxes. The cabinet looked like the supply chest for a hospital. Shaking my head, I took care of my business and returned to the girls.
Alexis sat on the edge of the bed, and reached out for me, pulling me near as Kerstin watched.
I looked at my girlfriend, who smiled. “We share everything,” she said simply. Minutes later her mouth joined mine in tracing the fractured skin of Alexis, who moaned on the bed beneath us. Her body was a spider web of history. A thousand cuts, a hundred pock-holed stabs. There was more pink than flesh tone to her torso. I was so entranced in the ruin of her that I didn’t even notice when Kerstin took my pants off and began to use her lips on me.
We were awake for a very long time.
I liked Alexis. She was funny in a very under-spoken cynical way. I spent the next few days at their apartment, becoming more and more enamored of them both. They were completely warped women, both of them, and for the first time in my life I truly felt like I could share all my own kinks and dark fantasies with someone. I knew they would both understand. Alexis started telling me the origins of her scars. She’d point to one gnarled indent in her belly and smile dreamily as she explained, “This was Jim’s. Our first weekend away together. He used a pocketknife.” And then another time as my tongue traced a longer, more angry line. “That was Jim’s last one,” she said. “He used a box cutter.” I could instantly imagine the blood pouring across her belly from the cut, and winced. “We had such a good time that night,” she said, drawing my face up with her lips with her good hand. “He had so much blood on him by the time we were finished…” her voice trailed off and she smiled at the memory.
She was the Queen of Scars.
I slept with both of them nearly every night for the next two or three weeks before Alexis said to Kerstin, “Let’s go to my room tonight.” I didn’t think anything of the change immediately, until I stepped into the other bedroom just off the living room. I’d never been in it before; the door was always closed. When Kerstin turned the light on, I gasped. The single ceiling fixture was covered in a red-tinted glass, giving the whole room a bloody glare. The walls were covered with some kind of foam board (soundproofing, I learned later), and the floors were sheeted in plastic. The bed was sheeted in black, and as we laid Alexis out nude upon it, the contrast of her skin looked shocking. The red light played off her scars weirdly…her whole body might have been perspiring blood from the way the light and shadows played.
