Love in the Age of Zombies (Book 1): My Zombie Honeymoon

by James K. Evans

  Michelle makes a great cup of coffee, better than mine. I’m not sure what she does different. It’s stronger. She was in the shower, so I went back into the bedroom to take care of something. Then I went upstairs.

  A warm front had come through. No white Christmas for us. In fact, it had warmed enough for a whole new bunch of zombies to mill around, shuffling and scuffling about, going nowhere. I don’t know where they come from, but they keep showing up. I looked all around from the windows of the house, but didn’t see anything unusual. But something didn’t feel right. After checking the windows one last time, I went to the door, checked the peep-hole, and quietly stepped outside.

  I could see the zombies in the front of the house, shuffling around. But I couldn’t hear any sounds coming from them. Usually we can hear them as soon as we leave the basement. Today I heard no rasping at all. It was strange. It reminded me of one of the scenes from Hitchcock’s The Birds, where the birds are everywhere but not singing.

  I knew a lot of zombies were in the front—more than I’d seen in a while—but why were they so quiet? It was downright peculiar. I didn’t like seeing their behavior change. As I stood there, listening, one came shambling past the corner. It didn’t notice me, so I quietly slipped back into the house and downstairs, absent-mindedly humming Silent Night. I decided on a last cup of coffee.

  Michelle had just gotten out of the shower but was still in the bathroom. When I took my cup into the living room, I noticed a wrapped present under the tree.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “What’s it look like, Bozo?” she quipped, drying her hair with a towel. With her hands running the towel through the air, her robe fell open. I could see her belly button, most of one breast (including the nipple) and the swell of the other. She looked great, and I couldn’t help looking.

  “I said, ‘What’s it look like, Bozo?’”

  “It looks lovely but kind of lonely, I think it needs some attention.”

  She sighed but made no effort to close her robe. “Not my boob, you boob! You asked what was under the tree, so I’ll repeat myself. What’s it look like, Bozo?!” She tried to look irritated, but she was also trying not to smile. She still made no effort to close her robe, which had actually fallen open even more, showing both nipples now. Below her belly button I could see just a snatch of pubic hair.

  I forced myself to tear my eyes away from her beautifully exposed body and looked back under the tree. “It looks kind of like a Christmas present. Who’s it for?”

  “I wrapped myself a present, what do you think?” she answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes with a smile.

  “Can I open it?”

  “No, you can’t open it. It’s not Christmas. You have to wait.”

  “That’s not fair! I don’t want to wait! Besides, we never said anything about exchanging presents! I didn’t have any time to go Christmas shopping! The mall was closed! I left my wallet at home! They were out of your size! The dog ate my debit card!”

  “Too bad. Deal with it,” she said.

  I turned on my heels and walked into the storeroom and brought out three presents. I had wrapped them while she was in the shower.

  Her eyes opened wide. “Three presents? I have three presents?”

  “I’m impressed, you can count! I don’t know why everyone says you’re so dumb!”

  “Can I open them?”

  “No. You have to wait till Christmas. Fair is fair.”

  “But I want to open them now! I don’t want to have to wait!”

  “Sorry, but you set the rules, now you have to live by them. We’ll have to wait until Christmas.”

  I put the presents under the tree. Michelle closed her robe and immediately came over and examined the presents. She held them up, shook them, sniffed them, turned them over and around.

  “Is it a new car?”

  “No.”

  “A Cuisinart?”

  “No.”

  “A hot tub?”

  I moved behind her near the tree. “No. Quit asking. And don’t let me catch you peeking under the wrapper,” I said, slipping my hand inside her robe and exposing a breast. She slapped my hand away.

  “Then you stop peeking under my wrapper!”

  Then she got a pretend pout look on her face and set the presents back down. One box was very small and square, one fairly small but heavy, the other wide and flat. The box she had wrapped for me was fairly small, about the size of a shoebox. I couldn’t imagine what it could be. I did the same thing she did—shook it around, tried to figure out how much it weighed . . . it wasn’t heavy at all. Not a book. Not a DVD. I couldn’t figure it out. I put it back under the tree.

  “I think you forgot to put anything in the box,” I said.

  “No I didn’t.”

  “If it’s a ribeye steak, it really should be refrigerated,” I offered.

  “You’re way off. Or maybe it’s one of the new kinds that doesn’t need refrigeration. You’ll find out. But don’t let me catch you peeking either,” she ordered, having to slap my hand away from her robe again.

  Little does she know I am one of those people who doesn’t like to peek. At breasts, yes, presents, no. It spoils the surprise. In fact, usually I don’t like to get presents. Giving is better than receiving. Except with oral sex.

  She stood up, still trying to look pouty but also with a sparkle in her eye. We took care of our usual chores, and I also cleaned the bathroom. Some soap scum had built up in the shower, and I figured it was best to take care of it before it got worse. It’s not necessarily easy to clean a shower stall by the light of a candle, but I did my best. I sprayed some homemade shower cleaner (dish soap and dissolved baking soda) on the walls and left them to soak.

  Later in the afternoon, after we finished our chores, I went back into the bathroom, took off my clothes and got in the shower to finish cleaning. I sprayed some vinegar on the walls and started wiping them down. The baking soda I’d sprayed earlier reacted to the vinegar, making the cleaning pretty easy.

  I was startled when the shower door opened and there stood Michelle, naked, her nipples hard.

  “Got room in there for me?” she asked.

  “Sure!” I answered. Part of me thought, But it will have to be quick. There’s not much sun these days, so the batteries don’t have a full charge to heat the water! But I didn’t say anything. I made room and she stepped into the shower. We soaped each other up, rinsed each other off, kissed and groped each other for a few minutes, then got out and dried off.

  “You know, I think we save water when we shower together,” I suggested. “I think we should shower together all the time.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” she responded, reaching over and giving my erection a playful squeeze, “I think that’s a great idea. Except when you’re in there with me, the water chemistry changes. It turns into hard water . . .” That led to other playful squeezes, then some not so playful squeezes, and before long we were back in bed, doing our best to wear each other out.

  We rested in bed a few minutes, smelling shower clean and like fresh sex. My favorite smell.

  After a bit we started making a dinner of salad and canned veggies. I found a can of turkey Spam and we pretended it was a Christmas turkey. We don’t eat meat every day, and even when we do, canned meat just isn’t the same as an aged New York Strip, freshly seared on the grill, medium rare and so tender you barely need a knife!

  I know I’m spoiled. I really am thankful for the food I have. Even so, I’ll be glad if I ever get fresh meat and summer vegetables again.

  After we cleaned up, I went through her DVDs and found a copy of A Christmas Carol, the black and white version with Alistair Sim. Michelle smiled brightly—she said she loved this version better than any other.

  We watched it together, enraptured. “You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There’s more gravy about you than grave.” What a great line.

 
; When the movie was over, we realized it was 12:30.

  “It’s Christmas Day!” she exclaimed. “Can I open my presents?”

  “Sure, why not,” I replied. “But I want to get a little bourbon. The good stuff. Would you like some wine?” She said yes, so I made our drinks while she picked out some Christmas music. It almost felt normal. Finally we settled down by the tree. “You go first,” I said. “Since you have three. You open one, I’ll open mine, then you open the other two.”

  “Okay!” Michelle said. She reached under the tree and grabbed the small box first—the one I’d gotten out of the upstairs dresser.

  “No, not that one, one of the other ones,” I said. She put it back and got the longer, flatter box. She peeled off the wrapping paper and found a small notebook. In large letters were the words “Thawing Lake Michigan” underneath, in smaller print, was “Life with Michelle”

  “What is this?” she whispered. She opened the notebook and read the dedication I’d written. “That is so sweet!” she said. Then she turned and read the first poem. Looking up at me with eyes shining she said, “Kevin! I had no idea you wrote poetry!”

  “I was hoping you didn’t,” I said. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  She slowly read several pages, savoring the love poems I’d written her. I saw tears fall down her cheeks. Once she laughed out loud. After about ten minutes, she closed the book and fell into my open arms.

  “That’s the best present anyone’s ever given me,” she said. “No one’s ever written me a love poem before.”

  “Well, now someone’s written you a bunch,” I said. “Sometimes I can write what I feel better than I can say what I feel. Aren’t you going to read the rest?”

  “Not right now. I want to save them. They’re like this wine,” she said, taking a sip. “You don’t chug a bottle of good wine. You take little sips and make it last as long as you can.” She tipped the glass back and chugged one last huge swallow before the glass was empty. Then she laughed out loud and leaned over to give me a very wine-tasting kiss.

  I was happy with her reaction—it was everything I wanted. Some people don’t like poetry. She might not like poetry. But she liked mine.

  “Now it’s your turn!” she said. “I’m a little embarrassed, though. My gift can’t compare with what you gave me.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” I said. She reached over and gave me the small box. I tore the wrapping off—I’m not one to carefully, gingerly remove the paper—and opened the box. What I found inside puzzled me at first—it was little scraps of material. In very feminine colors—pink. White. Light blue. Frilly and lacey. Then I held one up.

  I whistled a cat-call. “What have we here?” I asked.

  “It’s lingerie. I thought you’d like it,” she said.

  “Oh, I do, I love them. But Hon, how did you know my size?!” I teased.

  She hit me on the arm and said, “They’re not for you to wear! They’re for me to wear and for you to ogle them right before you rip them off!”

  “Now we’re cooking with gas!” I said. She giggled then asked me if I wanted her to model them. Of course, I enthusiastically said yes.

  She grabbed the box and disappeared into the bedroom. A minute later she came out, wearing a see-through bra and matching panties. The bra was very sheer, very low cut. And very, very sexy. As usual, her nipples were hard.

  “Wow! You look ravishing! I may have to ravish you!” I said.

  “Not yet! You have to see the rest first!”

  She then proceeded to model the rest of the lingerie. She was absolutely stunning. In some ways a scantily clad woman is sexier than a naked one. The last thing she came out wearing wasn’t lingerie—it was a royal blue cocktail dress. Very low-cut. It displayed her ample cleavage at its best. “Wow! That’s really, really sexy!” I said, standing up.

  “You’re tenting, dear.” she said with a wicked grin. Looking down, I could see she was right. Big Kevin was at full attention.

  “You bet I am,” I said. Then she turned around showing off how well the dress framed her beautiful ass. She has an ample ass—she’s not some skinny-cheeked faux-adolescent. I went over and took her into my arms, reaching behind her and cupping her ass. “You look wonderful! I can’t wait to take you out on the town in this!”

  She giggled again and then said, “Now, now, this is for special occasions, if we ever have any. I’m not going to wear this around the house while we fertilize the plants.”

  “Fertilize the plants, hell! I’ll fertilize you after seeing how sexy you are in this dress!” I exclaimed.

  She backed away from me and said, “Not yet you won’t. I still have two more presents!” She grabbed me by my erection and pulled me back over to the Christmas tree. With a heavy sigh—and yet filled with anticipation—I knelt before the tree, then reached over and grabbed one of her presents. The heavier one. When I handed it to her, she said, “For a small box, this weighs a lot! I hope it’s gold!”

  “What good would gold do you?”

  “Point taken,” she said as she ripped the paper off the box. She then removed the lid and pulled out a half-dollar sized, polished Petoskey stone, nearly identical to mine.

  “Kevin, it’s beautiful! Did you find it?”

  “Yep, found it and polished it. I wish I could have made it into a pendant, but I don’t know how. Back in the day, I’d spend hours and hours looking for them, and would rejoice when I found a good one. They’ve always been kind of a good luck charm for me.”

  “So you found this on the beach? At Lake Minetonka?”

  “Lake Menekaunee,” I corrected. “Yes. I found that one on the dune called Old Baldy, about a hundred feet above the shore. It was a glorious mid-October day, and my friend Stan and I hiked from the resort through the woods, up to the top of the dunes and then back along the beach. This was the first Petoskey I’d found in over a year. Looking for it was like looking for a cool drink of water on a hot summer day. And when I found it, my heart was at ease, as if I’d recovered a lost treasure. Giving it to you feels . . . appropriate.”

  She was still turning it over in her hand, admiring the hexagonal pattern the fossil made on the stone.

  She reached over and gave me a kiss.

  “Thank you for the fossil,” she said, “I’ll keep it forever.” Then she reached out for her last present, looked at me and said, “May I?!”

  “Of course! I hope you . . . I mean, I wasn’t sure if . . . I mean, if you don’t . . . aw, hell, just open it.”

  She took her time taking off the wrapper. By now, I figure she knew what was inside—or had an inkling. She slowly opened the jewelry box and gasped.

  “Oh, Kevin, it’s beautiful!” she said as she pulled the diamond ring out of the box. Taking the ring, I knelt in front of her.

  “Michelle, I know I haven’t said it in so many words, but I love you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time. I want to always be with you. I want you to marry me. Will you? Will you marry me?”

  She started crying, smiling, and nodding her head at the same time. “Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes!!” she said. I admit, I misted up myself. We hugged and kissed and just held each other for several minutes before breaking our clinch. Her eyes were still wet and shining. Mine probably were too. “I love you so much, Kevin. Thank you for making me feel beautiful and alive.” Then she nestled up to me. We sat there, all wrapped up together, staring into each other’s eyes, whispering words of love and comfort. Michelle noticed I was still tenting. She took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom. For the first time—but not the last time—I had the pleasure of unzipping her dress and watching the fabric cascade onto the floor.

  Christmas Day was here. And Santa was about to come.

  I was nearly asleep when she sat up and poked me. “Who says I’m dumb?!” We both laughed, then once again she nestled into my arms. She sleeps next to me now. I’m very happy. I don’t know when I’ve liked a present as much as
the present she gave me. She looks so beautiful in her lingerie and dress. I almost had an eye-gasm, lol.

  And she liked my poetry.

  And she said yes. What more could a man want?

  Silent Night

  Silent night, holy night.

  They are silent

  as if they sense the sanctity of this moment.

  Standing by the bed, I listen

  to the silence.

  Underneath the blanket she dozes

  nightmares forsworn.

  The blanket covers all but the slope

  of one breast

  I watch it silently rise and fall

  with her breath

  just as my hopes rise and fall

  hope for our love to last forever

  fear that forever may be short

  She moans in her sleep

  then shifts slightly.

  The blanket slips to reveal

  the fullness of her breast,

  culminating in one sweet blushing nipple

  I disrobe

  quietly join her under the blanket

  and pray that, like her

  tonight I shall

  sleep in heavenly peace,

  sleep in heavenly peace.

  Christmas Day

  It has been quite a lovely day. We spent much of our time in bed. I had her model all of the lingerie again. Then I had her take it all off again. The whole day, she kept glancing at her ring. A couple of times I caught her in the hydro room.

  “Look how beautiful it sparkles under the LED lights!” she exclaimed. I took a look and she was right—the red and blue lights made the diamond practically glow.

  We watched another movie, A Christmas Story, which Michelle said reminded her of her home town. We had a bit more to drink than usual, had a bit more sex than usual, and fell asleep a bit earlier than usual after one more dance between the sheets. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

  December 26th—St. Stephen’s Day