My Zombie Honeymoon: Love in the Age of Zombies Book One (19 page)

“I may be a slut, but you’re getting hard again,” she said, reaching down and giving me a light squeeze. “I wanted you to notice me, Kevin. I was feeling pretty low, and I wanted someone to appreciate me. The first few times we met, something in me clicked and I wanted to connect with you. Remember when you brought me the basil, and then went back and got me some lettuce? I thought it was so sweet! I haven’t met a really, really sweet guy in ages. You even helped me move in without my asking. Usually as soon as men see my boobs and get close to me, they turn foreign on me.”

“Foreign?!”

“Yeah, you know . . . Roman hands and Russian fingers.”

For the second time in just a few minutes, I laughed out loud. “I’ve never heard that one,” I said.

Michelle continued. “I know I have big boobs. And I don’t have to
catch
a guy looking to
know
he’s looking. So I knew you liked what you saw, and yet every time we talked, you went out of your way to look me in the eyes and talk to
me
, not stare at my chest and talk to my mammaries. You treated me like a person, not like a walking pair of boobs. You have no idea how sweet that is.”

“And you have no idea how much effort it took!” I admitted. “I even wrote about it in my journal. I’ll show you sometime.”

“Right now,” she said, reaching down between us, “I’d rather you show me something else.”

“I’d love to show you something else, but there’s one problem.”

“Oh?”

“I’m gay.”

“Your mouth says you’re gay, but other parts say you’re straight.”

“Actually, as you can tell, I’m really (cough) up for anything, but . . .” I hesitated, then said, “but I really think we should get downstairs. I can hear the zombies again outside, and if you and I end up being as loud as we were a few minutes ago, we might get their attention. We really don’t want that—if I were a bad guy trying to find a home with people living in it, I’d look for a house surrounded by zombies.”

“Well . . . okay. As long as we start up where we left off.”

“And where exactly are we leaving off?”

“I believe you were getting ready to kiss me and make love to me.”

“I like the sound of that. Let’s get downstairs.”

We scurried to get dressed. I put my jeans on, going commando, and she put on her sweatshirt, but left everything else off. We gathered our stuff and headed down to the first floor with Michelle leading the way. I thoroughly enjoyed watching her bare ass as it descended the stairs. I was obviously looking forward to the coming few hours.

Once we got to the first floor, I stopped by the window for a quick check of the street. It appeared the zombies had indeed heard us; many of them were milling around our house instead of wandering around on the street. I hoped if the despicable men were still down the street they wouldn’t notice. Where the zombies had swarmed and killed the woman, nothing remained but a large dark stain and one small piece of tissue—maybe bone. I wondered where the rest of her went. I shuddered and turned away.

By the time I turned around, Michelle was already in the basement. Damn, I was wanting to watch her ass go down the stairs.

When I entered the living room, Michelle was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. I could hear the shower in the background. She’d lit a couple of candles and the room glowed with their flickering warmth.

Glancing at me, she said, “It’s about time! What took you so long?”

“I had to text my gay boyfriends and warn them not to come over for a few hours,” I replied.

“Really. It’s nice to know I have the power to cause you to change teams. I’m ready to play ball.”

“I’ll pitch if you catch,” I said.

“I’m hoping you’ll use your Louisville Slugger.”

“Don’t worry, I bring my balls and bat with me wherever I go,” I said, appreciating the scenery as Michelle once again pulled her sweatshirt over her head.

She got into the shower, adjusted the temperature, then poked her head out the door and said, “Join me?”

“You bet. I was hoping to lather you up with my liquid soap.”

“Is that what they call it these days? You already washed my mouth out with your soap . . . I can’t wait to see what else you have up your sleeve.”

“It’s not what’s up my sleeve you need to wonder about . . . it’s what’s up my pant leg. In case you already forgot what’s there, I’ll reintroduce you,” I said as I pulled off my pants and joined her in the shower.

I stepped in behind her, admiring her wet and shining ass in the candlelight. I grabbed the soap and lathered up my hands, then ran them over her ass cheeks, making them even more slippery. I rinsed them off, then turned her around to face me. I leaned over and finally did something I’d been dreaming about for a couple of months; I took her left nipple in my mouth. As I was enjoying the taste of hot water and a hard, wet nipple, she took some soap and lathered up my manhood. “Mmmm,” I growled, “I think we should finish up and take this into the bedroom.”

“Too bad the air mattress isn’t inflated. Your bed is so small,” she said.

“It just means we’ll have to snuggle.”

“I plan on doing a lot more than snuggling,” she said as she turned off the shower. We took toweled each other dry, then I took her by the hand and led her out of the bathroom. We each picked up a candle on our way out.

When we got to the bedroom, we placed the candles on the nightstand and embraced on the bed. I took each nipple in my mouth in turn, and every now and then would lightly nip her with my teeth, causing her to jump as the pleasure took on a slightly painful edge.

I moved up so I could kiss her. As her mouth opened to receive my tongue, I slowly licked her lips all around, starting with the lower lip and traversing to her upper lip. She kept her mouth open, my tongue teasing and tickling her lips, until I finally felt her tongue join mine. I could hear her breathing getting deeper and faster I continued to kiss her, my tongue dancing with hers.

While I was doing this, I became fully firm, wanting attention. I placed myself at her entrance and with one slow forward thrust, I entered her. Michelle squirmed against me, moaning “Oh, God, you feel so
damn good!
”

Long before I wanted to, I could feel myself getting close and with a few more thrusts, I began to orgasm. The feel of my climax intensified her own orgasm, and with her eyes closed she nearly stopped breathing as her body was racked with spasms. We collapsed into a sweaty heap on the bed, breathing hard, spent. I felt my muscles trembling, especially my legs. They were quite unused to that particular exertion.

“I’m sorry I didn’t last longer,” I apologized.

“Mmm, you were wonderful! How long did you say it’s been?”

“Ten years or so. I’m kind of rusty.”

“You know what they say,” she said as she reached down and gently squeezed me, “practice makes perfect!”

With a smile on my face, I pulled her to me and held her close. We fell asleep, spooning on my small bed.

When I awoke, Michelle was gone. I pulled on my jeans and a t-shirt, and went into the living room. She was on her knees, going through my CDs. A cup of hot coffee was beside her. She had put her sweatshirt back on, but wore nothing else. Her ass looked mighty fine.

“You realize having all these CDs ages you, right? No one buys CDs any more. They just download them from iTunes.”

I walked over and kneeled next to her, pulling her close to me. “Oh they do, do they?” I inquired. She paused.

“Well, they used to. Maybe it’s a good thing you do have these CDs. But I’ll tell you what, do you mind if I pick out some music? I have a bunch of CDs next door, but I didn’t bring any with me.”

Well now, this will be interesting,
I thought,
let’s see what kind of music she picks out.
“Sure!” I said. You can tell a lot about someone by the type of music they choose.

Michelle continued looking through my collection for a few minutes, then picked one out. The first few notes sounded familiar, and it only took a moment for me to recognize the song: it was Billie Holiday, singing
Good Morning Heartache
. “This song used to be my theme song,” she said. “I fell in love with it the morning after my boyfriend walked out on me. I got up in the morning, turned on the vocal music channel on the cable music service, and this was the first song I heard. I’ve loved it ever since.”

“What was his name?” I asked.

“His name was Wayne. For a while I thought it was the loveliest name in the English language. Now I can’t stand it. I’m
so
glad your name isn’t Wayne.”

“Why did you two break up? I hope you don’t mind my asking.”

“Nah, it’s ancient history. It stopped hurting a long time ago. Now it’s just the ghost of a hurt. We were living together when he got a job offer in Chicago. When I told him how fun it would be to live in Chicago, he told me he intended on moving there alone. I don’t know why. We got along well, had a decent sex life, and talked about a future together.”

I had the strange feeling she wasn’t telling me everything. I also felt something unfamiliar. I didn’t like hearing about him. Especially about their sex life. It kind of made me mad. Or resentful. Or something. I guess it was jealousy. I did my best to ignore it.

Now that the walls were dry and the fumes gone, we re-arranged the furniture and took care of the usual chores. We skipped breakfast and I made lunch which in this case consisted of cream of chicken soup, canned green beans, instant mashed potatoes, and some canned pineapple. It was a lot, but making love had left me hungry, and besides, today felt like a celebration.

“Damn, I wish I had some of my wine,” she said, thinking wistfully of the case she had left in her garage. “I’m hoping we can get it at some point.”

Afterward we had a quiet night, this time playing backgammon, a game she brought with her. It’s obvious she’s been playing a long time—she won nearly every game. Of course, the fact that she never did put any panties or pants on, and kept deliberately flashing me when it was my turn had nothing to do with how well I did or didn’t play.

After an hour or so of this—and we both had several of my beers—she nuzzled up to me and suggested we head for bed.

“Now you’re talking,” I said. “But you have to promise you won’t try to take advantage of me.”

“Kevin, not only am I already taking advantage of you, but soon you’ll be caught in my web like a helpless bug.”

“Ah. The Black Widow. She mates, then she kills.”

“I never said anything about mating. I only said you’d be caught in my web. But now that you mention it . . .” she said, reaching with her hand and stroking me.

“Seems to me you’re caught in
my
web,” I said with a smile.

“I must admit, your web is way nicer than mine,” she replied. “But if we’re going to do any sleeping tonight, is there any way we can use the blow-up mattress instead of your bed?”

What a great idea. Why hadn’t I thought of it? We moved the mattress into the bedroom and swapped my full for her queen.

Michelle offered to make the bed while I took a shower, and by the time I finished, the bed was made, something I hadn’t done in quite a while. It looked very homey and inviting, but I hoped to have the sheets in disarray in short order.

I hadn’t bothered to put any clothes on when I came out of the bathroom, and Michelle eyed my naked body with a look akin to hunger.

She then once again treated me to a quick strip show, slowly taking off her sweatshirt. Standing before me in the light of the LED lantern, she peeled it off, revealing her breasts and hardening nipples. Then she was standing in front of me, nude and blushing, allowing me to get an eyeful.

“There’s no way you can know this,” she said, “but it’s actually very intimidating for me to stand in front of you, naked in the light.”

I was taken aback. “What?! You’re beautiful!”

“I don’t really like my body. I’m not exactly the model type,” she said, patting her rounded belly. “I know I have big boobs, and lots of guys really
like
a big rack, but I also have a big tummy and a big ass. I don’t see how you can even like it.”

“You’re standing in front of a guy who’s probably 30 pounds overweight, is mostly bald, and is out of shape. You’re standing there naked, complaining about your body, while I get harder and harder by the minute,” I said, reaching down and giving myself a quick squeeze. “If I wasn’t attracted to your body, do you think I’d be getting hard?” I asked. “Many years ago, when I was younger and even more stupid than I am now, I might not have liked your body. But now, I see on TV all of these flat-bellied actresses and models with silicone boobs. They’ve had liposuction or lap bands or whatever else they do to make women skinny, have had their lips injected to make them fuller, have had Botox injections and labiaplasty, and you know what I think? I think they look like the perfect sex toy.”

I paused. “But do you know what else I think? I think they don’t look like women any more. They look fake and plastic and artificial. I don’t like artificial women. I like a woman who looks real, complete with well-rounded curves and luscious breasts. Not too long before the Collapse, I quit watching broadcast TV entirely. The commercials started annoying me far beyond the ability of the programs to entertain me. I saw the commercials doing their best to manipulate my perception of beauty. All those flat-belly models and those guys with six pack abs. Real people don’t look like that. I’d go hang out at the Jolly Pumpkin brewpub, and I’d see two things: I’d see how real people look—all different shapes and sizes, wearing glasses and having imperfect teeth . . . and I started to resent having some artificial definition of beauty shoved down my throat. The only people who look that good are the ones who have lots of money to spend on reconstructive surgery and lots of free time to spend at the gym with a personal trainer. It’s not normal, it’s not natural, and I don’t see them as being beautiful. They’re like silk flowers—they look nice, but they’re not real and they’re not really alive. What’s the point of artificial beauty?”