The Story of the Necrophiliac

They were friends more than lovers. Still, every night, the pair slept together wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. It was only on rare nights he would penetrate her. This confused the woman, so used to men taking advantage of her sex. Here she was, lying naked every night– a woman in the flesh, ready to take his length at any moment. The man’s advances, though few and far between, always left the woman with quivering legs and the mattress puddled with her nectar. But the woman could never make the man finish. Often he would ask her to lay on her belly to stroke himself and come on the small of her back. But he had never come inside the woman. One night, she began to weep. Perplexed and stripped of her womanhood, she had tried many things to stimulate his desire, but to no avail. So she wept, and wept and wept. Nothing could comfort the woman but truth. What was wrong with her sex? After many tears the man admitted his cruel addiction. Incessantly he watches women on the screen insert household objects into her vagina. Cucumbers, razors, broom sticks. This ignited curiosity and an insatiable desire in the woman to please the man. She would do anything just to make him come. She let him insert in her a spatula. She let him insert in her a shower head, even a shower rod. Still, the man was understimulated and the woman’s desire to please him stronger than ever. The next night, when the man entered her room, she was naked, riding the bed post. Instantly he dropped his trousers to the floor and began toying with himself. She rode the bed post harder as he watched, harder as he tugged on his penis. He could not stand it any longer, he had to be inside her! The man threw her backwards onto the bed, jumped on top of her, ripped open her thighs and hastily entered her. For the first time, he came inside her. But the woman was not pleased. His penis no longer fulfilled her sexual desires. She craved other things now, other things inside of her. Of all the objects inserted in her, the bed post was her favorite, perhaps because she was in total control, total domination. Every morning when the man left for work, the woman would strip herself down, crawl to the foot of the bed, and climb on top of the bed post. Harder and deeper she rode it, deeper than it had ever been until it penetrated up through her entire body, shanking her to death from the inside. Returning from work the man walked in her room and found her limp body sitting atop the bed post. He wept for a moment, blaming the death of his lover on his own sexual fantasies. But something about her position awakened his sex. He slowly raised her from the post and laid her on the bed. The man gathered anything he could find to insert between her lips. Up and down, in and out he penetrated her with household items. He left her body there for several days, each night obsessing over a different object he would use to fill her. But this was not enough. Something about her stiff limbs and lack of response aroused in him a great sexual desire. He replayed in his head the image of her riding the bed post and was erect in an instant. The man inserted his length into the corpse. He came once, and again, and for a third time, never having felt this type of pleasure before. For some time, he repeated this act until he began to bore of the same woman night after night. He needed a new lover, but his desire now only satiated by the cold insides of a woman’s corpse. So he set out to find his next partner.
(Portrait by George Segal)