The Sinister Mr. Corpse (15 page)

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 grandmother 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?"