You can also hear me read this story on:
Episode #10 of The Word Count podcast. The prompt was: “A conversation with death.”
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The notion that a person might make a pact with Satan is not unheard of. It’s done in exchange for things such as eternal youth, wealth, or power. And the price? Selling one’s soul, of course.
Is this scary? Not to me. Personally, I’d never bargain with the devil. I go after what I want in this life guided by my own moral compass, not by fear of where my soul will end up in the afterlife.
I’m a pragmatist and an optimist. I’m not afraid to die, nor am I all that concerned with how I die, with one exception, that is, and that’s what brings me to the topic at hand—my conversations with death.
I’ve envisioned my own funeral hundreds of times. My body lying in an open casket—friends and family strolling by to pay their final respects, talking to one another in hushed tones, with comments that go something like this:
Everything was going her way. What a shame.
I know, what a horrible thing to happen to such a vibrant woman. She was so happy too, actually looks like she still has a smile on her face.
Yeah, but I’d hate to die like that.
Yup, and that’s what brings me to my story about my little chats with Death himself. Yes, Death to me, is male. And as men don’t scare me, death doesn’t scare me either, that is, apart from the exception I alluded to earlier.
I know I have to die sometime, and that with each day, I move closer and closer to my grave, and yet, I fight it. I keep going, I keep being, I keep staving off the inevitable for as long as I can. I know Death will overcome me eventually, but it’s not like I think about him all the time. I’m the optimistic pragmatist, remember?
So why is it then , why is it that when I steal some intimate time, some time to engage in a private act that is so naturally human, why then is Death constantly lurking in the shadows, watching me, snickering, anticipating his nasty turn with me? If this sounds cryptic, I apologize, perhaps it’s better if I show you what I mean.
Follow me to my bedroom, and you’ll see that he’s already there waiting for me.
I masturbate on a regular basis, so you might say, I have personal chats with Death on a regular basis too. Unlike what most people think, Death is not cold. He’s hot, very, very hot. I feel his presence in the room as I undress. He lies next to me on the bed, and his heat immediately spreads to my body.
I tell him I’m not afraid of him, and he scoffs. I touch myself in the way that I know turns him on. I feel his face nearby as I shamelessly fondle my breasts, squeezing my nipples till they jut out and practically poke him in the eye. I tease him, knowing he can’t touch me back, knowing it makes him crazy as he watches me indulge myself. I hear him groan and feel him drool on my skin. I smile and insert another finger into myself.
Oh Death, you want me, don’t you? I know it , but you can’t have me. Not yet. I’m not ready.
And so I continue. I play more intensely with myself. My breathing becomes shallow, barely audible, but I know, I know the quiet can only last so long before I wail from the explosion, before I feel what I consider to be Heaven on earth for me. That’s the moment I hear Death hissing in my ear, urging me on, cackling, but the sound of my own voice drowns him out, FUCK, as I come, and I feel the bed shake as he jumps on it, dancing around my body, ecstatic to see that he might win me over this time.
And as my convulsions die down, and the sweat from my body soaks through the sheets, I hear my own breathing once again, and I’m content. I’m still alive. Death has calmed down as well. He’s taken his place back next to me, quiet for the time, but not for long.
You see, I never just come once. Like the postman who always rings twice, my orgasms come in twos as well. This is the exception I mentioned earlier. This is when I’m afraid of death. It’s the second coming that scares the life out of me. It’s impossible to predict. It starts off slow, like it might not even happen, fooling me into a satiated bliss, but I know I have it in me to come once more. Yes, yes, there it is, a flicker, slow, hardly a warning, it burns me up. Ugh…and Death is there too, with a grin on his face, waiting for his second chance.
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This story is included in a collection called HOT FLASH, now available