Louise Decides To Get A SexJob

Louise was ironing when she first knew she was going to die, nosing the iron against the collar seam of the white silk blouse and staring into a dream of nothing. It stopped her. She put the iron on its heel and looked back through her thoughts to find it. Of course, she thought. As it was, so shall it be.

It was so obvious a truth that she’d never understood it. It had always been there, a shiny pool of possibility, and here it was, the real thing at last. The understanding, at least.

She looked at it in disbelief. How had she found this horrible truth? She always looked on the bright side of things. Half-full glasses and half-sunny days and here she was thinking about Death, about the Real Thing, not that Transition bullshit, but the Real Holy Fuck Thing.

“I had to get out of the house,” she told Ray later.

“For fresh air?” said Ray.

“No. To get out. I wanted to cancel everything and just get out of here. But there is no way out.”

Ray puts his beer on the table and sits up to her, “Out of where, exactly?” he says, holding her eyes.

“Out of the deal,” she says.

“A divorce.” he says, sure of it.

“No!” she says, “Idiot. You don’t understand.”

“A woman thing.”

Louise closed her eyes and breathed, “Yes,” she said like he was the most stupid person on earth, “A woman thing.”

“Ok, then.” he said. He took a fat gulp of his beer and hugged the bottle to his chest in his big arms, “So everything’s ok.”

When Christ appeared to Louise, he was naked and in chains.

“Release me,” he said. The chains were gold with ruby-studded bands on his wrists, on his ankles and on his neck and his cock. His body was long and lean, his skin shining in the light from some unseen fire. His cock was hard, swollen in the grip of its ring, dripping with need.

“You bastard,” she said, “You can walk on water.”

“Turn water into wine,” he said.

“Then let yourself go.”

“I need you for that.” he grinned at her sheepishly, his eyes twinkling and then lowered his long lashed lids.

She laughed, contemptuous and angry, took the slick drooling bulb of his cock and swirled it slowly in her palm, making him shiver, then she raked her nails down the stem to grab his balls and jiggle them, rubbing his frenum against her dry, cool forearm.

“Where were you when I needed you?” she said, slipping furthur down to slide a finger into his ass. His cock snapped, flinging a bead of juice, of wine, onto her breast, dribbling down to circle the quivering nipple, biting it with a band of cool. She blinked.

He grinned, “I have always been here. Waiting for you to find me. I’ve been calling and calling and calling you, but you just won’t listen, Louise.”

“You can make the blind see. You can make dead men walk. But you can’t make me listen?”

“No.” he said.

“Can you tell me about Death?” She stepped closer until she felt the tip of his cock tap her cunt’s lips, and then gently nudged forward. Her body pulsed, a throb of violet velvet joy, blooming slowly from her cunt up. Shuddering, she pushed forward, slipping the hot tip deeper, sliding it between her wet lips until she felt it nuzzle into her ass cheeks and its shaft pressing throbbing up against her clitoris, each throb with a pleasure deeper than the deepest, fullest thrust she had ever known from a mortal man. each pulse of it. She pressed her breasts to his warm, moist chest, and inhaled his bouquet of rich red wine. She placed her trembling palms over the upper curl of his buttocks and pulled him closer, pushed her pubus to his pubus, pressed her cheek to his cheek, closed her eyes, moaned, then with a wimper said, “Tell me about Death.”

He turned his mouth to her ear and kissed it, softly taking the lobe in his lips and then touching the moist tip of his tongue to the heart of it, he dissolved.

She felt his spirit leave first. Though she held his body against hers, felt his cock still insistent between her thighs, nestling at the entrance to her swollen dripping cunt, she felt alone. The joy had gone. It was just another body suddenly, it could have been Bob in a bad mood, with a cold perhaps. Then the body went, too – a gentle tinkling like glass breaking in another room.

She was lying sweat-drenched and naked on the bed, gasping, hands clutching her cunt, eyes astonished, when Bob walked in to the room. He stared at her, confused at first, and then, not really understanding, angry. “Bitch,” he said. He got into bed, on the very edge, and curled himself away from her, pulling his pillow close, “Why do I even give a fuck?” he said, “Why the fuck do I care?”