The Graveyard Sex
He wept like a fool at her grave. Love had done him dirty again, as always. As always, he had loved and he had lost. “I guess love really isn’t for some people and I’m one of them.” He took out his custom made black handkerchief and wiped his face dry. The initials ‘M.J’ stood out in the left corner of the cloth. “Real men don’t cry, Dave. We move.”
It was his third marriage and the second burial of his spouse. His first and third wives had died from terminal illnesses and a car accident respectively while his second wife had simply run off with a quarter of his fortune. He had ill luck when it came to women.
He had often wondered if he had been a psychotic rapist in his past life and that was why he had been suffering in the hands of women. He had visited pastors, priests, and even shamans to enquire about his ill fate with women but none of them had come up with a reasonable explanation.
“I guess I’m simply unlucky.” He took in a very heavy breath and let it out slowly, relishing each second as he made his release. It was the middle of October and the smell of freshly wet sand mixed with the scent of freshly wet leaves to create an intoxicating, yet relaxing ambiance as he walked out of the gravesite that afternoon.
As he walked past a young woman, he felt a very chill breeze. He was just about to pass her side when she suddenly turned to him with tears in her eyes. He thought to himself that he had never seen such beautiful tears in his life. He chided himself for thinking of a way to see those pretty tears again. He was halfway past her and partially regretting why he didn’t have the balls to create an experience with her when she decided to help him out with that.
A very weak looking hand reached out to grab his very expensive black shirt and although he expected the hold to be as weak as the hand appeared, it wasn’t. It was very firm. It was very firm enough to hold him in place and command his attention. From the corner of his eyes, he could see his bodyguards coming out, ready to take out the threat to their employer. He always had them put on mufti and blend with the crowd to prevent unnecessary attention.
He motioned for them to stay back as he intuitively felt that she was not a threat like she appeared to be at the moment. Her very firm hold still held him in place and her pretty rivers still flowed like a stream on her face. He was still admiring the beauty of it when the most unexpected thing happened.
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She drew him close to her, pulled the both of them down to the wet, muddy leaves on the ground, and launched into a full-blown wailing session on his shoulder. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced so he waited to see where it would all lead to. He had always been a curious cat, but unlike the story of how curiosity killed the cat, his curiosity had made him the billionaire he was today.
She was still crying, runny nose and all. “What would make a grown woman cry like this in public? And worse of all on the shoulder of a stranger? Was it grief? A need to release? Or simply lack of manners?” The thoughts kept running through his mind. This was an alien experience so he had no idea how to go about handling the situation. He decided to do what he always did when he didn’t know what to do– trust his instincts.
She continued to cry, though the tenacity of her tears and grip loosened enough for him to pull her back for earnest observation.
“Do I know you? Better yet, do you know me? Why are you wailing like a rabid dog in a graveyard? And most especially, why did you hold on to me like that? Me, a total stranger? What if I was a deranged psychopath that went around graveyards looking for lonely women to kill? You could have easily been my next prey you know?
Her tears dried up immediately after his interrogation. It was as though she had just received the sudden realization that she was in the arms of a stranger in the middle of a graveyard and it was not a safe place to be in, alone. Reckon dawned ever clearer as she coughed heavily and slowly adjusted herself out of his embrace. She must have felt very embarrassed after realizing what she had done.
“Ummm… I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. I just really needed to release all the pain I had been keeping inside. The surprising thing though is that I didn’t expect to find myself doing that in the arms of a stranger. What had possessed me and forced me to throw myself at you like that, I really don’t know to be honest.”
Her head was bowed very low. She didn’t dare lift it after all she had just displayed. Shame covered her like a cloak and its heaviness weighed on her even more such that she stooped lower under its weight. He continued to observe her wordlessly, never replying to any of her comments or starting any of his own. He simply stared, and that made her feel even more awkward.
“So…. My name is Lateefah, I happen to be the seventh and youngest wife of the man that I was just mourning. I’m a thirty-three-year-old Christian that had to convert to a Muslim so I could marry the very wealthy senator that was buried in that grave. It was all my parents did, of course. I wanted to marry a young fine hustling young man but they were too greedy. Look where I am now.”
He still said nothing, probably wondering why she was crazily spilling her life’s story to a complete stranger like him as the puzzled look on his face suggested. He tilted his head to the left and then to the right, yet no word was released.
“Why the hell am I opening my big mouth to an ordinary passerby? What demon possessed me this afternoon like this? And why the hell am I talking to myself in front of a stranger?! He’s really going to think I’m weird and crazy now. Arrgh!” I pumped my fist into the muddy earth and let out a forced whizz of breath. I needed to let out my frustration somehow. I was beginning to regret my action when I suddenly started smiling inwardly. I had finally gotten his attention, he was about to speak.
“Okay… this is a lot of information for a stranger like me to handle but I guess your instincts must have trusted me enough for you to do so, so I will trust in your sense of judgment and not think that you are simply a crazy lonely widow who is out to get me in a creepy place.”
She laughed, a distorted sound of broken chords, but a laugh all the same and as such, she was grateful. After some seconds, her cacophony of a laugh blended into a melody of the pure harmonious symphony that attracted him even more than her tears. “Who was this lady that could command his attention with her tears and laughter?”
He knew he couldn’t expect her to say any more about herself, she had already said more than he could imagine any stranger telling him so he decided to speak up for himself and strike up a conversation with her instead. “Ummm… my name is Michael. Michael Jackson.”
He expected her to react the way every normal human had reacted whenever he introduced himself but he should have known that this strange fellow was far from normal, because she didn’t laugh or give him a puzzled look. She simply blinked twice, much to his surprise. He stared hard at her expecting her to say something but it was her turn to play dumb because she simply stayed mute.
“Ummm… I’ll be honest and say that I definitely didn’t expect you to stay quiet or mute after hearing my name. I mean, everyone laughs at me when they hear it. So… Why didn’t you?” He squinted his eyes till they were almost shut and positioned his lips in a semi pout. She was suddenly being too quiet for his taste.
“Where did the talkative weirdo of the past thirty minutes go?” He felt uncomfortable and stupid. “I guess she is simply giving me a taste of my own medicine. I can only imagine how awkward it must have been for her all this while.” He made as if to stand up from the muddy leaves but she quickly pulled him down beside her again.
“D-Don’t le-leave me… Michael…. Please stay with me.” It was the earnestness in her voice and eyes that kept him rooted in his muddy seat. “Okay, I’ll stay but what exactly do you want from me now?” He kept searching into her eyes like he was expecting an answer that he didn’t dare hope to hear. Wordlessly, just a little above a whisper, she mouthed the words he wanted to hear but was too scared to expect.
“I want you, Michael.”
The primitive man in him threw all caution to the wind. He forgot his bodyguards, the muddy floor, and even the fact that they were in a graveyard. All he could think– rather his extension could think of because at that point his brain had stopped thinking– was getting laid with the pretty widow in front of him.
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“Consider it done honey.” It was all his sex-starved brain could muster at the moment. He pulled her in and launched into a deep, tongue throbbing kiss that had the both of them panting hard like marathon runners when they separated. He was still trying to catch his breath when she plunged into another kiss, this time more seductive and sensual.
She took her time teasing him with her lips, her short, sloppy kisses sending shivers down their spine. It was unlike anything either of them had experienced. It was an old experience with a fresh perspective to it. He reached out to her, his palms seeking comfort in the softness of her breasts. They found it and he found rest there.
He tried talking but only grunts came out, she tried asking him what he wanted to say but only moans were spoken. Tired at their fruitlessness in producing words, they resorted back to their incoherent sounds and made do with communicating their thoughts with their actions instead. It felt like two old souls were reuniting, the experience was surreal.
In seconds their shirts were off, and in lesser seconds her bra went flying into the wet grass. Again, they had no idea where they were, neither were they bothered by it. All they knew was the drive to satisfy their sudden craving. It felt instinctive, like the way a newborn baby craves its mother’s breast milk, and found its way to her nipples by itself even though its eyes are still closed, all for a suck. He needed a suck. So did she.
Thirty minutes after satisfying their craving, reality dawned on them– they had just had sex in a graveyard. They, two complete strangers. Embarrassed beyond repair and in an attempt to save her face, she tried to strike up a conversation but he was not ready to be played by a woman again. He had had enough in the hands of the female folk.
“I’m sorry but I’m not ready to go through the emotional rollercoaster of being in a relationship with a woman. I have had more than my fair share of misfortune and I think that’s more than what one man can, rather, should take in his lifetime. I’m not ready to love, neither am I ready to commit so this is where we say goodbye, Miss…”
She blushed, conscious of the fact that they had just shared that sort of intimacy when he didn’t even know her name. “… Emily. My name is Emily Greene. Though my late husband’s name was Alhaji Musa Mustapha. S-Sorry if it seems like I’m prying into private matters but what exactly have you suffered in the hands of women and why do you take that out on innocent women like me?”
It was his turn to blush from embarrassment. He realized how rude and dismissive he must have sounded so he decided to apologize. “I’m sorry I dismissed you like that. You know what? How about we start over?” He stood up from his seat and stretched out his right hand towards her. She smiled gently and he felt another gentle tug at his heart when she did.
“Sure Michael Jackson. Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Emily. Emily Greene.” He dusted the dirt off her thighs and she reciprocated on him, after which they both walked out of the graveyard talking and laughing, hand in hand, bodyguards behind. There was so much she needed to know, much more to tell her.
Many negative thoughts threatened to gain dominance in his mind and doubt started to seep in bit by bit but one look at her smiling brightly beside him reassured him, so he smiled back at her even brighter.
“All in due time Michael. Be patient with this one so this time it will last.”
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