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I am 25 years old and work at the local mortuary. I have long black hair try my best to avoid sunlight as I feel it of tremendous importance to keep my skin pale and beautiful, as white as the epidermis of Emily Dickinson, as she lay frozen in newfound demise. You might think a the job of mortician would be a vocation that would deny a nubile young woman such as myself many sexual opportunities, but I have found ways to engage many men of all ages.

Just last week while I was reading the new Anne Rice novel, Igor, our resident laborer wheeled in the body of a young man who had been beheaded in a high-speed car accident. His body lay on a surgeon's table and Igor carried his head in a kitty transport we use for such occasions. "Melvira!" Igor commanded in his often unintelligible Gypsy accent, "This child of the lord will be buried tomorrow and he will need all you're skills to make him presentable for an open casket funeral for his family!"

Eagerly, I assembled my tools and began my task. The young man's body, despite having been in such a terrible fiasco, was remarkably firm and taut. I think any person would be unable to look at his muscular, headless body and not feel some small twinge of desire.

I struggled mightily to reattach his head. Though I am an excellent mortician, decapitations require a special skill and attention to detail. Finally I stuffed some leftover chopsticks down his neck and jammed his head on the resulting stud. As I pushed his head into place, I could feel his lips gently kiss my bosom and I realized that he desired my flesh as much as I desired his.

Quickly I removed my worker's smock and clothing and stripped down to the bare of my pearl colored flesh. My lover pretended not be aroused by my new presence, but I could tell he was only playing coy, boyish, games. To inform him that he could deny himself the pleasures of my body no longer, I hopped on the surgeon's table and straddled his torso. As if to acknowledge my presence, his head lulled to the side and his tongue rolled out, demonstrating anxious anticipation.

Obviously we could not make love via the conventional means, a sorry aftereffect of my lover's state, but the mere touching of flesh was enough to cause my blood to race. As I caressed his well-formed body, my head grew warm, in stark contrast to his cold, unmoving form. He felt like hard concrete and I knew that soon his physical body would descend into the ground to be consumed by worms and return to the earth from which it came. But his spirit was free and flow higher and higher, farther and farther, up, up, up... into the sky!

So skilled was my young lover's ability to pleasure that I collapsed upon the table in ecstasy. My naked body still had a slight quiver to it and I descended into sleep and the realm of Morpheus. I was awaked by a loud screeching only to see my lover's family had arrived, and not seeing the casket, had explored the premises only to found me in nether-bliss. I tried to explain to his mother that it was from a woman's loins this Adonis had come and I was only returning him to such, but she really pissed and wouldn't shut up. To makes matters worse, over the course of my slumber the jury-rigged chopstick solution had failed and the man-boy's head had fallen on the floor and fallen prey to our local kitty-kat, "Whiskers." Consequently, the bitch got me fired. Lest your readers have any concern for my status, let them fear not, as I have recently pertained a position as a stable hand at a horse form. Watching the lean muscular creatures gallop across the plains, their massive forms gliding to nature's rhythms causes my heart to pound and many ideas to flow into my head. I'll let you know what develops...