Zombies and Shit (22 page)

Gogo stands behind the doorway of a low income housing apartment building as a gang of Mexican zombies stagger by on the street outside. She holds a silenced submachine gun tight to her chest, waiting for the majority of them to pass. A camera ball floats impatiently behind her shoulder, focusing on her large breasts that barely fit into her sweaty ripped-up white shirt.

“Cerebros!” the Mexican zombies groan. “Cerreebrossss…”

She waits for the last zombie, the straggler. She hopes to shoot out its legs and pull it inside before the others notice. Because her weapon is silenced, the other zombies won’t likely hear it.

Gogo didn’t realize she had a silencer in her pack when she first left the hotel. She just ran for her life, opening fire on every zombie that got in her way. She was the first one out of the hotel and was far ahead of everyone else, but then she started to get lonely and decided to go back for her friends.

She went to a rooftop and ate some kind of fruit and protein bar. All of the rations the show gave to the contestants were in bar form. After she ate the bar, she realized she was still hungry and went for another. That’s when she found the silencer. At first she didn’t know what it was, until she realized it was a piece of her gun.

Gogo likes having the camera watch her. She holds the silencer like a dick between her breasts, rubbing it slightly up and down her sweaty cleavage. Unlike the other contestants, Gogo couldn’t think of a better way to die than as a contestant on
Zombie Survival
. She likes the idea of being a star. It gets her off knowing that all the upper class men on the island are drooling over her body right now.

The last Mexican zombie in the line is a young tattooed living corpse, who was possibly a gang member in his previous life. As he passes the doorway, Gogo opens her skirt and stretches her thigh out into his view. Her black-painted fingernails caress up the fishnet stockings on her legs, beckoning him to come take a bite out of her.

The zombie turns to her, only seeing one leg and one hand moving beyond the doorway.

“¿Cerebros?” says the zombie, as it enters the building.

Gogo tosses a blanket over him and then wraps him up with an extension cord, binding not only his arms to his sides but also the blanket over his face and torso. Then she closes the door and shoots out the zombie’s kneecaps with her silenced SMG. The other zombies hear their friend’s cries as he hits the ground, but they don’t come back for him.

Gogo smiles seductively at the camera. Then she leans close to the zombie’s ear and says softly through the blanket, “Hey, living dead boy, wanna go for a ride?”

The zombie growls behind the cloth.

Gogo giggles flirtatiously and looks up at the camera ball.

“I’m going to give all of you a show you’re never going to forget.”

Then she drags the body into an apartment room and closes the door.

Gogo has had a zombie fetish for as long as she can remember. Necrophilia of any kind really turns her on, because the idea of sex with the dead (or living dead) seems so sick and twisted to her. She gets off on sick and twisted.

Her boyfriends were never into sick and twisted stuff. One time she was fucking Scavy while Brick was off fucking Popcorn somewhere, riding him reverse cowgirl. As she came, she took a huge dump right on Scavy’s stomach. He saw the log ooze out of her ass onto the soft flesh below his belly button.

“What the fuck!” Scavy shouted.

Gogo laughed. “What?”

“You just shit on me and shit!”

“So?” she asked, as she pulled off of him and looked down at her log of feces.

“I was just about to come when you did that, you bitch,” he said. “Get it the fuck off me!”

Gogo put her face up to it and sniffed at it. The odor was mild, but had strange hints of marijuana and red licorice. The heat coming off of it was warm against her face.

“Don’t stare at it, get rid of it!” Scavy said.

Gogo continued smelling it and examining its textures and curves, like she had just created a work of art.

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“Fuck no.”

“Then why are you still hard?”

She grabbed his cock and stroked it.

“It turns me on,” she said.

“You’re a fucking freak,” Scavy said.

Then she grabbed a handful of her shit and wrapped it around his penis, masturbating him with her shit as if it were some kind of lubricant.

“Don’t rub it on me!” Scavy cried.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” she said, as she jerked him off.

Scavy couldn’t get himself to tell her to stop. She was masterful at giving hand jobs. She used to give them professionally. Unlike himself and Popcorn, Gogo did go into prostitution rather than drug-dealing when she was young. But she wasn’t just some common street whore, she was an exotic dancer who also sometimes slept with her customers for money. But she said she only did this for fun, when she was in the mood. The problem was she was always in the mood.

Just as Scavy started to get into the handjob and block out the smell of shit on his body, Gogo put his penis in her mouth.

“Oh, no…” Scavy cried, as he watched Gogo suck furiously on his shit-covered dick. “That’s just nasty…”

After he came, Gogo swallowed her shit with his cum, and Scavy almost puked at the sight of it. He jumped out of bed and walked out of her apartment buck naked. He went a block down to the ocean and jumped in, trying to wash away her shit as well as the memory. He promised himself that he would never have sex with Gogo again.

Everyone in Scavy’s crew had sex with Gogo several time and every single one of them had their own crazy story of some sick stunt she pulled on them:

Scavy had the shit story.

Popcorn had a story about Gogo wanting to be fucked by a gun that had been converted into a strap-on. It wasn’t until after they both came that Popcorn learned that the gun strapped to her crotch had been loaded the whole time, with the safety off. If Popcorn had orgasmed just a little harder she would have put a bullet through Gogo’s back.

Brick had a story about how Gogo once pretended she was a zombie while they were having sex. As she fucked him, Gogo scratched and bit him, trying to get to his brain. Brick almost thought she really was a zombie, because she used all of her strength when she scratched and bit him. She drew blood in several places. She put teeth marks on his skull. He had to hold her down to continue having sex with her, but she wouldn’t stop trying to eat him alive while they screwed.

When she was done with her roleplaying, Brick asked, “Why’d you act like a zombie and scratch me up like that?”

Gogo lit a cigarette and shrugged. “I thought you’d like it. Personally, I’ve always wanted to have sex with a zombie.”

“Why?”

“Because of the danger,” Gogo said. “I bet having sex with something that’s trying to kill you would be pretty intense.”

As soon as Gogo learned that she was in the middle of the Red Zone, she knew she would have to test her fantasy to see if having sex with a zombie really was as intense as she imagined. And the fact that she had an audience only made it more appealing to her.

With the zombie strapped naked to an ancient bed and the camera ball hovering over the scene, Gogo removes her clothing slowly as if she’s dancing for a group of horny old men at her strip club.

As she removes her shirt, she rubs her breasts and points them at the camera. She licks her nipples and sucks on her fingers, then touches the moisture between her legs. The camera zooms in at her elongated clit as it becomes erect. She hopes the size of her clitoris disturbs some of the viewers watching her. It always turns her on when guys become uncomfortable or intimidated by her clit size. It’s not nearly as large as the smallest penis, but they can’t help but see it as one. This awkwardness drives her wild. It almost always makes her want to force the guy into giving her oral sex.

When his friends were about to have sex with Gogo, he’d always tell them, “Don’t show any fear. If she can tell you’re nervous around it, she will make you give it oral sex.”

Gogo strokes her monster clit for the camera, then turns to her undead lover. Her green hair brushes against the corpse’s writhing soggy body—collecting patches of brown sludge—as she climbs on top of it. The smell of rancid chicken hits her nostrils and she inhales deeply.

“You’re a dirty boy,” Gogo says. “I like dirty boys.”

“Cerebros!” cries the zombie.

She presses her tongue against a leathery mud-caked patch of flesh and slides it up to his torso. Weeds grow out of his lungs like chest hairs, tickling her lips as she kisses his nipple. A section of his skin is missing from his chest below the nipple, exposing the ribcage. She curls her tongue around a rib and then bites down on it.

The zombie growls. She can feel his growl vibrate through her upper jaw. She growls back and then tears the rib bone out of his chest. Then spits it onto his neck.

As she lies her weight on top of him, her breasts squishing into its oozing flesh, she brings her face closer to his. The zombie bites at her, snapping its jaws at the air between them.

“Cerebros! Cerebros! Cerebros!”

She bites the air back at him, flirtatiously. Then grabs him by the throat. She chokes the zombie so hard that no sound comes out of his mouth when he says
cerebros
. He thrashes to get out of her grip so that he can bite her hand, but once she uses both hands he’s no longer able to resist. She turns his face to the side, leans in, and bites into his brain. The skull is so brittle that it’s like she’s biting into a soft-shelled crab.

Pulling out a long strip of brain, she lets go of his neck and has him watch. Black fluids dribble down her chin as she chews on his brain. She looks over at the camera seductively and swallows. Then licks her black lips.

“Cerebros!” cries the zombie.

“Brains!” cries Gogo.

She sits back and shoves her hand into his torso, pulls out some intestines, and rubs them on her breasts. The intestines are filled with decayed fifty-year-old brains and congealed blood. Dark reddish-brown in color, they smear like inky oatmeal against her skin.

“I want you,” she tells the zombie. “I want to fuck you, my living dead boy.”

She puts on a show for the camera, laying it on nice and thick to both arouse and disturb the people back home. She hopes they don’t edit a single second out of her performance. She wants people to be watching this scene and talking about this scene for years after her death. She wants the producers of the show to know that they sent the right girl into the zombie wasteland. They chose the right girl to become a star.

As Gogo handles the zombie’s cracked penis, she realizes it’s not becoming hard. Even her masterful hands are not enough to arouse the living corpse.

“What the fuck?” she asks the zombie. Then she punches it in the chest. A cloud of dust rises into the air.

She examines his deformed penis. It is wrinkled and scaly. Brown fluids leak from a crack in its side. There are two large bulges in it, as if his rotten testicles had dropped out of his scrotum into his urethra and slid down the shaft halfway.

“We’re going to have to make this hard somehow,” she says.

Her eyes scan the room for something long and hard to prop it up with. She finds a long splinter of wood beneath an ancient dresser and brings it back to him. Holding it up to the camera and up to her lover, she gives them a good look at it. Thin and pointed at one end, but it gets thicker and flat toward the other end.

“This will probably do just fine,” she says.

She lifts his shriveled piece of flesh and brings the sliver of wood to it, pressing its sharp point lightly against the head. Like a long fingernail, she caresses the zombie’s penis with the splinter, scratching the side of the shaft. The splinter catches on a large blister and it pops, white fluid dribbles down its shaft like pre-cum.