Hazel smiled. Their mouths met and their kiss was more passionate this time, fueled by a mutual interest in the grisly pictures surrounding them, like something blossoming within that only the two of them could understand.
“You’re a good kisser,” Hazel said when they unlocked lips to take a breath.
“You’re not bad yourself.”
Calvin’s heart thudded in his chest. The palpitations reminded him of so many other times he kissed so many other girls for the first time. Those were the best kisses, so full of passion and lust and yearning. These were the kinds of kisses that tended to lead to sex, though the first time with a girl wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be. Some girls just lay there like a dead fish expecting him to do all the work, almost as if they didn’t get off on the ol’ bump and grind. Made Calvin feel awkward and kinda rapey. Those were the girls who notoriously faked their orgasms, and always at the same time he climaxed, which would be a great thing in a perfect world. Hazel, she seemed like a wild one and Calvin thought that maybe their first time in the sack would be something to remember, something he would yearn for more deeply than just getting off.
He went in for another kiss and she accepted his mouth with gluttonous rapport. Frenzied moaning and wet kisses escalated quickly. Her hand danced across his body, testing the firmness of his chest and abs. Calvin took this as an invitation to explore her body and he took it with pleasure. The excitement between them grew and soon they were fumbling around, moaning and giggling and whispering and looking for a good place to lie down.
They made their way into the mini-theater and bumped into the upturned coffin.
“I got an idea,” said Hazel, her eyes lighting up like fluorescent bulbs. “Let’s fuck in this coffin.”
Had there been music playing or even the chirping of birds, as absurd as that would be, or maybe even a bank of old school telephones ringing for a goddamned phone-in marathon, it all would have gone silent in the wake of those words. An A-bomb went off in Calvin’s head, blowing puffs of black smoke from his ears like a horny wolf in an old cartoon.
Hazel didn’t mince words. She fully intended not to make love or even have sex, but to fuck him. And she didn’t want him on a blanket on the floor or even on the counter in the ticket booth. Nope, not Hazel. She wanted to fuck him in a coffin. Jump his bones proper.
“Uh,” Calvin stammered. He was hard as a rock and somehow this strange opportunity that was presented to him—something that he would have scoffed at no more than a month ago—made him feel hornier than ever. “Okay, sure. Don’t know how we’re gonna do this, but why not give it a shot, right?”
The sadistic grin that dominated Hazel’s face would have been frightening under any other circumstance. Maybe Calvin should have been frightened. Who knows what she was like in bed… well, what she was like in a coffin.
It took a good ten minutes to get the coffin positioned right. First Calvin had to take the TV out of it, along with a DVD/VCR combo player. There were small holes in the back that the wires were fed through. He and Hazel then lowered the box to the ground.
“Looks comfy,” she said. “Plush red satin.”
“Kind of a tight squeeze,” said Calvin.
“I’ve managed in even tighter places.” She winked and pulled the Motorhead shirt over her head. Her bra was black with fine lacey details. She reached behind her back and undid the strap.
The erection Calvin had lost during the melee of unloading the coffin and positioning it on the floor had returned in spades. Hazel was fit and toned. Her skin was pale and her breasts were perfectly proportioned to her frame. Her smile faded into a slant-eyed look of raw lust. She shimmied her pants off and slipped into the coffin with nothing but a pair of red and black panties.
Standing there like a goddamned junior high schooler who’d snuck into the girls locker room, Calvin felt almost embarrassed to disrobe and join her. This was the kind of thing that he’d dreamed of (well, not the coffin part), but never expected to happen.
“Don’t get all shy on me now,” she said.
Calvin pulled off his shirt and dropped his shorts. The tip of his erect penis comically poked through the front of his boxers. Hazel giggled as she reached up from the coffin like some bride of Dracula and grabbed him as if she was going to pull him into the coffin by his rod.
“Whoa there,” said Calvin. He stumbled forward and almost fell, which would have been a disaster. She let go of him, electing to grip his hips instead. He did his best to kneel down inside without crushing her. They kissed and fondled one another and clumsily took off the rest of their clothes.
How it was that they managed to screw around in something as compact as a full-sized coffin was a feat of determination. There were giggles and laughs and it was uncomfortable at times, but Calvin had no real trouble climaxing. Unlike the dead fish girls he’d encountered in the past, Hazel was full of sexual prowess, and she wasn’t finished with him. She told him to keep going, and though that was a challenge after expelling his load, he did his best and she managed herself quite a loud and seemingly satisfying orgasm.
There were no thoughts of Ronnie. Not even the lacerated flesh on her neck that had become such a fascination for Calvin. He breathed heavily as he stumbled his way out of the steamy coffin. Several muscles in his legs ached from the various positions they had to improvise, but it was well worth it. Hazel lay back in the coffin, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths.
Calvin swallowed hard, his throat dry. “That was probably the best first-time sex I’ve ever had.”
“Probably?”
“Okay, that was maybe the best sex I ever had.”
“Maybe?”
“Definitely.”
“That’s better. And I have to agree.”
Calvin grabbed his boxers off of a chair in the corner of the room (he couldn’t remember tossing them there, but that’s where they ended up), and discovered an old Polaroid camera beneath.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Have a look at this.”
Grabbing the camera and fiddling with it, he turned and stepped toward the coffin with the oversized boxy contraption held up to his face. He used the cuff of his boxers to wipe off the dirty lens. He again placed it to a squinted eye and looked through, aiming the lens at Hazel. She smiled, stuck out her tongue and closed one eye like she was trying to give him a scary face. He pushed the button to take a picture, prepared for failure, but low and behold the camera worked.
The Polaroid was spit out of the front, and though Calvin had no experience with this type of dinosaur technology, he knew that he would have to shake the picture to assist the process of development. At least he remembered that from a song that was popular about ten or so years ago.
After shaking the picture for a minute, he looked at it. It hadn’t fully developed, but he could see a dark image of Hazel in the coffin. The colors were muted like a photo from the seventies.
“Check it out, it worked,” he said as he handed the picture to Hazel.
“No shit?” She held the photo close to her face. “Kind of dark, but what the hell, right?”
She popped up real quick. “Wait a minute. I have a fucking great idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hazel laid out her fucking great idea and Calvin was left speechless. He’d known it before, but what she had just told him certified the notion that she was one crazy bitch.
“You’re kidding, right?” said Calvin.
She shook her head. Her eyes never left his. That stare was piercing and full of motion. Those were the eyes of the damned and for the first time since meeting Hazel, Calvin felt a tremor of fear. He tried not to think of the meticulous method of which she lured her ex to his deathbed.