Message-ID: <54815asstr$1162275001@assm.asstr.org>
From: Desdmona22@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Cursed to Live, Cursed to Die (Halloween FF) by Desdmona
Lines: 497
Date: Tue, 31 Oct 2006 01:10:01 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Working the night shift on Halloween is always
scary. A nurse never  knows if she'll be blessed with a
treat, or cursed by a trick.
 

************************************************************
Cursed  to Live, Cursed to Die
By Desdmona
 
 
 
Her name was Cynthia, not Cindy or Cyn, always Cynthia. She
was blond  and brown-eyed in the way Texas blondes can
be--hair teased to heights only  sprits of Aqua Net can
achieve and eye shadow the color of tumbleweed.  Her
porcelain skin and ruby lips made you forget the hair and
concentrate  on the face. She was stunning.
 
She moved to Ohio, found a job at the
hospital, and on her first night,  stood in a corner of the
nurses' locker room her eyes cast down. I was always  a
sucker for shy people. She blushed when she was spoken to
and played  with the tips of her hair when she thought no one
was looking.
 
Her blue, hospital-issued scrubs fit her like they did
everyone--loose  and formless. But it was easy to see what was
hiding underneath. Cynthia was  a healthy woman with curves
that would shame an hourglass. When she walked,  her hips
wiggled like she was strutting down a beauty pageant runway.
I  was drawn to her from the start.
 
It took weeks of showing her the ropes, liaising between her
and the  doctors, and including her in lunchtime pow-wows to
get her to open up. By  the time October rolled around, it
had been six months. Cynthia had settled  into her job. She
was careful, caring, and thorough--a real plus to our  unit.
She also considered me a friend.
 
There were certain nights out of the year that hospital
workers  dreaded--full moons, time changes, and Halloween.
Most people thought it was  a myth, but anyone that had worked
through those nights knew all hell could  break loose at any
moment.
 
Four hours into a twelve hour shift on the first Halloween
night since  Cynthia came to work for us, one of her patients
died. Cynthia was away on a  break and was reduced to tears
when she came back. The man was old, had lived  a good
life--or so his family said--and his death wasn't much of a
shock.  Still, it was upsetting and just a little bit creepy
because of the date and  because of the old guy's name:
Balthazar Goody. From the history in his  chart, I discovered
Mr. Goody had had a near death experience on the same  date
one year ago in Texas. Medicine and a team of emergency
workers had  brought him back from the brink. This time, no
one's efforts would save him.  He'd gone in his sleep--just
the way he'd wanted, his wife told us through  tears. It was
just after midnight.
 
Ohio law provided that autopsies weren't required on people
who were in  bad health, but when the deceased had been in
the hospital less than  twenty-four hours, things got sticky.
Even with a long medical history, the  coroner's office could
declare that an autopsy be performed. I helped Cynthia  prep
the body as if an autopsy *would* be performed.
 
"Did you know he was from Texas?" I asked as we slipped on
our latex  gloves.
 
"Really? No, I didn't know."
 
"You have to leave the IV in place. Just cap it and tape it
down," I  told her.
 
"Why?"
 
"Anything we insert that could be considered invasive
remains in place.  They have to prove it wasn't the cause of
death." Luckily, Mr. Goody had only  the one IV tube to worry
about.
 
I watched as Cynthia tackled the medical tape. Her hands
were shaking  and she couldn't get the tape to tear. Finally,
she used her teeth. I'd never  seen a nurse do that before.
When she saw me looking, she blushed.
 
"Well, it's not like I'm going to give him germs," she said.
 
I shrugged. It was the first time I'd seen her do something
out of  protocol. She was stressed, and she had a point. Who
really cared?
 
For the next few minutes, we took our time bathing Mr.
Goody. Another  hospital rule: all deceased received a last
bath. No one spoke. You just  soaped up your rag and bathed
the person as gently as you could, always with  warm water,
as if it would keep the body from turning cold in  your
hands.
 
Mr. Goody didn't require too much cleansing, just the normal
release of  his bowels after death. When we'd finished, we
redressed him in a clean  hospital gown and tucked a blanket
around his body to allow the family one  last visit. But the
Goody family was already gone. There was only one thing  left
to do--wrap him in a body bag and transport him to the
morgue.
 
No one went to the morgue alone. No one. Not even the
*toughest* nurses.  Especially at night. And especially on
Halloween. It wasn't so much the  thought of something
sinister happening, but facing even one dead body in a  cold
room tucked away in the basement was enough to give you the
willies.  Transporting the deceased was freaky enough. Anyone
you met knew it was a  dead body, so you skulked around in
the service elevator and peeked down  hallways hoping to
avoid contact. Adrenalin and exertion kept your  heart
pumping and your breath labored. Gallows humor kept you  from
thinking too much about what you were doing and where you
were  going.
 
"Think we could take him to the Halloween party and pretend
he's  Bernie?" I asked as we rounded the last corner before
the morgue.
 
"Bernie?"
 
"You know, that movie, *Weekend at Bernie's,* where the two
guys prop up  a dead Bernie all weekend?"
 
"Oh, my heavens. I can't believe you said that," gasped
Cynthia, but the  smirk on her face told me she wasn't really
offended.
 
At the entrance to the morgue, I waited as Cynthia jiggled
the key into  the lock. The swoosh of air that released when
she swung the door open was  everything cliche--eerily loud,
cold, and momentarily numbing. Cynthia didn't  move.
 
While I wasn't fond of the place, I'd been there enough to
get in and  out without too much worry. "I can take him on
in, if you'd rather stay out  here," I told her.
 
A fine sheen of sweat had formed on her porcelain skin.
Under the  fluorescent lighting in the hallway, she almost
glowed. When she glanced at  me, her brown eyes sparkled.
"No, I want to go in," she said.
 
"Okay, let's do it then."
 
"Yes, let's do it," she agreed, but her voice had changed.
The Texas  drawl was huskier. I could have sworn she was
excited.
 
I grabbed the head of the gurney while Cynthia guided the
foot and used  her ass to hold open the door. As I passed
by, her hand slid along the side  bar and then over my
fingers. Her hand was as hot as mine was cold. I jumped  from
the contact.
 
"Whoa, what's that about?" I asked.
 
"Sorry," she said, looking directly at me--not at the floor
and not with  a blush on her face--when she spoke.
 
Contrary to what most people see on television, the morgue
in small  hospitals like ours is more like a holding room
than a wall full of drawers.  We didn't have enough people
dying daily to warrant a modern update. I pushed  the gurney
into the room, flicking the light switch as I passed. The
room  was empty. Mr. Goody had been the first to die that
night. Just as I  positioned his gurney against the wall, I
heard the door click behind me. I  turned around to see
Cynthia leaning against the door, her legs crossed, and  the
key dangling from her fingertip. Her whole countenance had
undergone a  metamorphosis.  Her face was deeply flushed,
extending down her neck.  She was cocky and direct when she
spoke.
 
"Ever fucked in here?"
 
I glanced at the body-bagged lump of Mr. Goody as if I
expected him to  intervene. When he didn't, I forged ahead.
"What's gotten into you,  Cynthia?"
 
"I just feel like playing a game," she said. "Want to?"
 
It didn't take a genius to know what sort of game Cynthia
had in mind,  but it was easy to blame my lack of
understanding on the cold temperature of  the room. "What do
you mean?" I asked.
 
"Can't get out without the key, and I've got the key." She
pulled on the  waistband of her scrubs and dropped the key
down into the gap. I waited to  hear the clink of it passing
through her pant leg and hitting the floor. It  never came.
"Come and get it," she hummed.
 
I was stunned speechless, and more than a little turned on.
I'd had a  couple of experiences with other women. 
They'd been fun, but nothing to make  me change
my lifestyle. I wasn't sure how to respond, so I said
nothing.  Cynthia upped the ante.
 
"Ooh, the key fell at just the right spot." She clenched her
legs  together as she spoke. "You know what I mean, don't
you?"
 
Of course I did. But I couldn't speak
 
"The metal is still cool, but it won't stay that way for
long. I'm so  hot."
 
"This is ridiculous," I finally spouted. "You're going to
get us  fired."
 
She laughed. It came out sexy and low. "Who's going to
tell?" She  glanced over at Mr. Goody. "Him?"
 
"Maybe me," I said.
 
"Sugar, you're not goin' to tell anyone, nuthin'. You've been
sniffin'  after me since the day I arrived. Don't waste time
denying it, just take  advantage of it."
 
Sniffing after her? I wasn't sure about that, but I couldn't
deny that  I'd been drawn to her. I'd even had a fantasy or
two about her that had  brought me to quick orgasm during
masturbation. But there was no way she  could have known
that.
 
When I didn't answer, she upped the ante again by slipping
off her scrub  shirt and tossing it on the floor. "I figure
we've got fifteen minutes, half  hour tops, before someone
starts wonderin' about us. You sure you want to  waste time
arguin'?"
 
I wasn't even sure what I was arguing about--sex with Cynthia
or sex in  the morgue? I looked at the swell of her breasts
bursting over the lace of  her bra and felt the tingle
between my legs. It must have been the morgue. If  she'd
approached me anywhere else, this would have been a  no-
brainer.
 
"This isn't right, Cynthia. There's a dead man in the room."
 
She unsnapped her bra. "Maybe his spirit is hoverin' over
his body.  Let's give it one last show before he's whisked
off to eternity." The bra  fell to the floor. Her breasts
were average-sized, round and firm. I was  shocked to see her
rosy nipples so soft and puffy. Mine felt stiff enough  to
cut diamond.
 
"Maybe." she said as she inched the scrub pants down over
her hips.  "Maybe it'll be the best memory of his life." She
stepped out of the pants  and kicked them to her pile of
clothes. She laughed again and looked down to  where my eyes
were focused. The morgue key was just visible inside  her
panties. "You really want that key now, don't you?"
 
"God, help me." I muttered, but not as an incantation or
prayer. She was  supposed to be the shy one. I was the
assertive one. Something washed over me  and I suddenly
wanted my position back. "It's not the key I want."
 
She smiled. ""Let me see you."
 
The decision was made. I slipped out of my scrubs, unsnapped
my bra and  added them to her pile of clothes. I wasn't
embarrassed about my body like  some women. I worked out
enough to know I had flaws, but they were few.  Cynthia
confirmed my thoughts when she moaned.
 
"Damn, sugar. Those scrubs sure did keep you a secret," she
cooed. "Now  the panties."
 
I did as she asked.
 
"Completely shaved, huh?"
 
I nodded.
 
"Lay down, will ya?" She shoved the pile of clothes over to
me. "On  these. Lay on these."
 
I attempted to keep my bare skin from touching the floor,
but my upper  back missed the pile and I felt the cold, hard
slab of the morgue's floor. I  shivered and tried not to
yelp. "There isn't much time," I said through  clenched
teeth.
 
Cynthia still wore her panties with the morgue key tucked
between her  legs. From my position on the floor, she looked
enormous. The ribbon attached  to the key dangled over the
edge of lace. I watched it, hypnotized by its  sway when she
walked toward me. I thought she was headed between my  legs,
but she fooled me and stepped over my head, straddling my
face from  a standing position. I could see the indentation
of the key pressed against  the moist crotch of her panties.
She hesitated briefly and lowered herself  down to me. Her
heat and her scent reached me before her body did. And  I
breathed in deep. Just as the ribbon hit my nose, she pulled
aside her  panties. I got a glimpse of blonde pubic hair
parting over her slit to reveal  a pale pink pussy. And then
I closed my eyes as the key fell on my face.  Cynthia
followed.
 
"Eat me good, sugar," she murmured.
 
I had little choice. She pressed down against my open mouth.
I worked my  tongue in and out and back and forth. Cynthia
helped by grinding against my  nose until I thought I would
suffocate. I concentrated on slowing my  breathing and
blowing out against her pussy when I exhaled. She was  quick
to climax. Too quick. I was enjoying my work. She popped off
of me  before I had barely swallowed.
 
"My turn," she said. "Hurry, open your legs."
 
It was happening so fast, I suddenly felt mechanical. The
floor was  colder. The light overhead was brighter. The mood
was waning. "Let's just  forget this," I whimpered.
 
"No, it's my turn!" Her voice had changed again. This time
to angry and  impatient. I tried to look at her, but she was
backlit, and I could only see  her dark silhouette. She
clamped down on my pussy with her open mouth and I  was
carried back to arousal. I closed my eyes while she worked.
I could  still smell her, taste her on my lips. She
alternated between gentle and  rough, licking my slit and
then gouging me with her tongue. I suddenly  understood why
she'd come so fast, it was all so overwhelming--the  place,
the wickedness, the sex.
 
In my mind's eye, I saw us from across the room. I saw her
tits swaying  and her ass up in the air. I saw her face
buried between my wide open legs.  And then suddenly I saw
blood dripping on my face, one slow drop at a time. I  jerked
open my eyes. There was nothing. Just Cynthia treating my
pussy. I  licked my lips to taste her again, to get back the
feeling. I wanted to come  as quickly as she had. The sweet
taste of Cynthia had changed to a metallic  burn. And then I
felt the next drop. It hit my upper lip. And I knew it  was
blood. I screamed.
 
"Oh my God, oh my God!" I jumped up, knocking Cynthia to her
side.
 
"Shh, sugar, you're a loud comer. You'll wake the dead."
 
"No, don't you see? Oh my God." I swiped at my face and the
smear of  blood was on my fingers. I thrust them in Cynthia's
face. "Look!"
 
Cynthia's eyes widened in the horror that I felt.
 
I grabbed the first article of clothing I could reach and
scrubbed my  face with it.
 
"What is it?" Cynthia finally said.
 
"What do you think it is? It's blood." My stomach rolled,
and I gulped  back the bile that threatened to come up.
 
"But where did it come from?"
 
I glanced over to Mr. Goody's body bag, and there it was,
seeping out at  the zipper, crimson and thick. Cynthia's eyes
followed mine.
 
"He shouldn't be bleeding! He didn't have an injury!"
 
"I don't know!" But in my head I was thinking gruesome
curses and the  penalty of sacrilege. "Get dressed, hurry."
We scrambled into our clothes. It  turned out it was
Cynthia's pants that I'd scrubbed my face with. The smear  of
blood was already turning dark on her pant leg. "Sorry," I
said.
 
She shrugged.
 
When we were fully clothed, I inched my way over to Mr.
Goody. The panic  in me had settled down to a simmering buzz.
I carefully unzipped the bag, not  knowing what to expect. A
dozen different movie scenarios--Alien to Dawn of  the
Dead--flitted through my head. Cynthia moved up behind me,
peeking  over my shoulder, my scent clinging to her face.
Together we looked inside  the bag to find a coagulating clot
of blood over where his IV had been.
 
"Damn it!"
 
"I taped that. You saw me tape it," Cynthia cried.
 
"It doesn't matter. Let's just get out of here." I zipped
the bag closed  and headed for the door. `Where's the key,
Cynthia?"
 
"Oh." She reached down her pants and pulled out the key.
When she held  it out, I shook my head.
 
"I've had enough for one day, I think."
 
When we stopped off in the bathroom for a quick wash, 
streaks of blood  were smeared around the base of my nose.
I shuddered.
 
"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Cynthia asked, staring at
me in the  bathroom mirror
 
"Tell them what? That we ate each other out while a dead man
bled out  above us? No, I don't think so."
 
"No, not that." Suddenly Cynthia was the same shy woman that
I'd known  for six months. She hesitated over her words and
avoided making eye contact.  "You won't tell anyone about me?
I'll have to leave again."
 
"Leave? What are you talking about?" It dawned on me that
this wasn't  the first time Cynthia had done something like
this. "Why exactly did you  leave Texas?"
 
She avoided my question. "I don't know why I'm like that. I
don't know  why being in a morgue makes me so horny."
 
* * *
 
That might have been the end of my story, as that was almost
two years  ago. But a lot has happened in that time. Months
ago, I was in a shopping  mall when an SUV powered its way
through a twenty foot glass window. A freak  accident the
papers called it. I might have agreed with them except when
I  awoke in the emergency room, Cynthia was there, caressing
my hand. We hadn't  touched since the night in the morgue.
 
The ER doc told me I was a lucky woman. The impact
had stopped my heart,  but they'd managed to revive me just
in time to go trick or treating. He'd  meant it as a joke. I
didn't feel like laughing.
 
When he left the room, I looked up at Cynthia. Her eyes were
red and  watery.
 
"Just like Mr. Goody," I rasped.
 
Her fingers stiffened. "What did you say?"
 
"I said I'm just like Balthazar Goody. A near death
experience on  October thirty-first this year means, next
Halloween, I'll die in my  sleep."
 
Cynthia stood and kissed my forehead. Her lips were hot, 
and I was  cold. "You need your rest," she said.
 
"Come back tomorrow?"
 
But she didn't answer, and I never saw Cynthia again.
Management said  she left no forwarding address. Later, when
I asked her neighbors about her,  they told me she had lived
alone, kept to herself. No husband. No family. No  nothing.
My calls to the Texas hospital she'd claimed to work for
proved  the place had never heard of her. Nothing about
Cynthia added up. 
 
And now here I sit, a whole year later, blurry-eyed from
lack of sleep.  I've had a lot of time to think about what
occurred. I've thought of Cynthia  a thousand times in 
my mind's eye, remembering the soft pale lips of her  
pussy as she sat on my face, but always the thought that 
follows is the  drip drip drip of Balthazar Goody's blood.
 
Call it a curse or a jinx or whatever. The only
thing I know for sure is  Cynthia is connected. Either she
caused the curse, or she saved people from  it.
 
Tomorrow is Halloween. I guess I'll know the answer soon.
 
-end
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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