Awww. Isn't that just the sweetest thing?
I wasn’t going to post anything for Valentine’s Day, but Tabitha urged me to do something so here it is. I’m posting the sex scene from Memoirs of the Walking Dead. Hey, sex is romantic when it’s with that special someone and nothing beats… well, use your imagination.
The scene takes place after Paul and Tracey take shelter from a human offensive on their city. What follows has captured the imaginations of many with a few being reacquainted with meals enjoyed earlier in the day.
Enjoy and Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!
Dear God she is so sexy when she’s angry. I loved watching her jaw work through that wound in her cheek.
I can’t imagine what Candy orCharlottethought about all of that. I know Candy hid behind a rack of Garands and I wasn’t sure ofCharlotte’s whereabouts. It’s hard to tell with that cat.
She charged across the room at me. I braced for impact and next thing I know we were kissing with such passion that it curled my toenails. That’s my metaphor and I’m sticking to it.
“I want you, Paul,” she said. The statement blindsided me. So did the smell of her perfume, the taste of her lips -although dry, they were kind of soft- was more than enough to push me to her way of thinking.
“I want you more than anything,” I moaned, fumbling with her dress like a high school freshman. I was never graceful in the bedroom. If you’re looking for some kind of suave, charming or ballet like in its movements then I urge you to pick up one of those harlequin novels. You won’t find anything like that here.
I ended up pulling her dress down. It wasn’t pulled down so much as being ripped away. She, in turn, ended up twisting my left arm to the rear trying to get my shirt off. It was obvious that it was either a long dry spell for her as well, or she was just as clumsy.
Moving to a cot was an adventure in itself. I stomped on her ankle, before she threw me onto a military bunk bed. My head hit the headboard railing, giving me what would’ve been a concussion. Luckily, all I got was a ringing in the ears. She jumped on me, kneeing me in the groan before falling off the bed. Somehow I got my right arm caught in the vertical rails of the headboard too. Can you say awkward?
I’m not going to get into great details, (Writer’s horror: Thank God. I don’t think I could stomach undead loving) but it was memorable in its bizarreness. Undead woman, like undead men have a finite amount of, for lack of a better way to say it, joy fluids. We can still feel, hate or love sex, but our bodies can’t produce new fluids. Pretty apparent, I know, and not much of a shock. Don’t judge us. It’s not necrophilia if both parties involved are undead.
(Writer’s continuing horror: Oh dear God! He’s still talking about it! Gag me, shoot me, do something!)
She was a little on the dry side at first, but that problem was solved as the act went on. Don’t give me that gross look or say, “that’s disgusting”. Have you ever seen yourself have sex? Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s bizarre in its own way, too.
We made love (Again: I really don’t want to hear this let alone type it for you nice folks) and rested in the short military bed. Rested is an understatement; we fell asleep. I dreamed of days best left behind, my life was more like a nightmare really, as Tracey lay beside me. It was the closest to heaven I’d ever felt. Somewhere, Hey, Soul Sister played on for her.
