When the zombie apocalypse started, I was firmly on the side of the humans. That is, I was. Until I was infected. After that, I started to see just how persecuted the zombie population had become in the mainstream media.
I fought my urges, like many of us did. Those of us with a conscience in life didn’t lose it completely in undeath. But we had to survive. And, of course – there are bad people in the world, so there are bad zombies, too.
They just give us all a bad name. You know, with the death and maiming and stuff.
Those of us who resisted the urge to kill for our food would source it from special little bodegas where they harvested brain matter from hospitals and hospices. From people who died of natural causes. There were plenty of them. It’s not like we had to eat brains EVERY day. One brain could last a sensible zombie almost a week with proper storage and preparation.
Some late-night talk show host called us “vegetarians,” and the name stuck. I thought it was kind of stupid. We were still eating meat. It was just repackaged, pre-dead meat.
What, that grosses you out? It did at first for me, too, but then I realized that was stupid.It’s not like I would have known the difference between that and the brains off a fresh kill. In life, I’d never actually killed my own chicken. I bought them at the supermarket already defeathered and not looking anything like an actual chicken.
It’s kind of like that.
Still, I can’t lie and say brains are yummy. They’re kind of….ick. I just need them to survive, so I dealt with the moral side effects. And it wasn’t like they were in plentiful supply. Having to rely on the brains of the recently deceased that weren’t tied up in police investigations was becoming an expensive habit.
It was one of those days when I was really on edge that I discovered the alternative. See, I’d had a rough day at work. My boss was pissing me off so much I had to walk out before I cracked her skull open with the paper slicer and ate her for lunch.
As I was walking off the rage, some douchebag construction worker catcalled at me on his lunch break.
I felt a flash of white-hot anger as I turned and snarled, “Listen up, dick-for-brains….,” I started.
But then I took pause. He was attractive, in that muscle-toned, tan-skinned way. But also, he sported a shiny, clean-shaven head. My zombie stomach growled. It’d been months since I’d been turned, and well, this guy was setting off more than one type of craving.
I took a step toward this mysogynistic fuck and studied him. He was wearing a very tight charcoal grey tshirt and faded black jeans. The hardhat was on the bench next to him. I licked my lips as I stared as his skull.
There was a motel next door. It didn’t take much to convince him to spring for a room. I think I said something like, “Get us a room.”
I won’t bore you with the details. I was raging. I wasn’t sure if I was going to kill him and eat his brains of fuck him and then kill him and eat his brains.
Stepping into that motel room though, the dude started dropping his jeans immediately. His cock was standing up in greeting and my stomach growled again.
Or maybe I did.
He started to say something. It was idiotic, like “I knew you was hot for me,” or some shit like that. So I shoved him back onto the bed and told him to shut up.
“Don’t say another word or you’ll fuckin’ regret it.” I was thinking I’d bash his skull in with the yellowed plastic phone on the nightstand. I think he thought I was into something kinky, though, ’cause his cock twitched and he answered, “Yes, Mistress.”
This dude was seriously an idiot.
I wanted to fuck him, but I swear it was like his skull kept calling out to me. “Smash me! Smash me!”
Finally, I grabbed the hardhat off the table by the door and dropped it onto his head. “Keep that on.”
It was like a condom for zombie sex.
Once that head was covered, I was able to refocus on my sexual appetite and get to work on his other one.
I really did used to love sucking cock in my life-life. I was careful not to use my teeth, obviously. I didn’t want to turn him. I just wanted to fuck him.
But something happened.
It was premature ejaculation. I know, I know. It happens.
I was disappointed at first, I mean – I wanted him to fuck me. But then something else happened. That, hunger. That need that had been driving me since Zombie Day One – it felt oddly satisfied.
“Huh.” I thought.
“Can I have your number?” he asked.
“Fuck off,” I responded and left the room.
But that’s how it started. The Zombie Vegan movement. Turns out, we can survive on the jizz of men with dicks for brains, which is a non-zero population of men.
I did try, after that, with a guy I really liked. A smart, responsible, shit-together kind of guy. The sex was incredible. But it didn’t satisfy the hunger the same way the dolt-dick does.
It’s a shame, really.
polyammering 