Suckers - J.A. Konrath

I tried to pull away, but these monks had supernatural strength. The weight of the situation
began to weigh on me. Sex with a cadaver wasn’t on the list of things I wanted to do before I
died, unless the cadaver was Angelina Jolie.
Then I stopped struggling, because I realized this had to be some kind of joke. Like a hazing
prank, and when the coffin opened a stripper would pop out and blow me. That made a lot more
sense than a society of necrophiliacs meeting secretly under one of Chicago’s largest cemeteries.
Right?
I smiled, hoping the stripper had big tits, not even protesting when I was depantsed by one
of the hulky monk guys. They also took my gun. I figured that was okay—I only needed one
type of gun to handle a hot stripper. You know what I mean.
My penis. I’m talking about my penis.
“Okay.” I clapped my hands together. “Let’s do this.”
Another monk opened the coffin, and I stared in grinning expectation at a naked dead man.
“That’s a guy,” I said.
Head monk came in close and whispered. “Couldn’t find girl this time. It doesn’t matter.
Death is death. It’s all a turn-on. You’re here to get laid, right?”
I eyed the body. A chubby bald white guy, late fifties. The Y cut across his chest indicated
he was autopsied. Death was probably a heart attack, based on the size of his gut.
“I’m actually not really feeling it right now,” I said.
“We can flip him over, if that helps.”
“I don’t think it will help.”
“How fresh is it?” someone in the crowd yelled.
“Planted eight days ago,” head monk answered.
The crowd cheered.
“I got sloppy seconds!”
“I got thirds!”
“I want to go last, when he’s so full he’s leaking out of his nose!”
I tried to step away, but the inhumanly muscular monks held me firm.
“I’m really not horny right now,” I insisted. “In fact, I may never be horny again.”
“My friend is shy!” That damn old caretaker guy again. “He doesn’t like to pitch! He prefers
catching!”
82