Inevitably there came a point at which I had to pause and ask myself: How would you like it? How would you like to be lying there on the autopsy table having the coroner slice you up into a variety of sexual aids? The femur bone makes a fine dildo. Intestines are natural prophylactics. The heart, that organ of romance, can be used as a four-chambered pocket pussy. Whatever remains of your body afterward can be filled with KY instead of embalming fluid — or vice versa, perhaps a horny little necro nymph will come along and leach the embalming fluid from your body to use as a “personal lubricant.” Who knows? The possibilities are endless. Do you prefer your corpse to be a waste product or a sex object?
When you put it that way, you would think that people would naturally prefer to be a sex object. After all, to say that your body becomes a waste product is to say that when you die you become excrement. The cadaver is a parody of you made out of shit. Who wants that? Wouldn’t it be better to be a sex object? Your cerements become lingerie, you could do a striptease with your death shroud — and if you can’t move or dance, eventually your shroud will rot away or be eaten by worms, so in that sense every cadaver ultimately becomes a stripper anyway. You could install a reverse periscope in your headstone so morbid voyeurs could come and ogle you. Sure, they’d leave cum stains on your grave marker, but it has to be better than decomposing in the ground like a human turd. You could even charge a quarter for each look through the periscope, and in your will you could stipulate what to do with the funds — maybe hire a man to scrape the sperm from your stone every spring.
You would think that at least a few people would see how reasonable this is. Preferring to think of their remains as seductive rather than repulsive, they would take an open-minded attitude toward necrophiles coming to disturb their rest. Maybe they would even want to mark their graves so that necrophiles would know how to find them. An inscription might suffice, an epitaph that titillates like dirty talk. And yet for the necrophile it is a time-consuming task to read all the stones in a graveyard, especially in the dark, and oftentimes these inscriptions are eroded by rain and wind. A better solution might be to transform the gravestone itself into a powerful visual icon. For example, the tombstone of a necro-friendly man could be carved in the shape of an erect penis, and then his coffin could have a little padded hole in the bottom to facilitate a sick sort of sodomy. (Instead of a “glory hole” you could call it a “gory hole.”)
Opponents to this vision will no doubt argue that accommodating necrophiles would encourage sexual deviance and social malaise. And yet, might it not just be the reverse? Is it not possible that necro-friendly cadavers can serve the social good? Think of it. If you repress a sadistic individual, he only gets worse — meaner, crueler, more vicious, to the point where he just might be headed down the road toward that ultimate act of sadism: murder. But what if you provide a release for his pent-up penchant? Send him to the cemetery to find necro-friendly graves. Let him put handcuffs on the dead and beat them senseless with whips. Who cares? He’s not hurting anybody — and you might just be saving a life by giving him a stiff. And perhaps the same applies to deviants of every type. Let pedophiles molest the bodies of dead children. If they’re really hardcore and want younger and younger flesh, give them the medical waste resulting from first-trimester abortions. Why not? It’s not hurting anybody — and you just might perform a social good by draining off the evil.
Necrophilia Variations (Supervert)