The Grave of Linda Seward

It began as a dare of the midnight variety
Twixt a guy, his girl, and the gate behind her
She dares him to hop it
He tells her she’s crazy
She then dares herself
She lands on her ass
And, though it hurt, she’s glad
Her skirt didn’t get caught on a spike
There were better ways to end their anniversary
She tells him to join her
Who knows what’s on the other side
It’s too late to be a hero, he thinks
But he caught a glimpse of her full-bottoms
She made sure
His favorite pair
She also made sure of that
He didn’t make it as cleanly over the gate
Though he managed to land on his feet
She thanks him with a kiss
He tastes like their dessert
Her tongue ring rolls in his mouth
A birthday present
He pulls her close
But she presses closer
They can feel each other’s heat from below
She taught him well
Before, he used to go straight for her bra
Now, he makes her anxious
A hand placed behind her neck
Another on her back
Where the line of her spine ends
His fingertips stroke there
Like the soft head of a kitten
Which makes her other feline
More than a little wet
An idea comes to her before she does
And she breaks away from him
She demands that it’s time to play Hide and Seek
Then runs away before he has a chance to stop her
Before she has a chance to reconsider
He sets out to find her
Though it’s too dark to see clearly
Such is nighttime in a cemetary

He walks carefully in her general direction
One minute, two
Not really sure how to find her
Or even if she’ll play fair
The big reason why they can’t play video games
Whenever she was about to lose
She’d flash him
She also got offended when it stopped working
Even without the bra
That was on their couch
So who knows what she’ll do if he fails
In this final resting place
Just as he’s about to take out his phone
And use the flashlight app to find her
He hears something faint in the distance
Like a whisper without words
It’s definitely her voice, though
He stalks his way closer
Not sure if this is part of the game
Until her consideration is in full view

When she realized that she couldn’t see him
She worried if he’d ever find her
But she didn’t want to stop playing
Didn’t want the night to end
Not tonight
So she found what turned out to be a gravestone
And sat astride it, deep in thought
The night was cool
As was the stone
Thus her wetness from earlier
Gave her quite the shock
She covered her mouth as she gasped
Then figured out how to lure him
Like a moth to a flame
Or a hunter to its prey
She began to grind herself against the stone
The situation did more for her than she assumed
Her lips made wet clicks under the fabric
And the chilly grave turned warm
And the warmth made her moan
And her moans brought him near

She could hardly see him
But she knew he was admiring her
And couldn’t help but smile
It was like the sun to him
His being there made her motions
He affected her moans
She was losing herself to the moment
And out of fear, out of yearning
He sealed her lips with a kiss
Lust made her hungry for him
Her tongue ring danced wildly in his mouth
He was also starved
But what he wanted to taste
Was tucked away behind his favorite pair
Made the gravestone shimmer

He lifts her high
Then bends her over
She lets out a giggle
Then rests her arms on the stone
And, looking at him from behind
Waves hers playfully
If she has one regret about their relationship
It’s that she can’t share a talent
She spent her party years perfecting
In a New Age sex cult
She’d be praised as the Goddess “Fellatio”
Some women don’t like the act
And she understands their reasons
But it was always fun for her
A game she played from the tip of her tongue
To the back of her throat
She could make them last hours or seconds
Such was her skill
She didn’t even mind the taste
(on a more personal note
(she’s particularly proud of lacking cold sores)
Yet, for all her moaning and demands
Her mouth was tiny
Try as she might
And she tried plenty
She couldn’t make him fit
Thoughts like these always pop in her mind
When his mouth praises her
As his tongue flits and swirls
As his lips earn their place
Her scruples melt away
And she embraces the grave

The sweet sound of her joy fills the air
But not for the first time this night
They have many more positions to try
And no one to tell them to stop
The dead are too ashamed to rise and be
Of how her hips sway atop him
Of how he makes her feel
When the lovers eventually finish
As the sun turns the sky purple
She looks at the carnal disasterpiece they made
And sees where they spent their night
The grave of Linda Seward


10 Responses to “The Grave of Linda Seward”

  1. […] I Wanna Do Something That Matters « The Grave of Linda Seward […]

  2. You are quite naughty. 🙂

    • Like I mentioned in the following post, this poem came (heh) from me wanting to show that I don’t hate women. I have a lot of respect for them (but not in the “I pray to your toilet seat!” creeper sorta way), though that might not come across in the stories I tell. I love telling dark stories… heck, it’s in my web address. The thing about dark storytelling is that you don’t get a chance to show positive feelings toward something. So the moment of clarity hit and I thought, “…uh oh. You might get the misogyny badge soon, sir.” I don’t wanna make assumptions because people can surprise you, but I highly doubt that someone who hates women could’ve written this poem.

      Re-reading it, I guess I also wanted to show that I could write normal people. Or as normal as a couple who decides to have sex in a graveyard all night could be. No threat of danger from inside or outside forces. Just two people have a good– having a great time. Something else I wanted to do and not make it obvious was show that they’re equals. The focus is definitely on the woman, but there are hints woven through that their relationship comes (heh) from a mutual place, not a patriarchal or matriarchal place.

      • I’ve never seen your posts as being detrimental or condescending or in any other way that would reveal that you hold a negative view towards women. But maybe that’s just me.

        Just because something has darkness weaved throughout it, it does not mean that light cannot shine. Besides, conflict/threats/etc are the things that make a story interesting. I’ve put down books and turned off movies because they have lacked these elements. Whether we admit it or not, the search for this is what drives each of us.

      • I’ll be sure to invite you to my defense if I ever end up on trial by the post-post-post-feminists. I think what also shows through my creations that keeps them from seeming misogynistic is my intent. Or rather, lack of intent of being misogynistic. Ultimately, with all the horrible and beautiful things I put my female characters through, they all come from a place of love. “Even when they’re murdered?” Yeah, even then. If there’s a woman murdered– if anyone is murdered in my stories, it’s because the story demands it and not because of any ill will on my part. Unless the character’s inspired by someone on my shit list. Then I’m drinking the ill will swill.

        As for things being interesting, I’ll always choose to make an interesting character over a strong character. Strength is boring. That doesn’t mean creatives should be in the business of making victims, or shying away from strong characters. A character should always be interesting, and if strength or weakness stems from that, great.

      • I agree but disagree with you. Unearned strength is boring but strength born of hardship is intriguing and inspiring. Take this from someone that was not born strong but had to become strong.

        And don’t worry, I’ll happy testify on your behalf.

      • Sorry if it sounded like I was endorsing being Superman. I didn’t mean that at all. I’m very much a fan of tempered strength, which is one of many reasons why I like Doctor Who (all roads lead to Rome and Gallifrey…). The people he affects (and survives) tend to be stronger by the end of the adventure. Of course, I prefer the stories where they die anyway, but it’s nice to see folk surmount their odds. In short, be a Martha, not a Clara.

      • I’m sorry if I came off wrong. I would never think of you as a Superman fan – especially knowing your feelings for Doctor Who. But on that note, I’m still angry about what happened to Rory and Amy (and not just because I share the same first name)

      • Your name’s Roryandamy? School must’ve been terrible for you. At the risk of sounding more coal-hearted than usual, the death of the Ponds didn’t bother me much. I mean, I was bummed that they were gone, but they weren’t my first Companion death or tragic Companion loss.

        -lights a corn cob pipe with a Sonic Screwdriver-

        In WAR GAMES, The Second Doctor’s last story, he lost two Companions. Zoe, who was around for for a while, and Jamie, who was with him from the beginning of his regeneration. The Time Lords got tired of The Doctor’s meddling, forced him to regenerate, and banished him to Earth. Jamie and Zoe were sent back to their times and had their memories wiped after their first adventure with The Doctor. Then there was The Third Doctor’s Jo, who left him to be with a guy like him because they knew they couldn’t be together the way they wanted (sound familiar?). River Song, of course, who died saving a man she loved before he could love her back. There’s also Donna, who didn’t even get the deal Jamie and Zoe got, forgetting The Doctor completely because she’d die if she didn’t. That one probably hurt the most. So when I got to Manhattan with those Weeping Angels, I was like The War Doctor, having seen so much pain that I just wanted to turn into Christopher Eccleston.

        -puts out pipe with a banana-

        So, with regards to the Ponds, why (still) so serious?

      • how did I forget that I was talking to a Dr. connoisseur? I did see most of those other deaths – and was bothered by them. *But* I guess I hated the Rory and Amy episode so much because they had decided that they were finished and they wanted to start living a “normal” albeit boring life. But then the Dr. showed up and they agreed to one final adventure. (How’s that for foreshadowing?) But just for you, *sigh* I will let it go. I know it won’t be the last companions he loses and I know I won’t stop watching the show…

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