A short story
By Eden Baylee
The notion that a person might make a pact with Satan is not unheard of. It’s done in exchange for things such as eternal youth, wealth, or power. And the price? Selling one’s soul, of course.
Is this scary? Not to me. Personally, I’d never bargain with the devil. I go after what I want in this life guided by my own moral compass, not by fear of where my soul will end up in the afterlife.
I’m a pragmatist and an optimist. I’m not afraid to die, nor am I all that concerned with how I die, with one exception, that is, and that’s what brings me to the topic at hand—my conversations with death.
I’ve envisioned my own funeral hundreds of times. My body lying in an open casket—friends and family strolling by to pay their final respects, talking to one another in hushed tones, with comments that go something like this:
Everything was going her way. What a shame.
I know, what a horrible thing to happen to such a vibrant woman. She was so happy too, actually looks like she still has a smile on her face.
Yeah, but I’d hate to die like that.
Yup, and that’s what brings me to my story about my little chats with Death himself. Yes, Death to me, is male. And as men don’t scare me, death doesn’t scare me either, that is, apart from the exception I alluded to earlier.
I know I have to die sometime, and that with each day, I move closer and closer to my grave, and yet, I fight it. I keep going, I keep being, I keep staving off the inevitable for as long as I can. I know Death will overcome me eventually, but it’s not like I think about him all the time. I’m the optimistic pragmatist, remember?
So why is it then , why is it that when I steal some intimate time, some time to engage in a private act that is so naturally human, why then is Death constantly lurking in the shadows, watching me, snickering, anticipating his nasty turn with me? If this sounds cryptic, I apologize, perhaps it’s better if I show you what I mean.
Follow me to my bedroom, and you’ll see that he’s already there waiting for me.
I masturbate on a regular basis, so you might say, I have personal chats with Death on a regular basis too. Unlike what most people think, Death is not cold. He’s hot, very, very hot. I feel his presence in the room as I undress. He lies next to me on the bed, and his heat immediately spreads to my body.
I tell him I’m not afraid of him, and he scoffs. I touch myself in the way that I know turns him on. I feel his face nearby as I shamelessly fondle my breasts, squeezing my nipples till they jut out and practically poke him in the eye.
About “A Second Chance with Death”
This story is included in Eden Baylee’s collection, Hot Flash.
Flash fiction is defined as short written pieces. Twenty stories and poems with an erotic bent make up this collection.
The themes of love, lust, adultery, and regret are told in different voices, sometimes with an irreverent sense of humor.
Some pieces will touch you, others will seep into your subconscious. Don’t be surprised if you flinch from the heat.
WARNING: Contains two non-erotic entries. Pun intended.
About author Eden Baylee
Eden Baylee left a twenty-year banking career to write and is now a full-time author of multiple genres.
An introvert by nature and an extrovert by design, Eden is most comfortable at home with her laptop surrounded by books. She is an online Scrabble junkie and a social media enthusiast, but she really needs to get out more often! She loves talking to readers! Connect to her via all her networks.
And follow her on Twitter @edenbaylee.