ZOOMBIES ONLY HAVE ONE THING ON THEIR MIND
My name is Gretchen Liebmachen but everyone calls me Cherry. I don’t know why because cherries are not a favorite of mine and nobody eats them anymore anyway. In a way I guess I like being called Cherry because I detest the name Gretchen. It reminds me of a female guard in a prisoner of war camp.
My parents died in an accident on the highway. It took me a long time to even realize they were gone because I was sheltered from the horrible fact for quite some time. When I finally understood and accepted the fact that they were truly gone and were never coming back, it was already too late for me to cry, so I just shrugged my shoulders and went off with my aunt Kitty to her big house in the country.
My primary interest was in reading books.
I tended to read almost every genre imaginable except for the erotica stories. I really wanted to read them but my aunt Kitty was very strict and put severe restrictions on my internet surfing precluding any chance to get into the good stuff.
She was a very good stand-in for my parents even if she was a bit bizarre in some of her dress and her sudden outbursts of naughty words. I thought that perhaps she was suffering from some sort of erotic malady that manifested itself in odd behavior. I even discovered her one time face down on the sofa doing something that Father Mulcahy said was “the work of the devil.”
I don’t want you to think I am some sort of goody two-shoes, because I do have a lot of thoughts about such things, but I have been so immersed in my reading that I seldom have any interpersonal relationships with anyone. This month I am 18 years old and I will be leaving next month for the University. I am a little afraid of that because I suspect I will be expected to engage in some type of physical stuff with the other students. I tried to practice with my library buddy, Melinda, but we were so caught up in giggling and laughing that it was more like an exercise in what not to do. It was really too much to expect aunt Kitty to help me because she seemed so cut off from human contact that she would be a terrible role model.
I just started to read some of the erotica stories and all it did was to make me more frustrated and in need of some sort of relief.
That was the reason, I signed up to help out at the clinic for the people with mental problems. I started working in the ward with patients that had some sort of delusional disorder. I hated to make fun of the patients but some of the delusions were so weird that I had to run to the bathroom before I peed in my panties.
A young girl thought that she was an elephant and she would move her nose all over people thinking that she had a trunk. She made a point of telling everyone she met, “I never forget anything because an elephant never forgets.”
The one that struck me as really odd was a young guy who told people to “stay away from me” because he believed he was a Zoombie. He thought he was afflicted with the same disease as the hordes of “walkers” in the “Walking Dead.” He proclaimed that in his case, he was not bitten, it was a “genetic disorder.”
I did give him a sponge bath one afternoon and I noticed that his “willy” was right up to attention. He looked at me real innocent but a stiff willy is a dead giveaway that this “Zoombie” had other things on his mind. I really wanted to experiment and touch it but I was much too afraid to do anything like that.
His name was Bobbie and was a fairly good looking boy except for his delusional problem. While I was still working on him, he confided in me,
“I want to bite you real bad, Miss Cherry, but then you would be a Zoombie like me and be looking to feed on other people.”
I almost laughed at his serious tone of voice but I remembered the doctor telling us that the delusional patients were immersed in their own fantasy and seldom tried to get beyond it because it meant so much to them.
When I was alone in the room with Bobbie, I told him he could pretend bite me but it would have to be my boob or my bottom. For some strange reason, I thought he might be cured if he was distracted from his idea of feeding on people and started to think about girls.
I was a little scared when he took my boob into his mouth but he was rather gentle and he kept his teeth from making marks on my skin. He nibbled me nicely and sucked at the same time. It was very thrilling to me and I had the beginnings of my first physical reaction to being used by a male for a physical touching experience.
In order for him to get a good mouthful of my bottom, I pulled my panties tight into my crack and he was able to take the round portion of my left cheek into his greedy mouth. This time he used his teeth a little more and I could feel them working on my skin. It was so exciting that I found it necessary to let some female juice escape from my quivering lips.
After he let go, I looked in the mirror and the two rows of teeth indentations were clearly visible although he had not broken the skin.
Poor Bobbie was panting with desire.
I could see he was conflicted because his mind told him his food was ready for him to eat but his instinct told him that something more important was right at hand and was a whole lot better than eating raw flesh.
The very next time I gave him his bath, he put my hand right on his thing and told me he would rather have me hold him right there instead of letting him bite me all over. I could feel it pulsing like a live snake and I have to admit it made me feel all sort of fluttery inside.
I must have given Bobbie a dozen baths after that and each time I learned a little bit more about how boy’s things react to a girl’s touch. Of course, it was all in the interest of scientific research. I went to the University with the necessary knowledge to not make a fool of myself in front of others.
Bobbie never bit anyone ever again. But he is married and has two kids.