Happy Birthday Bride Of Frankenstein, Now Pound My Butt

Tiff is tired of being single, but she refuses to get on the apps for a date. She wants thing to happen “naturally”. Fortunately, a friend intervenes, and suddenly Tiff has found herself matching with a gorgeous reanimated collection of body parts named Sarah.

Sarah has found notoriety as the bride of Frankenstein, but she’s recently divorced and ready to step out as her own woman. These two singles hit it off immediately, and it quickly becomes apparent that there’s no “natural” way to find love, especially with someone as unnatural, and undead, as Sarah.

But this night is full of secrets, not the least of which is Sarah’s birthday. Will this couple’s date be upended by a desire for simple, breezy attraction, or will they embrace the complexity of each other in a hardcore lesbian encounter?

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, NOW POUND MY BUTT

By Chuck Tingle

“How long is this supposed to take?” I ask my friend, my eyes slowly drifting across the evening scene as it unfold around us.

         I’m taking it all in, but to be fair, there’s not all that much to look at. I’ve been here at The Borson Inn on nights when things were popping off, the crowd lively and the music cranked up just a little too loud, but tonight is not one of those evenings.

         Of course, it’s just my luck that the one time I go out with a sense of purpose, the rest of the world decided to stay home. I probably won’t be finding a date here tonight.

         Joanna, to her credit, seems much more even-keeled that I am about the whole situation. She knows it’s a quiet evening, but this fact doesn’t seem to frustrate or faze her. Her expression is calm and collected as she sips her chocolate milk, the faintest hint of a smile lurking at the corner of her mouth.

         “You can’t force it,” she replies.

         “Easy for you to say,” I snap, a little sharper than I intend to be. “You’ve been with your girlfriend for three years now.”

         Joanna just shake her head and takes another long sip from her chocolate milk. This moment of silence allows the bar’s gentle din to fill in the blank space between us, the steady hum of humanity wrapping itself around me. It’s a pleasant sensation, and I could easily lean in this coziness if I wanted, but now is not the time. It’s time for action.

         “What the fuck,” I groan, filling this silence with the sound of my voice.

         “You know, coming here was your idea,” Joanna reminds me.

         She’s right, and this statement immediately causes me to pump the brakes. Yes, I’m frustrated with my current single-life situation, but the last thing I want to do is become insufferable.

         Finally, the tension within my body breaks, muscles relaxing as I allow myself to purge this anxiety and let it all go. I slump in my chair a bit, the feelings that bubble up within me transforming from defiant anger to dull, lonely frustration.

         “I’m sorry,” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I appreciate you being here with me. It’s just hard, you know?”

         Joanna reaches out and places her hand over mine. “I know,” she says lovingly. “It’s okay to be frustrated.”

         “I just feel like I’ve been looking for a partner for so long,” I opine. “I’m cool, right? Why don’t I have a girlfriend.”

         Joanna laughs. “First of all, you’re very cool. You’re my best friend, and you wouldn’t have any friends if you weren’t fucking awesome. Second of all, are you really asking for my advice on this? Because I keep giving you my advice but you won’t take it.”

         I think to protest, but siting here in the corner booth of our neighborhood bar, I no longer have a leg to stand on. She’s right, I haven’t been listening to her advice like I probably should.

         “I know you wanna meet someone in a natural way, like without trying or whatever little fairy-tale you’ve got dreamed up in your head, but that’s not the way it’s done anymore,” my friend continues. “Like ninety percent of relationships happen on the apps. If you want to find a girlfriend, that’s where you should be looking.”

         I shake my head. “It just doesn’t feel right,” I sigh. “Whatever happened to hanging out at your local chocolate milk bar and love just falling into your lap?”

         “That still happens,” Joanna admits. “And that’s great, but if you really want to catch a fish then you need to go where the fishes are now, not where the fishes were ten years ago.”

         I raise an eyebrow. “Fishes?”

         “You know what I mean,” Joanna replies. “Give me your phone.”

         Her plan is instantly apparent to me, and my initial instinct is to pull away. We’ve discussed this plenty of times before, and so far my steadfast disapproval has refused to budge.

         This time, however, something deep down within me finally cracks. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, handing it over to my friend.

         “Fine,” I relent, “but I’m just gonna delete whatever profile you make later.”

         “I appreciate you giving this a chance,” Joanna replies, immediately getting to work.

         I watch as she feverishly dives in, a mad scientist in some digital laboratory of love. The pale blue screen casts a strange, upward glow against Joanna’s face, painting this moment in a surreal wash.

         It takes a while, but eventually my friend glances up. “You want to swipe? Or do you want me to do the swiping for you?”

         A loud, deafening boom suddenly erupts through the bar, causing the entire place to flinch in surprise. Joanna and me glance around in confusion, my heart now pounding in my chest as light flickers through the nearby windows in a short, staccato blast. It’s only now that I realize this sound was the roll of thunder overhead, and unexpected storm suddenly making itself known.

         Another crack booms across the sky, accompanied by more lightening through the nearby windows.

         Joanna clears her throat, struggling to push past this distraction.

         “Do you know my type?” I ask, refocusing on the task at hand.

         Joanna scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Do I know your type?” she repeats back under her breath, then gets to work.

         From my position across the table I can just barely see the various profiles as they shift and move, dancing across my screen in a strange parade. I’ve been firm in my disinterest thus far, but as these faces begin to appear in rapid succession I can’t help the curiosity that overwhelms me.

         I avert my eyes, glancing over at the bar and letting Joanna do her thing, but it’s not long until my gaze returns to its original position.

         “Oh!” my friend suddenly blurts with excitement. “You’ve got a match!”

         “I do?” I question. “It’s only been like two minutes.”

         Joanna shrugs. “You like her, she likes you. That’s all it takes.”

         Joanna hands the phone over, placing this little rectangular device face up in my hands so that I can get a good look at the illuminated portrait before me. I’m ready to dismiss my friend’s selection outright, but before I get the chance to speak I can feel my words halt, freezing against my lips.

         She’s beautiful.

         “Wow,” is all I can think to say, this single syllable falling onto the table between us with an awkward thump.

         “Cute, right?” Joanna agrees.

         My investigation continues, taking note of the app that I’ve somehow found myself a part of. It appears to be called Tingler: Dating Across The Tingleverse.

         I begin to scroll through my match’s profile, checking out the various photos and learning about her interests. I keep expecting to stumble upon some glaring dealbreaker that will pull me out of this trance, but the more I investigate, the deeper I sink into my attraction to this absolutely gorgeous woman.

         Her smile is mischievous, like there’s some kind of secret lurking just behind those lips, aching to get out. The woman’s skin is light green and features a few prominent stiches that hold the pieces of her form together, and her hair is piled high atop her head in a glorious updo. A white shock of color cuts through it.

         Her name is Sarah.

         “Huh,” I murmur to myself. “I kind of expected a different name, something more…” I trail off, not entirely sure what I want to say here. I flash the screen back towards Joanna. “Does she look familiar to you?”

         My friend shakes her head, and I shrug.

         Suddenly, the phone buzzes.

         “What the fuck was that?” I ask.

         “She sent you a message,” Joanna reveals. “She’s asking you on a date.”

I immediately catch sight of Sarah across the restaurant, her tall, black and white hair confidently pronouncing itself above the heads of the other patrons. She’s just as gorgeous here in real life as she was on the screen, perhaps even more so, and suddenly I find myself feeling unexpectedly frightened, the true stakes of this situation finally presenting themselves.

         I’m actually into her.

         Fortunately, Sarah’s eyes happen to meet mine at this exact moment, and her reaction puts me at ease. The second that she notices me the pale green woman breaks out in a warm, friendly smile, gesturing me over excitedly.

         I stroll through the dining room, making my way past all the other patrons and taking my seat across from this truly breathtaking woman.

         “Hey, I’m Tiff,” I offer.

         “Sarah,” she replies. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

         The two of us trail off, the conversation that seemed bound for glory immediately faltering. My heart skips a beat, and I struggle to fill the silence.

         “So you’re like, dead, right?” I ask. “That’s what your profile said.”

         The second these words leave my lips I regret them, but Sarah doesn’t miss a beat. My question is deeply personal and filled with nuance, but it appears nuance is something Sarah can handle with incredible grace.

         “Undead, actually,” she corrects me, nodding as if to offer subconscious encouragement. “Technically, I’m a reanimated amalgamation of parts selected and sewn together from many bodies to achieve the best results.”

         “Oh, I can tell,” I reply, then catch myself. “I’m so sorry. You’ve probably heard that a thousand times.”

         “I have,” she replies, but remains unfazed. “It’s true, though.”

         I’m honored by the openness she’s already shown me, no longer frightened to dig deep. “How do you feel about that?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Being constructed, I mean.”

         Sarah smiles. “Well, it’s a strange position to be in. I was literally built to be a partner for someone else, which is a little…” she pauses here, considering her words. “Dehumanizing? Like, I’m my own woman, yet everyone calls me by my partner’s name. I’m Sarah, you know?”

         Suddenly, it all falls into place, that feeling of recognition blasting back through my conscious mind.

         “Oh my God!” I gasp, snapping my fingers. “I knew I recognized you. You’re the bride of Frankenstein!”

         Again, it  feels as though I’ve just stuck my foot directly into my mouth.

         “I’m so sorry,” I continue. “You literally just said-”

         “It’s fine,” she assures me. “I mean, when I do speaking engagements that’s how I introduce myself. I don’t love it, but it’s part of my story. It’s a complex thing.”

         “Wait,” I suddenly falter. “Is your husband okay with this?”

         “Frankie? We’re divorced,” she informs me. “I get that people have their hobbies and all, but he was obsessed with race cars. Like, actually obsessed. I love him, and we’re still friends, but holy shit, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

         “Really?” I press, leaning in a bit for the gossip.

         “We literally slept in a racecar bed,” she reveals.

         The two of us immediately erupt in a fit of laughter, unable to control this joyful sensation as it bubbles up and spills out from deep within us. I give into the feeling as it washes over me, allowing it to take hold. Our chuckling chorus fills the air and adds to the din of the restaurant.

         For as tense as the conversation that came before this moment was, our release is equal in size and scope. It feels incredible.

         Eventually, the waiter comes over and takes our order. We make our choices quickly, excited to get these technicalities out of the way so we can get back to talking, and when the waiter leaves that’s exactly what we do. Our conversation flows easily, the two of us falling into a rhythm with one another. It feels like we cover everything, dancing from subject to subject with ease, and when the end of our meal finally arrives it’s like no time at all has passed.

         “You wanna go for a walk?” Sarah asks me.

         I nod, and soon enough the two of us are exiting the restaurant and heading up a darkened street.

         Despite the recent storms, tonight is surprisingly clear and warm. The night air feels fresh and tingly against my skin, but the real charge of excitement comes when Sarah takes my arm in hers. Our bodies are now linked as we make our way up the winding path.

         Gradually, the city begins to fall away, transitioning into a dark forest and then an open field. I begin to notice the moonlight reflecting off a series of tall stones that line the grass, a shining pattern that twinkles in the night.

         It’s only when we draw closer that I realize these are much more than humble rocks in a row. They’re headstones in a vast graveyard.

         “This way,” Sarah coos, coaxing me onward as we make our way through the cemetery gates.

         I hesitate, although I’m not entirely sure why.

         My guide stops, waiting. “Come on,” she encourages.

         “This isn’t like my previous dates,” I inform her. “I usually meet someone at a bar, then we talk and exchange numbers. I mean, it’s been a while… I don’t know. I just want things to happen naturally.”

         “I’m about as unnatural as it gets,” the reanimated woman reminds me.

         Still, I’m frozen in place.

         “You know, this isn’t what I’d usually be doing today either,” Sarah continues. “It’s my birthday.”

         My eyes go wide. “It is?”

         She nods. “Yep, but I chose to spend it going on a date with you. You wanna know why?”

         “Why?”

         “Because there’s no right way to do any of this,” she replies.

         I’m not entirely convinced, but this is finally enough to get me moving again. I follow Sarah into the graveyard.

         My undead companion begins to whistle as we stroll, the playful tune of happy birthday now drifting through the air. It hovers above us like a haunting mist, weaving its way through the gnarled crisscross of branches that hang above us.

         We’re several yards in when Sarah glances back over her shoulder, locking eyes with me. “Does this feel weird to you?” she asks.

         I shake my head. “Actually, no,” I admit. “I thought online dating was ridiculous, but now that I’ve met you, I’m starting to realize I might’ve had it all wrong.”

         Sarah stops in her tracks, fully turning to face me. “No,” she laughs. “I mean the part where we walk through a cemetery in the middle of the night for my birthday.”

         I consider this a moment, checking in with my feelings. I realize suddenly that the answer isn’t as clear as I’d like it to be. There’s a lot of moving pieces to this evening, thoughts and feelings swirling around us in a frantic tornado, struggling to keep up.

“It’s not the path I would’ve taken,” I finally admit, “but I like it.”

         “You like it, huh?” my green-skinned lover repeats, sauntering towards me with a particularly confident sway to her hips.

         “Yeah,” I confirm, my voice trembling slightly.

         “Did you get me anything?” she questions.

         She knows I didn’t get her anything. I just found out it was her birthday, so why is she asking?

         The real answer dawns on me just as Sarah arrives, pushing her body up against mine. Instead of turning away from this moment, I push into it.

         “I can think of a pretty good present,” I offer.

         Suddenly, the two of us are kissing, our lips locked in a passionate, carnal eruption. My hands immediately get to work exploring her body, first enjoying her perfectly crafted frame, then gradually stripping away the fabric that covers it. Sarah caresses me in turn, starting at my neck and collarbone, then gradually drifting her attention lower and lower until she settles on my breasts.

         Soon enough, my shirt is coming off, then my pants along with it. The cool night air feels warm now, the slamming of my heartbeat causing a distinct sensation of heat to overwhelm me. I doubt I could feel cold if I tried, even pressed up against the unusual chill of Sarah’s reanimated skin.

         It’s not long before the two of us are completely naked, our fingers tracing the borders of each other’s waistlines with the promise of something more. It’s me that finally breaks this imaginary limit, dropping my attention just the slightest bit lower and allowing my hand to push softly against Sarah’s most sensitive area.

         My undead lover leans her head back and lets out a long, satisfied groan, pushing her hips back against me as the two of us fall into a steady pulse with one another. This movement is slow at first—barely noticeable, in fact—but as time progresses and our groans elevate, our passion grows. It’s not long until Sarah is grinding hard against me, losing herself in the moment.

         The two of us begin to fumble backwards, our bodies moving through the night as we step out onto the grass. Eventually, Sarah bumps into a large headstone, and it’s here that she settles onto the marker. She opens her legs slightly, finding the perfect position to coax me onward.

         I draw back my hand and release my lips her hers, kissing along her neck and down the front of her body. I move gradually, taking my time and allowing Sarah to get a sense of where I’m headed. Eventually, my destination arrives.

         I’m on my hands and knees now, gazing up at her with eyes of ravenous, carnal hunger. I dive in. The reanimated collection of body parts reaches down and places her hand against the back of my head, pushing me harder against her as I continue to lap away at her pussy. I can feel her reacting to my touch, taking note of the way she heaves and sighs.

         I start off by matching my pace with the fingers that came before, taking note of the things she likes then driving them home. The tip of my tongue is steady as it moves back and forth across her aching clit, and after a good while of this one note stimulation I take things up a notch by slipping two fingers into her depths.

         “Oh fuck!” Sarah cries out, throwing her head back and letting this howl of pleasure echo across the graveyard.

         I can sense her body preparing for eruption, the impending climax making itself known as the muscles of her stomach clench and release. She’s struggling to pace herself, to ride this wave of bliss, but it’s not long until the whole thing just fully spirals out of control. The floodgates are open and there’s no turning back.

         “Fuck yeah, right there,” my undead lover groans, then repeats herself with a little more gusto. “Fuck yeah! Right fucking there!”

         Suddenly, the words fall away and her vocalizations transform into an unbridled shriek of passion. Her whole body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing in unison, but I refuse to let up. I carry Sarah through her entire orgasm from beginning to end, finally relenting when she collapses back and nearly tumbles off of her gravestone.

         The orgasm is so powerful that I wouldn’t blame her for calling it a night right here and now, but my undead lover defies this expectation quickly.

         “Now it’s your turn,” she coos, pulling me up and wrapping her arms around me. “What would you like?”

         Her question is direct and caring, yet it immediately puts me in a state of awkward recognition. I’ve never been asked something like this in the bedroom, my previous partners all lacking in the realm of communication.

         “It’s your birthday,” I reply, hoping to avoid the question, but Sarah persists.

         “What is it?” she continues. “I can tell there’s something.”

         I hesitate, unable to hide my excitement, then falter when I realize I’m not in the position to realize my fantasy in any tangible way. As much as I appreciate this graveyard setting for the novelty, it also means I don’t have any sex toys handy.        

         “It’s nothing,” I finally announce. “I’m usually into… anal play, but I don’t have any plugs.”
         “How about a strap on?” my reanimated lover asks.

         With that, Sarah reaches up and presses a button on her stomach. A square panel pops open to reveal a small cavity within my lover’s body.

         “I was built with storage in mind,” she informs me, reaching in and rummaging around a bit. Eventually, she pulls out an enormous green strap-on, holding it up confidently and then closing her little cabinet back up.

         She takes a moment to pull on the harness, but the second she’s ready we’re right back at it. Sarah turns me around and leans me over the gravestone, positioning me to that my ass is popped out towards her. She slathers her dildo with a generous helping of lube (also stored within her stomach), then aligns her new strap-on cock with my asshole.

         I can feel her teasing me, the head of her shaft pushing gently against my anal seal and then pulling back. She does this a few times, building the anticipation, then finally has mercy with a confident swoop or her hips.

         I let out a startled gasp as Sarah enters my body, my fingers gripping tight against the headstone below. The size of her shaft is formidable, and while I’m certain I can take it, I need a moment to adjust.

         Fortunately, my undead lover is patient with me. Sarah takes her time, holding deep and allowing me to come to terms with this incredible anal fullness. I reach down between my legs and start to play with my clit, rubbing myself in a slow, firm circle as any discomfort melts away.

         It’s not long before Sarah starts pushing in and out of me, falling into a firm, steady pace. I match her movements with the churning circle of my finger, and these two distinct sources of pleasure immediately being to work with one another in new, unexpected ways.

         “You’re so fucking good,” I groan, impressed. Sarah’s movements are steady and confident, exuding power as she hammers away at me from behind.

         The warmth at the pit of my stomach slowly begins to grow, spilling out across my arms and legs and filling me up with a strange, wonderful hum. It feels as though my whole body is vibrating on some elevated wavelength, and with every passing second this sensation becomes even more potent.

         “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” I start repeating over and over ago, the words spilling from my mouth in a blissful mantra.

         When these feelings can no longer be sustained by my physical form, I have no choice but to throw back my head and let out a wild shriek of pleasure. “I’m cumming!”

         The orgasm hits me hard, sweeping me away in a mighty, blissful surge. I’m completely lost in the moment, full consumed.

         Once finished, I tumble into the grass in a panting, fucked-silly mess. Sarah removes her strap-on and places it back within her stomach, then climbs down to join me.

         “That was amazing,” I gush. “What a night.”
         “A complicated night,” Sarah replies, sitting up. At first I assume she’s saying this in a negative way, but the expression on her face says otherwise.

         “What do you mean?” I ask, sitting up next to her.

         “You were looking for something ‘natural’, right?” my undead lover explains. “People tend to act like the only ‘pure’ kind of love is something that just kinda… happens. They pretend that any bump in the road means the whole thing isn’t going to work. Like there’s some perfect, magic, fairy-tale story of how to meet someone.”

         “That’s exactly what I thought,” I admit.

         “The truth is, there are all kinds of ways to meet a partner,” she opines. “Online or offline. Divorced or single or open. Living or undead. Our stories are complex because life is complex, and there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s kind of exciting.”
         “It is,” I agree, then pull her close for yet another passionate kiss.

         Above us, the moon has finally escaped from behind a series of passing clouds, illuminating the graveyard in its yellow glow. It’s the first night of the full moon—the first second, technically—and I know this because I can feel the change within me already starting.

         I’d expected to be home by now, but after getting caught up in this unexpected bout of graveyard lovemaking, I lost track of time.

         I can feel the inside of my body beginning to shift, biological organs transforming into a fuselage and rows of seats. My arms are starting to flatten out, seconds from becoming enormous metal wings.

         I’m transforming into a wereplane.

         Usually, I worry about how folks are going to react to this occasional lunar shift that’s been a part of my life for decades, but not tonight. Tonight, it’s okay to get a little complicated.

Tonight, I’ve got Sarah by my side.