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Barry Lowe contemplates rolling a stiff.
Necrophilia has been much in the news of late what with an unfortunate trial of a chap who … (well, it’s not for me to comment on that one) and U.S. presidential hopeful, Mike Huckabee, comparing homosexuality to necrophilia. He’s obviously had sex with some of the guys I have to draw that conclusion.
Of course, if necrophilia’s your bag it must get pretty lonely. No après consummation small talk discussing your communal future over the satisfied cigarette. No taking the boyfriend home to meet the folks unless they’re incredibly understanding. Or dead. And
I guess your living friends are gonna give you a wide berth too, smelling, as you will, of months-old cadavers and formaldehyde.
And just in case you think necrophilia is against nature there’s the famous case of the Gay Necrophile Duck. About 10 per cent of mallard couples are gay, it seems.
Dutch researcher Kees Moeliker witnessed a duck that had sailed into his research lab and carced it. “Another male mallard … was present.
He forcibly picked into the back, the base of the bill and mostly into the back of the head of the dead mallard for about two minutes, then mounted the corpse and started to copulate, with great force, almost continuously picking the side of the head,” Moeliker wrote. He puts it down to mallards’ propensity to rape. I prefer to think that it was one gay duck distraught over his partner’s death attempting to ascertain if he really was dead and then having a fond farewell fuck.
Loelicker continued to observe the survivor who took only two breaks in his copulation spree to peck at his dead mate.
The intrepid scientist could not stand the ‘cruelty’ any longer than the 75 minutes it took to make notes and get photos before he carted the dead bird away.
Seventy-five minutes of copulation and still going?! I want to come back as a duck. The surviving mallard was still outside the building calling for his mate when Moeliker went home for the night. My reading of the incident is vastly different to the researcher and I see it as a sign of deep affection rather than a ‘rape-fight’.
There’s not a lot of necrophiliac porn around for the connoisseur. Strange considering all you have to do for your leading lady or man is dig ’em up! They’d be the least temperamental of porn divas I would have thought. And they’d work for free. Perhaps the increasing incidence of cremation has led to a dearth of suitable stars.
The greatest ‘mainstream’ necrophile movies ever made are Jörg Buttgereit’s classic Necromantik (1987), in which a street sweeper who cleans up after grisly accidents takes home a corpse for he and his wife to enjoy sexually but is distraught when his wife prefers the corpse to him, and its 1991 sequel, both still banned in Australia and New Zealand.
Interestingly, it’s not the sex with the corpses, in alarming stages of decay, that turn some people’s stomachs, but the kissing with its long strings of cadaver drool.
For something more in the gay line try the fabulously funny 2001 non-porn Play Dead, written and directed by Jeff Jenkins, in which the outrageously gay Dale (played to perfection by the cute-as-a-button Nathan Bexton) has an unrequited passion for school jock Ray (Jason Hall).
Unhappy ending? Suicide? Despair? Jenkins is not having a bar of it. He has Ray die in a road accident and, in a gloriously perverse scene, Dale fucks the dead jock in the arse. Now, that’s my kinda movie. Alas, it has, as yet, not been released on DVD.
[Any necrophiles are encouraged to write, as are any people who can lie perfectly still and hold their breath for five minutes or more, to
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