The room seemed almost phantasmagoric to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotic haze of the pills, she could almost feel the air around her, a liquidness like water-thick and unyielding. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more unmanageable to breathe. The painful sensation was less now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A thick breathing spell. Her finally ?

A consider struck her. Who would find her, laid out here like this ? What would they think ? It would be a shame to consume gotten dressed up only to be found in some ill at ease position. Would she twitch, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The elbow room was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She felt a small dribble of liquid state run down the interior of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, nix messy. This was her best dress. She got ready for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breath rattled. The pain was gone.

Who would find here, here in her best dress ? Who would ascertain her ? mommy ?

Wheeze.

Momma ? Is that you ? I 'm so cold.

Her bureau fell and darkness engulfed her.

mommy ?

#

It was kind of the same floaty tactile sensation she 'd matt-up after she took the pills, but it was sort of different. She actually felt like she was flying.

She opened her eyes. There she was, not five feet away lying in bed. She chewed her lip when she saw the damp stain on her beautiful dress. It took her a few bit to realize that she was n't actually lying on the bed, but looking at herself lying on the bed. She seemed to be floating above the bed a little bit, and off to the right. She was flying, and the painfulness was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were former multitude in the way. In the corner her mother was sobbing into her don 's dresser. The township doc was saying something she could n't hear to two other boy. She could n't hear anything that they were saying actually. Things were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The boys nodded, and while the doctor hustled her parents out of the chamber, they unrolled a big charge plate rag beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent low and grasped her consistence underneath her arms. The former boy grasped her ankles. She could barely feel their touch, but it was there-as if she felt them impress her from a distance.

A small quiver ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. Daddy would n't let his sixteen-year-old girl see any of the local boys, not especially with her so sick. She 'd always question what it would finger like when a boy touched her leg.

It was kind of like when she snuck a kiss from Johnny Reese. It was a funny, warm feeling.

The next petty while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the shaping sheet of paper and put her in the spine of the ambulance. They did n't turn on the siren, or thrust veridical fasting, but they did heard directly for the hospital. She knew the mob well.

It was late when they got there. The infirmary corridors were pretty vacate as they rolled her body, covered in a whitened sheet now down to the mortuary. She cringed a footling bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a petty brown bag. They were Momma 's shoes, and material expensive too. Then they took out a duad of pair of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her right mortise joint. It tickled a little bit as they tied a picayune tag to her big toe.

She giggled a little bit. Being drained was way more fun than being sick.

The male child rolled the gurney she was on into the cooler and turned off the light.

#

When she woke up it was some metre later and the light was real number bright. She was n't in the infirmary anymore she did n't think. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral managing director of the local anaesthetic funeral home, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a small elbow room that looked more like a clean garage than the mortuary where she 'd been last night.

Her heart began to race as Mr. Ferguson reached for the buttons on her blouse. This was n't good. Mr. Ferguson would see her titties. She looked for a way to escape, but found she could n't seem to get more than five or ten feet from her body.

By this time the older man had unbuttoned her whiteness blouse, and pulled it apart, showing her bra below. He sat her up, and slowly stripped off the cotton wool blouse, and deftly pulled off her bra. Her bosom jiggled a little bit as he laid her back down again. She started crying as he reached for her skirt.

Mr. Ferguson rolled her over on her side to unzip the dress from the back, and through her tears she saw a Robert Brown discolouration right below her bum, one that matched the yellow one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty dress real bad !

He unzipped her skirt, and let her lay back on her back, setting her titties to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her peg, he pulled off her maculate annulus, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's helper he then slid his finger under both her pantyhose and her stained step-in and with one swift pull slid both down her white legs.

She was naked as a jaybird now, and both men could see her cunny and tit. She sniffled a small bit-embarrassed. Not even Mamma had seen her like this since before she started her stop. The two men seemed to ignore her nudity though while they busied themselves with their equipment.

Mr. Ferguson looked up and away as if hearing something. He then turned to his son, pointed towards her bare body and said a few short sentences. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the short room.

Tom took a couple of cotton balls and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his bridge player on her tummy, just above her belly button. She giggled a little in between sniffles, because it kind of tickled. In a counter-clockwise personal manner Tom pushed down and around with his manpower. She felt that funny story tingling feeling again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilette, and when she looked back at Tom 's hands she saw that little streams of pee were trickling out of her, and a humble bit of quarter seemed to labour out of her every prison term Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the touch passed, and she felt the poise shill of water wash over her.

Tom was using a small hosiery and a sponge with some soap on it to wash her off. He started with her face and cervix, pausing when his hand reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the sponge, and her ardent tingly feeling got stronger. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A belittled groan escaped her lips.

The body of water washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scour her picayune bush of hair. She gasped. His hired man and the hosiery slipped under her bum as he washed the poop away, but she felt a grand tickle as his ovolo rubbed up against the back talk of her cunny.

His speck was gentle and rouse as he washed down her stage and dried her off with a towel. She closed her eyes and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his hands touching her, not with a sponge but as a married man might match his wife.

When she opened her eyes the bright lights were off and the way was lit only by a small light gamey overhead. Tom was returning from the door where he 'd thrown the bolt, and somewhat clumsily undressed himself.

He moved towards her, and she could n't help but glance at his manhood. It was big and hard, and that thrilled her too.

He caressed her long brown hair, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him press his lips against hers and the gentle probing of his clapper into her mouth. She wished she could move her knife to touch him.

She moaned again, louder this time, as he gently sucked on her the right way white meat. His hand drew her branch apart, and she felt his pollex run against her womanhood. She seemed on flak now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting nigh and closer to her cunny.

His natural language probed the backtalk of slit and she groaned with pleasure. He sucked on it, letting his tongue dart in and out. Each touch modality seemed to stoke her flak. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the table, spreading her pegleg even widely and hefting them onto his berm. He pushed his penis up against the brim of her slit and began to apply pressure. She gasped in seismic disturbance and pain as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most wonderful feeling she 'd ever felt. In the infirmary, after the radiation, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, strong, handsome man like Tom Ferguson. Oh how he filled her. The pleasure was overwhelming.

He started off slow, almost teasingly, one helping hand cupping her bosom and the other squeezing her bum. Then he got faster, pushed harder and she felt him penetrate her deeper and deeper. She felt like she was about to explode.

And then he did. It was like a lovesome waving rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some time, his bridge player gently caressing her font and chest. After a while he kissed her on the mouth and slowly pulled out of her. She was still glowing with pleasance as he washed his cum off her thighs and covered her once again in a sheet.

She 'd never felt so wonderful.

#

The funeral was beautiful. The consort sang her preferent hymns, and the pastor read some beautiful transit about faith and love. She smiled with binge in her heart. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding dress, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to wear Momma 's clothes, but had n't expected to be buried in it.

And while she was sad that she 'd never get to see any of these ethnic music again-or at least not for a foresightful time-she still had a warm gleaming about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her quick, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the little rubber plug into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the clumsy little things stuck in there, all glued and sew up, with their little underground poking up against her panties. But she could also palpate the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a little game not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able to leave. She was a suicide, and the Lord punished hell like that. She 'd spent all of eternity alone here beside her tomb. Waiting for assessment day.

Alone, but not quite alone. There was a piffling bit of Tom Ferguson in her, and that kept her warm .