How does one give up their true love ?

How does one follow that make love ? Hoe does one follow them along all the countless way their intent takes ?

How does one give up lifespan for erotic love ?

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A bittersweet au revoir. Claude Shannon had known it when she smiled and kissed molly. The two cleaning woman had known, and loved each early for a decade, and their pact had held. Through bad spousal relationship and scurrilous boyfriends ; through the first tentative explorations of their 'other face'; and now through this.

'' Never leave your side. '' Shannon whispered as she caressed Molly 's pilus. A undivided rent fell to splash on the bridge of the other woman 's nose, but she paid it no notification. Shannon swallowed.

Her love was gone. Now she must follow. It was their pact.

Weak, Shannon slumped backwards into the chair behind her. Silence hung in the way as if Molly 's spirit waited, holding her breath.

She had been so beautiful and fully of life. Even now, after losing one breast-and thinner than she had ever been-she was still beautiful to Shannon.

'' I wo n't do it again. '' She had told Claude Shannon when the cancer had returned, `` Fuck the infirmary. I 'll learn it as it comes, and die at home if I have to. ``

She 'd had to. There, just this morning on their lounge. They 'd both known it was coming today. You could feel it in the way molly woke up-in how weary she was.

Weary of illness, but not life.

'' Fuck me. '' She 'd whispered that morning as the two lay in bed, `` Now. ``

Claude Elwood Shannon could still sense the pleasure of the break of the day like a dim after-taste of a half-remembered delicacy. She could almost taste Molly on her lips.

'' piece of ass me. '' molly had whispered afterwards, `` This good afternoon. Promise ? ``

Shannon had promised. It was afternoon. mollie lay waiting.

Her fan lay as if asleep on the couch. Only the lifelessness of her chest betrayed her true state. After breakfast she 'd gotten dressed in her favorite entourage. molly was nothing if fashionable-and ironic. She had dressed all in black, from her bra and panty, to her black blackguard and matching stockings.

Shannon moved to the sofa and sat beside her love. There was a soft ammonia water tang in the air. Molly 's vesica had released its contentedness when she died. A tentatively curious deal slid up Molly 's inner thigh, across the silky stockings to her now mute genital organ. Shannon felt herself grow wet as her fingers pushed Molly 's panty aside and probed her devotee 's vagina.

Molly was still strong, and wet not just with pass water. Claude Shannon smiled. Molly must have been imagining this moment. A woody nightshade goodbye.

Shannon stood and undid her bathrobe. The cicatrice that Phil had left with his cigarette were flimsy mottles on her shapely abdomen and thighs. She 'd never felt comfortable in her nudity except with mollie. It was only right-hand for her to sleep with Molly-now and forever-in the manner that mollie preferred.

Slowly, gently, Shannon unbuttoned mollie 's blouse to reveal her pitch-black silk bra beneath. Practiced finger undid the clasp, and the garment fell away to bring out the bountiful curve of one breast, and the scarred lump of a mastectomy. Claude Shannon gingerly touched the scar. Molly-had she been here-would have laughed and pressed her lovers hand to the missing breast.

'' See, nothing to hide. '' Molly would have joked. Claude Elwood Shannon, choked with crying, lay her header on Molly 's chest and wept.

'' Hurry. '' She thought she heard molly whispering, `` I 'm waiting. ``

Shannon smiled and kissed molly 's white meat. Soon they would be together.

'' Hurry. '' Molly whispered, `` We need a good fucking. ``

Shannon giggled and kissed the dead woman 's breast again. Her clapper caressed the tit and played along the underside curve of Molly 's one honest tit. She could almost see her moan.

Her hands were groping again. She pushed mollie 's ignominious clad legs apart and placed one finger in her bitch. The other hand was busybodied with Shannon 's own clit. Her juice were flowing now, running down her leg in short rivulet and dripping onto molly 's skirt.

With a ardor burning inside her, Shannon grabbed Molly 's skirt and hiked it up over her hip joint. Pulling down the dead woman 's panties she exposed her beautiful blonde bush. It glistened with moisture, but Shannon did n't care. She lowered herself to press against her loved, gyrating and shifting her hips. Ever touch between their mounds was disco biscuit, and Claude Shannon could feel the coming building.

thrust her hips against mollie 's she curved her back and pressed her mouth to her lover 's. Her natural language could try out molly 's last breath, but Shannon was beyond caring.

'' Fuck me. '' Molly whispered.

Shannon 's fingers were cryptic inside both of them. She loved Molly. She would follow Molly.

'' Fuck me. '' Molly whispered.

Claude E. Shannon fucked Molly like only another woman could.

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The landlady liked both mollie and Shannon, but never really understood their lifestyle. Her married man called them 'fucking dykes'and would laugh at his own caper. She thought they were gracious ladies who 'd had bad experiences with men. A woman could n't love another woman the same way a fair sex could have a go at it a man.

It was n't possible. It was n't natural.

The landlady found them lying together in their bed atop the sheets. molly was arranged peacefully, dressed in her very in force pitch blackness suite-with a few conspicuous stains-and Shannon lay beside her, wearing nothing but a contented smiling. The two were holding hands.

A womanhood ca n't be intimate a woman the way a woman loves a man.

It may be dissimilar, but its still love.

And it was more mightily than aliveness or death .