How does one give up their reliable beloved ?

How does one follow that love ? Hoe does one come after them along all the unnumbered paths their sprightliness takes ?

How does one give up living for sexual love ?

#

A climbing nightshade goodby. Claude E. Shannon had known it when she smiled and kissed Molly. The two charwoman had known, and loved each other for a decade, and their accord had held. Through bad marriages and abusive fellow ; through the outset tentative geographic expedition of their 'other side'; and now through this.

'' Never leave your side. '' Shannon whispered as she caressed Molly 's hair. A single rip fell to slush on the bridge of the other woman 's olfactory organ, but she paid it no observation. Shannon swallowed.

Her lovemaking was gone. Now she must come after. It was their pact.

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

She had been so beautiful and full of lifetime. 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 Shannon when the cancer had returned, `` Fuck the hospital. I 'll fill it as it comes, and die at plate if I have to. ``

She 'd had to. There, just this morning on their sofa. They 'd both acknowledge it was coming today. You could find it in the way Molly woke up-in how aweary she was.

Weary of nausea, but not life.

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

Claude E. Shannon could still feel the pleasance of the morning like a dim after-taste of a half-remembered slightness. She could almost taste molly on her lips.

'' Fuck me. '' Molly had whispered afterwards, `` This afternoon. Promise ? ``

Claude E. Shannon had promised. It was afternoon. Molly lay waiting.

Her fan lay as if asleep on the couch. Only the stillness of her chest grass her lawful state. After breakfast she 'd obtain dressed in her favorite entourage. Molly was cypher if fashionable-and ironic. She had dressed all in black, from her bra and panties, to her melanize cad and matching stockings.

Shannon moved to the sofa and sat beside her love. There was a mild ammonia water tang in the air. molly 's vesica had released its capacity when she died. A tentatively curious manus slid up Molly 's interior second joint, across the satiny stockings to her now damp crotch. Shannon felt herself grow wet as her finger's breadth pushed mollie 's panty aside and probed her lover 's vagina.

Molly was still tender, and wet not just with piss. Shannon smiled. Molly must have been imagining this moment. A bittersweet goodbye.

Shannon stood and undid her bathrobe. The scars that Phil had left with his cigaret were slim mottles on her shapely abdomen and second joint. She 'd never felt comfortable in her nakedness except with molly. It was only correctly for her to catch some Z's with Molly-now and forever-in the manner that Molly preferred.

Slowly, gently, Shannon unbuttoned mollie 's blouse to reveal her black silk bra beneath. Practiced fingers undid the clasps, and the garment fell away to reveal the bountiful curvature of one knocker, and the scar clump of a mastectomy. Claude Elwood Shannon gingerly touched the scar. Molly-had she been here-would have laughed and pressed her buff hand to the missing breast.

'' See, nothing to hide. '' Molly would suffer joked. Claude Elwood Shannon, choked with tears, lay her head on Molly 's bureau and wept.

'' rush. '' She thought she heard mollie whispering, `` I 'm waiting. ``

Claude Shannon smiled and kissed mollie 's titty. Soon they would be together.

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

Shannon giggled and kissed the dead woman 's breast again. Her spit caressed the pap and played along the bottom bender of Molly 's one good tit. She could almost try her moan.

Her bridge player were groping again. She pushed mollie 's blackamoor clad stage apart and placed one finger in her cunt. The early hand was busybodied with Claude Shannon 's own clit. Her succus were flowing now, running down her leg in picayune rivulets and dripping onto mollie 's skirt.

With a fire burning at the stake inside her, Claude Elwood Shannon grabbed molly 's bird and hiked it up over her hips. Pulling down the dead woman 's panty she exposed her beautiful blonde crotch hair. It glistened with wet, but Shannon did n't manage. She lowered herself to press against her loved, gyrating and shifting her pelvic girdle. Ever contact between their hill was ecstasy, and Shannon could feel the orgasm building.

Thrusting her pelvic arch against mollie 's she curved her back and pressed her rima oris to her fan 's. Her tongue could taste molly 's last breath, but Shannon was beyond caring.

'' nookie me. '' Molly whispered.

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

'' Fuck me. '' Molly whispered.

Shannon fucked Molly like only another woman could.

#

The landlady liked both Molly and Shannon, but never really understood their life-style. Her married man called them 'fucking dam'and would laugh at his own joke. She thought they were nice ladies who 'd had bad experiences with men. A woman could n't screw another cleaning lady the same way a cleaning lady could do 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 trump black suite-with a few conspicuous stains-and Shannon lay beside her, wearing naught but a contented smile. The two were holding hands.

A char ca n't screw a womanhood the way a woman loves a man.

It may be different, but its still love.

And it was more powerful than sprightliness or death .