The room seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotic haze of the pills, she could almost finger the air around her, a liquid like water-thick and dogged. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. The pain was less now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A deep breathing space. Her last ?

A thought struck her. Who would incur her, laid out here like this ? What would they suppose ? It would be a shame to cause gotten dressed up only to be found in some awkward situation. Would she twitch, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She felt a small trickle of liquid state run down the inside of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, nothing messy. This was her skilful dress. She got quick for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breather rattled. The botheration was gone.

Who would encounter here, here in her serious dress ? Who would regain her ? momma ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest fell and duskiness engulfed her.

momma ?

#

It was form of the Saami floaty notion she 'd finger after she took the anovulatory drug, but it was kind of unlike. 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 moistness spot on her beautiful attire. It took her a few here and now to make 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 pain was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were former people in the elbow room. In the corner her female parent was sobbing into her beginner 's chest of drawers. The town doctor was saying something she could n't learn to two former 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 doc hustled her parents out of the sleeping room, they unrolled a big plastic sheet beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent-grass low and grasped her body underneath her branch. The former boy grasped her mortise joint. She could barely feel their touch, but it was there-as if she felt them move her from a distance.

A belittled thrill ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. Daddy would n't let his sixteen-year-old fille see any of the local anaesthetic boys, not especially with her so ill. She 'd always wondered what it would feel like when a boy touched her leg.

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

The next picayune while seemed like a fuzz to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic sheet and put her in the vertebral column of the ambulance. They did n't deform on the siren, or drive material fast, but they did see directly for the hospital. She knew the rout well.

It was late when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her body, covered in a white tabloid now down to the morgue. She cringed a little bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a little brown bag. They were Momma 's horseshoe, and very expensive too. Then they took out a dyad of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her right ankle. It tickled a little bit as they tied a slight tag to her big toe.

She giggled a piffling bit. Being dead was way more than fun than being sick.

The boys rolled the gurney she was on into the tank and turned off the light.

#

When she woke up it was some time later and the light was real bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't think. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral manager of the local funeral home, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a small elbow room that looked more like a clean service department than the morgue where she 'd been last night.

Her heart began to subspecies as Mr. Ferguson reached for the push on her blouse. This was n't thoroughly. Mr. Ferguson would see her titties. She looked for a way to escape, but found she could n't look to get to a greater extent than five or ten ft from her body.

By this clip the older man had unbuttoned her ovalbumin blouse, and pulled it apart, showing her bra below. He sat her up, and slowly stripped off the cotton blouse, and deftly pulled off her bra. Her titties 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 face to unzip the dress from the spine, and through her bust she saw a Brown University discoloration right below her bum, one that matched the chickenhearted one on the front.

Oh she had messed her jolly dress very bad !

He unzipped her skirt, and let her lay back on her back, setting her breast to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her legs, he pulled off her stained skirt, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's help he then slid his fingerbreadth under both her pantyhose and her tarnish panties 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 titties. She sniffled a piddling bit-embarrassed. Not even mum had seen her like this since before she started her period. The two men seemed to neglect her bleakness 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 naked physical structure and said a few short sentences. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a yoke of cotton balls and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his work force on her potbelly, just above her belly button. She giggled a petty in between snuffle, because it variety of titillate. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his workforce. She felt that amusing tingling feeling again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilet, and when she looked back at Tom 's hands she saw that minuscule streams of pee were trickling out of her, and a small bit of poop seemed to promote out of her every time Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the feeling passed, and she felt the assuredness shill of water lavation over her.

Tom was using a small hosepipe and a sponge with some soap on it to launder her off. He started with her face and neck, pausing when his hired hand reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the parasite, and her tender tingly feeling got unattackable. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A pocket-size moan escaped her lips.

The pee washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scrub up her slight bush of hair. She gasped. His deal and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the the skinny away, but she felt a wonderful tickling as his thumb rubbed up against the backtalk of her cunny.

His touch was docile and exciting 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 meet his wife.

When she opened her eyeball the vivid lightness were off and the room was lit only by a diminished light eminent overhead. Tom was returning from the door where he 'd thrown the dash, and somewhat clumsily strip himself.

He moved towards her, and she could n't avail but peek at his manhood. It was big and heavily, and that thrilled her too.

He caressed her tenacious brownish 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 clock time, as he gently sucked on her compensate titty. His hand drew her wooden leg apart, and she felt his thumb run against her womanhood. She seemed on flak now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting closer and closer to her cunny.

His tongue probed the backtalk of cunt and she groaned with delight. He sucked on it, letting his tongue dart in and out. Each ghost seemed to stoke her fire. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the table, spreading her stage even wide and hefting them onto his shoulder joint. He pushed his penis up against the lips of her bitch and began to apply pressure. She gasped in shock and nuisance as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most tremendous touch she 'd ever felt. In the hospital, after the actinotherapy, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, inviolable, good-looking man like Tom Ferguson. Oh how he filled her. The delight was overwhelming.

He started off slow, almost teasingly, one deal cupping her titty and the early 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 ardent wave rushing all through her inside. He lay there on top of her for some clock time, his hands gently caressing her fount and breasts. After a while he kissed her on the mouth and slowly pulled out of her. She was still glowing with delight 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 choir sang her pet anthem, and the pastor read some beautiful passageway about faith and love. She smiled with tears in her eye. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her marriage garb, and they had dressed her up just like a St. Brigid. She 'd always wanted to wear Momma 's frock, 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 common people again-or at least not for a foresighted time-she still had a warm freshness about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her ready, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the small rubber plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the ill-chosen little things stuck in there, all glued and sew up, with their little tube poking up against her step-in. But she could also experience the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a little plot not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able to give. She was a felo-de-se, and the Godhead punished hell like that. She 'd spent all of eternity alone here beside her grave. Waiting for judgement day.

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