The elbow room seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotizing haze of the contraceptive pill, she could almost sense the air around her, a liquid like water-thick and unyielding. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more unmanageable to breathe. The pain was to a lesser extent now ; she could barely sense anything anymore.

A deep breath. Her final ?

A view struck her. Who would find her, laid out here like this ? What would they guess ? It would be a disgrace to let gotten dressed up only to be found in some ill-chosen position. Would she squeeze, 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 trickle of liquid run down the inside of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, nothing messy. This was her in effect dress. She got ready for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breathing spell rattled. The hurting was gone.

Who would incur here, here in her practiced clothes ? Who would find her ? mammy ?

Wheeze.

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

Her pectus fell and darkness engulfed her.

momma ?

#

It was kind of the same floaty feeling she 'd felt after she took the pills, but it was variety 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 damp stain on her beautiful dress. It took her a few moment to gain 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 rightfield. She was flying, and the pain was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were former masses in the room. In the corner her female parent was sobbing into her father 's thorax. The township doctor was saying something she could n't hear to two early boys. She could n't hear anything that they were saying actually. matter were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The boy nodded, and while the doctor hustled her parents out of the bedroom, they unrolled a big plastic plane beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent-grass low and grasped her body underneath her arms. The other boy grasped her articulatio talocruralis. She could barely sense their touch, but it was there-as if she felt them travel her from a distance.

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

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

The next little while seemed like a fuzz to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic tack and put her in the book binding of the ambulance. They did n't wrick on the siren, or drive real fast, but they did find out directly for the hospital. She knew the rout well.

It was recent when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her consistence, covered in a white sheet now down to the morgue. She cringed a niggling bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a slight brown bag. They were Momma 's shoes, and real expensive too. Then they took out a pair of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her proper ankle. It tickled a lilliputian bit as they tied a petty tag to her big toe.

She giggled a minuscule bit. Being idle was way more fun than being sick.

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

#

When she woke up it was some time later and the Inner Light was real bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't call back. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral director of the local funeral habitation, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a modest way that looked more like a clean garage than the morgue where she 'd been last night.

Her heart began to race as Mr. Ferguson reached for the clit on her blouse. This was n't good. Mr. Ferguson would see her tit. She looked for a way to lam, but found she could n't seem to get Thomas More than five or ten metrical foot from her body.

By this prison term the older man had unbuttoned her whiten 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 piddling 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 backbone, and through her bust she saw a John Brown stain 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 doll, and let her lay back on her back, setting her bosom to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her legs, he pulled off her stain skirt, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's help he then slid his fingers under both her pantyhose and her stained scanty 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 small bit-embarrassed. Not even Mamma had seen her like this since before she started her period. The two men seemed to neglect her nakedness 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 defenseless dead body 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 hands on her breadbasket, just above her belly button. She giggled a little in between snuffle, because it kind of tickled. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his handwriting. She felt that funny 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 niggling streams of pee were trickling out of her, and a small bit of poop seemed to push out of her every time Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the feeling passed, and she felt the cool shill of piddle wash over her.

Tom was using a small hose and a poriferan with some Georgia home boy on it to moisten her off. He started with her face and neck, pausing when his hired hand reached her boob. 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 lowly moan escaped her lips.

The water washed across her thigh, and Tom paused to cancel her short bush of fuzz. She gasped. His hand and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the tail away, but she felt a wondrous tickle as his thumb rubbed up against the rim of her cunny.

His soupcon was gentle and energize as he washed down her legs and dried her off with a towel. She closed her optic and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his manpower touching her, not with a poriferan but as a husband might refer his wife.

When she opened her eyes the bright spark were off and the way was lit only by a small light senior high school overhead. Tom was returning from the doorway where he 'd thrown the deadbolt, and somewhat clumsily undressed himself.

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

He caressed her foresighted browned hair, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him exhort his lip against hers and the patrician probing of his tongue into her mouth. She wished she could move her natural language to touch him.

She moaned again, louder this time, as he gently sucked on her flop bosom. His helping hand drew her stage apart, and she felt his quarter round run against her womanhood. She seemed on fire now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting closer and closer to her cunny.

His knife probed the mouth of cunt and she groaned with pleasure. He sucked on it, letting his clapper dart in and out. Each touch sensation seemed to stoke her flame. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the table, spreading her leg even broad and hefting them onto his berm. He pushed his penis up against the rim of her cunt and began to apply press. She gasped in shock and pain in the neck as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most howling spirit she 'd ever felt. In the hospital, after the radiation therapy, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, strong, well-favored man like Tom Ferguson. Oh how he filled her. The delight was overwhelming.

He started off slow, almost teasingly, one mitt cupping her white meat 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 strong wave rushing all through her inside. He lay there on top of her for some prison term, his men gently caressing her aspect and breasts. After a while he kissed her on the lip 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 favorite hymn, and the pastor read some beautiful musical passage about faith and love. She smiled with crying in her eyes. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her marriage ceremony dress, and they had dressed her up just like a St. Brigid. She 'd always wanted to jade mama 's dress, 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 folks again-or at least not for a longsighted time-she still had a tender gleaming about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her make, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the little safe hoopla into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the ill-chosen little things stuck in there, all glued and tailor up, with their little tubes poking up against her panties. But she could also feel the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a little patch 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 sins 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 .