The way seemed almost surrealistic to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotising fog of the oral contraceptive pill, she could almost feel the air around her, a liquidity like water-thick and unyielding. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. The botheration was to a lesser extent now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A deep breath. Her last ?

A thought struck her. Who would find her, laid out here like this ? What would they conceive ? It would be a disgrace to feature gotten dressed up only to be found in some awkward position. Would she flip, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her pinna. 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 unspoiled wearing apparel. She got gear up for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breathing time rattled. The botheration was gone.

Who would receive here, here in her near dress ? Who would encounter her ? Momma ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest fell and darkness engulfed her.

mum ?

#

It was variety of the like floaty smell she 'd finger after she took the pills, but it was kind 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 moist stain on her beautiful dress. It took her a few present moment 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 petty bit, and off to the right. She was flying, and the pain was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd pee herself.

There were other people in the room. In the corner her female parent was sobbing into her father 's pectus. The townspeople doctor was saying something she could n't hear to two other boys. She could n't try anything that they were saying actually. Things were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The boys nodded, and while the Dr. hustled her parents out of the sleeping room, they unrolled a big charge card sheet beside her on the bed.

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

A small kick ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. papa would n't let his sixteen-year-old missy see any of the topical anaesthetic boys, not especially with her so sick. She 'd always wondered what it would feel like when a boy touched her leg.

It was sort of like when she snuck a kiss from Reb Reese. It was a good story, warm feeling.

The next little while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic sheet and put her in the back of the ambulance. They did n't turn over on the siren, or force back really fasting, but they did discover directly for the hospital. She knew the rout well.

It was lately when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her organic structure, covered in a Edward White rag now down to the morgue. She cringed a piddling bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a little browned bag. They were Momma 's shoes, and genuine expensive too. Then they took out a pair of scissors hold and cut her pantyhose at her right ankle. It tickled a trivial bit as they tied a petty tag to her big toe.

She giggled a piddling bit. Being dead was way more 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 brightness was actual bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't consider. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral conductor of the local anaesthetic funeral home, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a small room that looked more like a clean garage than the dead room where she 'd been last night.

Her centre began to race as Mr. Ferguson reached for the buttons on her blouse. This was n't salutary. Mr. Ferguson would see her breast. 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 sentence the older man had unbuttoned her egg white blouse, and pulled it apart, showing her bra below. He sat her up, and slowly stripped off the cotton fiber blouse, and deftly pulled off her bra. Her titties jiggled a footling 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 apparel from the backrest, and through her tears she saw a dark-brown soil right below her bum, one that matched the xanthous one on the front.

Oh she had messed her reasonably coif real bad !

He unzipped her doll, and let her lay back on her back, setting her titties to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her peg, he pulled off her stained skirt, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's supporter he then slid his fingers under both her pantyhose and her stained panty and with one western fence lizard twist slid both down her white legs.

She was naked as a blue jay now, and both men could see her cunny and titties. She sniffled a picayune bit-embarrassed. Not even mama had seen her like this since before she started her point. The two men seemed to brush off 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 nude body and said a few scant judgment of conviction. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a couple of cotton fiber balls and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his manpower on her tummy, just above her belly button. She giggled a picayune in between snivel, because it form of tickle. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his hired man. 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 manpower she saw that little streams of pee were trickling out of her, and a low bit of low-down seemed to push out of her every time Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the feeling passed, and she felt the aplomb shill of piss wash drawing over her.

Tom was using a belittled hosepipe and a sponge with some easy lay on it to wash out her off. He started with her case and neck, pausing when his hand reached her bosom. Very gently he massaged them with the poriferan, and her warm tingly feeling got solid. The sponger moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A diminished moan escaped her lips.

The water washed across her second joint, and Tom paused to scrub her footling George H.W. Bush of whisker. She gasped. His bridge player and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the poop away, but she felt a wonderful tickle as his thumb rubbed up against the lips of her cunny.

His touch was gentle and agitate as he washed down her legs 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 husband might touch his wife.

When she opened her eyes the shiny light were off and the room was lit only by a small lightness high overhead. Tom was returning from the door where he 'd thrown the bolt, and somewhat clumsily unclad himself.

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

He caressed her yearn brown hair, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him urge his backtalk against hers and the gentle probing of his knife into her mouth. She wished she could prompt her tongue to come to him.

She moaned again, louder this time, as he gently sucked on her correct breast. His hand drew her legs apart, and she felt his ovolo run against her womanhood. She seemed on fire now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting faithful and closer to her cunny.

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

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

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

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

And then he did. It was like a warm moving ridge rushing all through her inside. He lay there on top of her for some time, his mitt gently caressing her look and breasts. After a patch he kissed her on the brim 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 hymns, and the pastor read some beautiful musical passage about religious belief and love. She smiled with rent in her eye. Everything was so beautiful. mum had given Mr. Ferguson her marriage frock, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to wear down Momma '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 farseeing time-she still had a tender luminescence about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her set, and he never cleaned up the interior of her before he put the little rubber ballyhoo into her cunny and bum. She could still sense the inept lilliputian things stuck in there, all glued and sewn up, with their little electron tube poking up against her panties. But she could also finger the fondness of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a little plot of ground not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able to pass on. She was a self-destruction, and the Lord punished sinfulness like that. She 'd spent all of timeless existence alone here beside her grave. Waiting for judging day.

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