then, I reflected, I was more or less in love with him. He was so popular in school and everything. Any girl would have been proud to marry him, and I had been no exception. That made me kind of start to consider how it might have been if I'd responded differently to Curt's lovemaking that time when, I let him get into my pants.
I looked down at him and couldn't resist reaching to touch his hair. To my surprise it felt not much different than it had when he was alive. Or maybe it was just my imagination working over time. I was quite sure which it was. But it was when I touched his hair that I began to get this wild idea. I kept thinking about how much he liked seeing my naked body. The thought of him never getting to see another girl naked was very sad.
I decided I was going to honor his death in a very personal-if strange-way. I decided I was going to remove every stitch of clothing I had on. It would be like pretending that he could see me that way and enjoyed the way I looked.
I glanced behind me to make sure I was still alone. The door was still securely closed and I heard no noises outside. I stepped back and kicked my shoes off. I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it, tossing it on the floor in a heap. Next came my blouse. That left me standing next to his body wearing nothing but my panties, a
garter belt, hose and my brassiere. I sat down on the floor and raised my leg into the air so I could remove my hose after unsnapping them one by one from my frilly garter belt. Then I drew each stocking off slowly and deliberately, just as though I was putting on a strip show for curt.
Then I just sat there on the floor in my skimpy panties and brassiere looking up at the coffin. I could see Curt's outline from where I sat-his hair, the lines of his nose and chin, ad the contours of the front of his body down to his shoes. I stretched my legs out in front of me and thought how much he would be turned on if only he could be watching me display myself before him. 'If he were alive right now and looking at me do this in front of him, I'll bet he would have a hard-on by now,' I thought to myself.
The thought of him lying there with a hard-on made me get a nice warm feeling between my legs just like I had gotten when he had played with my pussy back in school. I put my hand down between my legs and felt an involuntary quiver run through my body. I was beginning to become stimulated. First I only had my hand on my panties, right in the crotch where the mound of my pussy makes the material rise up between my legs. But then I slipped my hand inside them and began to feel around inside my pussy lips. When my fingertips came in contact with the soft skin on the interior of my pussy I found out that I was wet down there.
I began to massage myself there while looking up at Curt inside the coffin and imagine how he would react if he could see. The thought of that made me even hotter, so I put my other hand down and started skinning my panties down over my thighs. Then I got up on my knees and let them fall all the way down to the floor, feeling their silky smoothness caress my thighs as they slipped down. I kept my hand busy between my legs as I slowly continued to rub myself there, but I also reached up and turned my brassiere around so the hook would be in front and unhooked it. It fell onto the floor near where my skirt and blouse were.
I got up on my feet then and walked toward the coffin, allowing my panties to drop to my ankles and off onto the cold stone floor of the mortuary room. By this time, Diary, I was really getting caught up in what I was doing. I was just letting my thoughts be acted out without stopping to think what I was doing. I was doing just whatever I felt like doing.
By the time I reached the coffin I was stark naked. I saw my reflection in the highly polished floor and noted that I had an expression on my face that looked like I was in a dream, or walking in my sleep. But that's not all I noticed. I also noticed the part of me that all the guys always noticed-my big breasts and my long, curvy legs. My tits stuck out big and full and when I touched them to the side of the casket I didn't even notice the coldness of the thing. All that made any difference-to me was that I was standing right next to Curt, my old love. I had kept my hand in my pussy all the time I had been walking and the motion of my legs moving back and forth had brought me to a somewhat higher plateau of excitement. Standing right up next to his coffin, I
continued to play with myself. I even leaned over farther so my tits actually came into contact with the lifeless arm of Curt's corpse. I guess I must have been beginning to go off my rocker then because I didn't get the slightest bit of a cold feeling from his dead body. It even seemed to be a little warm, just as though he weren't dead at all. I know that sounds silly to say, Diary, and it seems silly to me too now that I'm back here in my apartment thinking and writing about it, but it didn't seem to be at all out of the ordinary at the time.
With my big soft tits spilling over the edge of the coffin and touching the arm of Curt's dead body, I stood there for what seemed like a long time looking at him and playing with myself. I laid my left arm across his chest and left my right arm hanging down in front of me. My right hand was still toying with my pussy. I had my arm directly between the coffin and my own body so that the weight pressing against my pussy was warm and exciting to me.
As I looked Curt in the face I turned over in my mind what we had been to each other at one time, how he had become so aroused at the sight of my naked body when I lay that day before him on the ground. I thought of his hands touching me and how his hard chest had felt when he pressed himself against the smooth softness of my tits and my stomach. Then I thought of how his cock was the first one I had ever sucked.
And then, somewhere between the past and the present, I saw myself performing the same exciting act. In my mind's eye I envisioned my head between his legs. My hand moved deeper and faster on my pussy and I felt the flow of my love juice cascade from my tender reddened pussy lips through the curled and tangled ringlets of hair that surrounds my secret little slit.
Then, with my hands and pussy all but forgotten, with my whole being caught up in the forbidden thrill of the lewd act I was about to carry out on the dead body of the boy who had once fucked me and needed my mouth on him, I stretched my arms across the side of the casket and yanked his belt open. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I wantonly thrust my hands into the fly of his pants and grasped his cold, flaccid cock. My breath was coming in gasps. I was losing all control. My pussy burned hot against the side of the casket. My forehead was covered with sweat. My eyes blurred out of focus and my heart lurched inside my chest as I fell against his body and covered his cold dead prick with the hot wetness of my mouth.
I was lying fully on top of him with my pussy grinding into his lifeless face and my tongue furiously licking his cock. I was famished for love and starved for the feel of a man's cock in my mouth… I was beside myself with a crazed desire to suck the shit out of his prick until I had enclosed the whole thing within the confines of my licking lips.
Ripping his cock farther out of his pants like a mad woman, I stuffed his limp cock into my mouth and moaned like a banshee as I rocked my pussy against his face.
Faster and faster I sucked his cock, harder and harder I thrust my busting pussy against his cold face… hotter and hotter boiled a raging flame in my blood. I shouted at the top of my lungs, 'On… oh God… I'm… I'm gettin' it'… I'm come… come…
COMING. Aiiiiieeeeee!n
The aftermath was too much for my poor, sex-crazed, brain to contend with. My cries brought a man to the door who looked in and gaped in astonishment. Then came the sound of his feet running down the long hall… the door bursting open… more men… the room suddenly full of people… the walls whirling as hands grabbed me, lifted me off the corpse and constrained my churning arms and legs… the sight of my clothes lying on the floor… the utter mess of the clothes of the corpse… I was lifted, screaming, onto a white cot. The last thing I remember about that horrible afternoon was the sharp jab of a needle in my shoulder, then peace… a dark, heavy sleep. Blackness.
For the next week I was kept in bed in a hospital. My parents came to see me but were very embarrassed and distant. I don't know what I said to them. I was kept under heavy sedation. At the end of the first week I got a break. A doctor said my actions had been' caused by the strain of circumstances. He explained that the death of my close friend, together with the physical stress of my long trip, had temporarily deranged me. He made it sound much less serious than most people thought. The emotional strain of all this had rendered me irresponsible for my actions, he said. If it hadn't been for him I'd undoubtedly still be there in the hospital in Valley Springs, Iowa. Or worse still, in a psycho ward at the Iowa state sanitarium. I was really very fortunate.
As to the effect all this had on my parents, I don't like to even think about it. They didn't want me to leave, begged me to stay there, to be where they could look after me. But I succeeded in leaving town. All the shame is behind me now. Of course, I could never' set foot in that town again in my life, but outside of that, I'm pretty well over the terror of it all.
If there was ever any doubt about it before, it should be plenty clear now-the only way I can have an orgasm is by having a man's prick in my mouth.'
It's true. That's the way things are with me. The Negro, the young kid, taking on two guys at once. All that
