My labia became an elastic band that spread to accommodate a foreign object and then closed over it, enclosing the mass inside. The feeling of my pink...lips shutting it inside was a feeling I would never tire of feeling. I always loved how my wet core slathered the egg-shaped smooth piece of polished wood inside my pink hole. It always allowed me to move my body over it in rhythmic motions that brought out feelings of sexual bliss. I never needed anything with ridges to get off. As long as. I've left the morgue and I like to pretend I have been at an office, working somewhere that smells less like disinfectant and has a view, preferably of water and trees. Blue eyes focused in my direction cause the hairs on the back of my neck to tingle. A few delicious minutes pass by. I shift in my seat, watch members of the geriatric community pick their way carefully down the aisle and out into the strange, suspended, autumnal sunset on the street, their large, practical handbags held with. More

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