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From: "Jane Urquhart" <janey98@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} (Janey) Dies Irae (FM cons)
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WARNING: This is a story for adults. If you are under 18, please
stop reading immediately.

This story may be archived on free web sites but is not to be
distributed without the name of the author, changed in any way, or
sold. Please do not re-post without consulting the author.
Copyright 1998 by Jane Urquhart.


DIES IRAE  (FM cons)

by Janey
	
	He hadn't been back home in at least five years--it was
easier for his bachelor brother to visit them in Boston than for him
and his wife to fly off to Texas, and he didn't have any friends left
there--they'd scattered all over the map, left for greener pastures,
just as he had. This time, however, his brother needed help with
some legal stuff--their mother's estate--so he came down by
himself for a couple of days. The city had changed so much it
staggered him. The street names were the same, but that was all,
really.

	He was just killing time that evening, reading the local
paper, when he noticed the story. He remembered her. God, what a
shame! Donations to the breast cancer society. Shit. She didn't
deserve that. So he decided to go to her funeral the next day.

	The priest was good. This eulogy was easy, of course. She'd
done everything a woman ought to. She'd taught school. She'd
married. She'd volunteered for Greenpeace and worked for the
Audubon Society. She's had two kids--grown now, of  course.
She'd worked for the church. She would have. He remembered her.

	He couldn't remember where they'd gone that last night.
Some place they'd danced, he knew that, because he remembered
how it felt to hold her. She was small, and soft. They were only
kids, of course. He was home from graduate school, and she was in
Ed school herself. He'd known her forever, maybe since junior
high. And they'd gone out now and then, over the years.

	After the dance they'd parked someplace out by the lake.
People did that in those days. He remembered that it was warm; the
car windows were down. They talked. Then he put his arm around
her and kissed her. She kissed back with fervor. He remembered.
He was actually shaking with lust. He fumbled with the buttons on
her blouse and got it open. She held her arms up so he could get at
the hook on her bra. He took the bra off and kissed the tops of her
breasts, then down to the nipples. He sucked on them, and she
moaned with pleasure.

	Then he put his hand on her leg, and started to move up.
She stopped him. She just shook her head, and said, "No." He
kissed a nipple again, put his hand back on her knee. "No," she
said.

	"Why not?" he'd asked.   

	"Not now," she'd answered. "I'll marry you tomorrow, but I
won't let you do that now."

	He helped her put her bra back on, and she buttoned up. He
drove her home, got out of the car, opened her door and walked
with her to the steps leading in to her parents' house. They hadn't
talked any more. He kissed her goodnight, gently.

	He drove away in turmoil. She was just a girl. Sure, they'd
known each for a long time. But marriage? No way. It wasn't time.
He didn't love her. He liked her, but he didn't love her.

	So the next day he went back to the university. He never
saw her again.

	God, he was a shit! He could have called her. No, better, he
could have written a letter. He could even have gone to see her. He
could have done that, at least. But he hadn't.

	Communion. He couldn't go. Not this time.

            He just left the church and drove back to his brother's
apartment. He packed and went back to Boston. He tried not to
think about her any more. But on the plane he kept feeling those
breasts. He guessed it couldn't have hurt her too badly, could it?
She survived. Got married, had two kids. Lived a nice life. What
the hell, she recovered, if it hurt her. 

	Still, she was a hell of a nice girl. It was a shame. And he
was a shit, no question about it.

				--------END------
	



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