I, in strange, theatrical madness cursed her for her lack of love profession, for loving my face, my hair, my strong, powerful body, but not that crud... disgusting thing lurking in my pants. That silent, grotesque lump of God-given clay yet to be molded, for all hope, to die in the dust with the humming of the cortex, those strange fibers of consciousness wrestling angsty teenage love, my sweet Kimberly… she’d dated someone I’d thought my friend. Society’s law kept me from killing him. I would. Oh my god the image was indescribable! She immediately dropped toher knees, lifted the crinoline slip, pulled down my hose and panties andstarted to blow me right there. The whole thing - the image -- thebeautiful bride, tight bodice displaying my feminine curves with all thebeading and lace, the beautiful face framed by the veil, the painted nailsholding up the skirt with the long legs peeking out from under the lace ofthe hem of the dress, the rustling sound of the gown and slip, the feel. More

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