The truth was different.It was a memorial that caused another.Who am I?The funeral was for an acquaintance, a minor ghost from the past. She attended ...otre Dame with me but never rode in my Desoto. She looked me up after she moved to the Pacific Northwest. Despite her Notre Dame diploma, her funeral was a secular service that lacked the propriety spiritual ambiance for the mystery of death found in a Catholic religious service, at least for me.Reposed in her open coffin, lifelike, black. I rest my hand on your knee over your skirt under the table, wanting to maintain our earlier connection. You reciprocate after pulling my chemise (a long cotton or muslin dress worn under a corset or bodice to cover the exposed flesh) to my knee. Your touch on my bare skin ignites my passion again. Your orgasm has made you bold, as we drink and chat, you move your hands closer and closer to my clean-shaven mound. What you don’t know is that I dressed tonight, I never put on any panties in. More

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