Pigeons
It should have been an intimate moment, but only in the sense that it should have been private and personal. Arousal should never have occurred on the part of either of us given the circumstances.

I whispered goodbye in her ear. I was now at ease with the fact that the time had come for us to part. But something inside me would not allow me to let go. It felt as though a brace of tiny, atomic pigeon's eggs had been laid in the depths of my stomach and were now hatching. And the hatchlings, before they had even emerged fully from their respective ova, were battling for avian supremacy over this secondary womb, hurling bile at one another and clawing at my stomach lining in their desperation.

I looked upon her face. She was beautiful. I began sobbing as I kissed her thin lips passionately, grasping as much of her clothed breastflesh in my hand as I could, for I knew that this was the last time I would have the opportunity to do so.

Men in suits lunged to pull me away and they did this in earnest, but not before I had produced my desperate member from beneath my sad black trousers, and it twitched as though holding back tears of its own.

The vicar stepped forward mournfully as though he had witnessed this sorry scene too many times before. He shook his head before bidding the men to close the coffin. And so they did, and that was the last time anyone laid eyes on my dear grandmother.

That night I remained in my room. I wept until dawn. So did my penis.
(stusut79, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 12:35, Reply)