She was startled to find she was wet. She stroked her swollen sex slowly, slowly pinching and pulling a nipple. She closed her eyes and imagined him there, caressing her, kissing her, licking her sex the way she loved to be licked. She was languid, laying on the ground, imagining as she had never imagined before the way their bodies entwined in passion. Moans escaped her lips. She rolled back and forth, imagining the lustful frenzy of when he took her roughly in the night. Her first orgasm brought a fluttering cry and then she called out his name. She had lost all sense of time and place. It was dusk now. The moon was coming up on the horizon. ‘I will always love you Mitchell.’ There were no more tears. Angela smeared her wetness across the tombstone, smelled her fingers and smiled to herself, ‘You would have liked eating me tonight.’ She laid there for another while, thought about getting up and dressing and decided to lay there under the moon. She stretched like a cat and laid. I told Cori this and she took me into the ladies room at church, parked me in front of the full-length mirror and said "You don't trust me? Trust your own eyes, then." Have you guys ever heard the expression "I can't believe my own eyes"? Well that's how I felt. I have been looking in the mirror for about 25 years now and I can usually predict what I'm going to see. What I didn't expect to see was a beautiful woman staring back at me. As a man, and a long-time judge of women, (no offense) sure, I had seen better. But my GOD, I had seen much worse! First off, Stella, you may remember seeing me in shorts. Trust me on this one, with the hair off, these are college-girl's legs. Legs that I would surely give a second glance to on the street. The rest of the body looked, well, . . . feminine. I looked at the way the dress hugged my curves and could find nothing masculine about it. The WonderBra helped a lot, of course! I was starting to wonder if I really wanted my wife to see me like.
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