I didn't know love could feel like this

I despise funeral homes. I can't stand the smell. It's overwhelming and sickening, like something you'd expect from a horror movie or depression-era novel that details what happens after death grips people's souls in its cold embrace,

I'm glad your coffin is closed. I don't want to view your dead body. For as long as I live, you'll stay alive -- my aphrodisiac, my inspiration to get up in the morning, my bad day remedy.

I don't want to grieve for you. I'd love to go into a different world and live with you, doing the same things over again, like a video that loops...

. . .

Can you hear me? I would come and bang my knuckles against your door. Can you hear? I'll keep doing it until you finally hear me.

My soul is throbbing somewhere deep in my chest; counting down the seconds. Can't you hear? Oh God... finally, you open and scoop me up, sweep me in, whisk me inside, carry me through the threshold of your heart.

When I first smelled your manly perfume, it gave me the chills. It became my all-time favorite scent -- so alluring. I wanted to drink it, eat it with a spoon, have a bath full of it!

I take off my new red shoes next to the door and reveal a row of perfect crimson toenail polish, I know you like it. Only then do I collapse on your off-white sofa with shaggy pillows where you wrap yourself around me. I live for this moment, this very moment.

Your right hand comes up under my blouse to the thin bra strap on my shoulder. It slips off. The other strap is down my back into a criss-cross pattern until it too unfastens. My bra lands on the floor.

I feel my breasts out with such a feminine force before you. They're soft, perky, and slightly round at their points. I can't help but stare at my own hard nipples and think what you might be thinking when you caress them. I want to feel what you feel. I want to be you for a moment.

No, not that, no. I want to be me, myself, the woman quivering beneath your delicate fingertips here and now.

My hands are moving towards your pants, gently unzipping them. Do you want me to do this, undress you? Sometimes I am nervous ... I feel like an adolescent.... with no experience after all these years of being an adult. Am I an adult?

I stare at the slight bulge in your crotch. I can feel my face turn red, but that's okay - this is okay. My shaking fingers are working the rubber band of your briefs when you push them off yourself, giving me a beautiful view of the thickness below your waistline. It seems to thicken with every moment I am standing in front of you naked from the waist up.

I say: “I like it when you... touch me... here," I guide your hand under my skirt, closing my eyes. Your hands slip under my skirt and trace a path up to where I want them most.

"No panties? Oh my -- what happened?" you ask with feigned surprise. I laugh hysterically like a naughty school girl.

Your one finger gently traces the line of my slit. They rub against my clit before moving back to play with my folds. You slip a finger inside as you wiggle it around, making sure I am ready for you, all primed up and ready.

“Let's go to the bedroom”, I hear your whisper. I shake my head no. I can feel your bare chest press against mine as I sway back and forth feeling your full front body touch me ever so slightly just teasing me for what's about to come. I bite my lip and run my hand down your arms, before you wrap them around me, giving me little shakes.

I gasp as you push against me more firmly, pressing your hands into every inch of my back before slowly pushing yourself between my legs. Your hands are all over me - so full of lusting enthusiasm it makes my body tremble with anticipation for what’s to come next.

I feel so vulnerable, so excited, so wet...

. . .

"Madelaine," I hear someone calling my name, "Are you going to speak about the deceased? Harry up. It’s getting late."

My mouth tries hard to form words and immediately gives up. I can't help but think to myself, "damn you!"

I would never come close to expressing how I feel. Tears stream down my cheeks as a sharp ache consumes me inside my black funeral dress.

"No," I say aloud without opening my eyes; "Not...right...now."