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She Only Wore a Shirt to the Funeral (Ken Haramiru)

She Only Wore a Shirt to the Funeral by Ken Haramiru

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At a funeral, Brent can't help but notice a woman attending in what looks like just a black shirt. From the glimpse of panties as she sits down, to the knowing grin she gives him as he leaves, there's something special about this encounter. The reception brings a debate about whether she's wearing a shirt or a dress - but the answer stops mattering once it's crumpled up on the floor!

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 4 / 2014

No. words: 7800

Style: Erotic Romance, Erotic Short Stories

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter 1: The Funeral
Today, I attended a funeral for my ex-girlfriend’s father. Her father had immigrated from Germany as a young man, and he’d lived a full life and raised two large Catholic families thanks to a divorce late in life. I’d never met most of his first family, but there were a lot of smoking hot women, several of whom were in their 20s and 30s. Hitler himself would have been proud of the dozen or so intensely fuckable blondes at the funeral, each of which were paragons of Teutonic beauty. I wasn’t sure which of the women were related to him and which weren’t, but all of them drew my attention. But as attractive as they were, none of them made as much of an impression as the one named Jade.
I was seated on a pew near the back of the church, next to my friend and business partner Fred. There were people in the pew in front of us, and they’d left some space on the end for someone who hadn’t arrived yet. Just before the service started, Jade showed up. She was yet another smoking hot Teutonic blonde, probably around 30 years old, with shoulder-length hair which was either a perfect light yellow blonde or an amazingly good dye job. Her hair was mostly straight, with a little bit of wave, and it came down to just below her collarbone. Her frame was slight, and she wore what looked like a natural light tan acquired from laying out on the beach. I noticed at first that she wore a relatively conservative dress, buttoned up to the neckline, with buttons which stretched down and down. My eyes followed the line of buttons until they stopped - but the seam between the sides didn’t stop. With a shock, I realized that her “dress” was nothing more than an extra-long button-up shirt, which was meant to be worn with a skirt or pants. It would’ve been unremarkable if she’d worn leggings or yoga pants with it, but her long, slender legs were impossible not to notice. She looked like she was dressed for bed, not a funeral.
My mind raced, trying to figure out why she’d chosen to come to the funeral wearing no more than a shirt - and as she sat down, my eyes went wide in disbelief as I caught a flash of panties and the hip cut-outs on the shirt revealed an amazing amount of her legs. I’m not sure if she noticed me noticing her, but even as the priest drew our attention by walking to the altar in the front of the church, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Moments after she sat down, the actual funeral mass began.
Halfway through the service, the blonde in the shirt stood up and edged her way out into the aisle. I couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of my eye as the hem of her shirt rode up a little, exposing just a glimpse of the bottom of her perfectly-formed ass. Her slender legs worked like a perfectly-tuned set of scissors as she turned and walked quietly towards the back of the church. Not turning my head to watch her ass as she walked away required tremendous willpower. Had I been a Catholic, I’d have been formulating my next confession already at this point.
The funeral went on, talking about the deceased, and the blonde never did come back. A cloud of incense wrapped up the service after about a half hour, and the congregation stood up to file out of the exit. As I was on my way out, I noticed that there was a ‘cry room’ at the back of the church, behind glass so that those inside could see and hear the service, but screaming children wouldn’t be heard by the parishioners.
My attention was instantly drawn to the left side of the first pew in the cry room. The blonde was there, still wearing a shirt for a dress, but with a small blonde boy in her lap. Her attention was distracted a little, and she didn’t seem to notice that her legs were spread a bit. I tried not to be too obvious, but there was absolutely no way I could take my eyes off of her. My eyes were suddenly microscopes, trailing their way up her perfectly sculpted calves, past the dimples of her knees, and then they scanned farther and farther up her inner thighs. My heart skipped a beat as I realized that I was looking at her panties, not just shadows. My cock stiffened instantly, and I prayed silently that she didn’t notice me noticing.

Author Information

Ken Haramiru lives in a large city on America's west coast. He's gainfully employed at a large, faceless corporation, and owns several adorable pets.

He's written science fiction off and on since his teens, but either couldn't finish stories due to writer's block, or they were fan fiction and thus unpublishable. One day not very long ago, he got frustrated and just wrote a sex scene to move the plot along - and it worked!


Publisher Information

This story has been self-published by the author

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