The Usual Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy. All characters featured in sexual situations are over 18. The characters in these stories are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or undead is purely coincidental. Do not try this at home.
I wrote this story for HeyAll's "On the Job" themed event. It is my first time participating in such an event and I hope you enjoy the story.
Tamara's life was always overshadowed by the presence of death. Her family had owned the cemetery and funeral home for over a century. The family business had a way of isolating each generation of her family from the community in which they lived. Their town was typical of many Midwestern communities of the era; it had grown rapidly over three decades as it became enmeshed in the suburban sprawl of the city thirty miles away.
Tamara's grandfather had owned several large tracts of land on the outskirts of town. His grandfather had bought up the former farmland back during the Depression, when those farms had been abandoned by families unable to remain solvent. She looked up from the row of headstones to regard their former property. Developers had turned it into blocks of homes, strip malls, and restaurants. The cemetery was surrounded now.
For Tamara, the cemetery was a peaceful green jewel in the middle of that busy section of town. Her life had been spent here with her family. As a small girl, she had followed her grandmother around this place. She had learned all about the beautiful flowers from that wise and loving woman. She had admired the gleaming, polished stones, arranged so carefully into neat rows. It wasn't until she was twelve and was first allowed to attend a funeral there that she began to understand the sadness overshadowing this beautiful place.
She lovingly tended the flowers on the last grave of the row. This section of the cemetery was relatively recent. She had known the woman whose grave she now tended. As she stood and looked over the orderly row of headstones, she could recall each of those funerals. She had been in high school for most of them.
That was what had isolated her family for so long. She had seen the families of those she now tended when they had been rocked by tragedy. Her presence was always an uncomfortable reminder to those classmates who had lost loved ones. Tamara had never planned to participate in the "family business" but here she was, at twenty-five, working as her grandmother had tending the flowers and keeping the headstones and burial plots neat and clean.
She had scarcely dated in high school. Her plans for college had not gone as she had hoped. Tamara had a bachelor's degree. Unfortunately, the economy had taken a brutal downturn just as she graduated. Her parents had offered her this job, and had paid off her student loans so that they would not be hanging over her.
It was generous of them, really. She loved her parents dearly and appreciated that they looked out for her as they did. It was just impossible for her to date when she lived in this town and was known as "The Undertaker's Daughter." It certainly did not help that her wardrobe consisted of so much drab clothing. Again, though, it had been about the family business. It wouldn't do for her to parade around such a somber place in anything colorful or sexy.
She heard an approaching, rhythmic "creak, thump, creak, thump" and turned to find the source of the sound. A wan smile touched her lips as she watched her former classmate, James, as he made his way through the cemetery on his crutches. It was a miracle, really, that he was not buried here. He had been the only survivor of a horrific car accident that had claimed his wife, his mother, and his two tragically young children.
James grimaced at the pain shooting through his surgically repaired legs and forced himself to continue. It was bad enough, in his mind, that he had missed the funerals of his loved ones. Nobody but James blamed him, of course. He had been in the hospital for months, and he was lucky to be alive.
So many people had told him that—"You're lucky to be alive, James." He gritted his teeth as the montage played through his mind; so many solicitous faces, telling him how lucky he was. He didn't feel lucky. He had lost almost his entire family. He was bankrupt from all the medical bills, and his home had been repossessed. He could barely drag his crippled ass to the grave of the love of his life. How was this "lucky"?
His physical pain reached a crescendo along with the emotional as he finally reached the plot. Tears streamed down his face. He had not been prepared. James had thought to pay his respects to his wife, but her headstone was flanked by those of his children.
Oh, God!
he thought,
How could I have forgotten?
Someone had deemed it appropriate to use smaller headstones for the children, but that only served to emphasize the tragedy now. Sobs racked his body as James pictured their tiny faces. His legs gave way, and he was surprised to find soft hands supporting him so that he did not fall. James could barely see through the tears, but he did recognize Tamara's voice.
"I'm glad to see you, James," she said. There was none of the condolence in her voice that he expected, and it was a blessed relief. "Amy would understand," she continued. "I'm sorry you missed it, but it was a lovely service."
She wrapped one arm around his midsection, keeping him on his feet while she fished out a handkerchief and handed it to him. James took it gratefully and wiped his eyes. It took a while before he could see clearly again, and he looked at Tamara's face closely. She was not looking at him. Instead, she was gazing sadly at the trio of graves.
Oh, they were pretty headstones. It was just what they represented that transformed that creamy marble into a message of despair.
With a start, James realized that Tamara's breast was pressed against his side. He thought that he could feel her thick nipple through the dark grey of her shirt. It felt incongruous—he had never even thought of Tamara as
having
breasts. He was still staring at her when she turned her head and fixed him with a sad smile.
She had always seemed to him such a mousy little thing. Tamara's attire in school had been drab, and she had worn thick glasses. Now, she was holding him upright easily and he was aware that she was a real woman as her scent wafted into his nostrils. This was not any perfume; there was a faint hint of her deodorant and shampoo, but she had a faint aroma of sweat from her efforts...and he could detect another, earthy smell that informed him that beneath those unflattering clothes there was a...he gulped as the words
wet pussy
came unbidden to his mind.
It had been a long time since either of them had been laid. Tamara had managed to find a one-night stand several months earlier when she had hooked up with an attractive young man in a nightclub in the city. James had been in the hospital for four months. He had only been able to get around on crutches for three days, but had insisted on getting out of the hospital. He was pushing himself too hard, really, to be here today.
Tamara knew it; knew that he was pushing harder than he should. As her arm held him firmly, she was also reminded that he was a man. Despite his weakened condition, the muscles of his back were thick slabs of muscle against her arm. Tamara could picture those muscles straining and flexing as he pumped his hips into her...
She tried not to dwell on it, but holding him close like this was getting her aroused. She reflected that she would probably be thinking about James tonight when she buried her vibrator in her needy little snatch. She blew out an audible breath as she banished that thought. It would be unfair for her to take advantage of such an obviously vulnerable man. She appraised his pale face as she held him upright. He was shaking with the effort to stand there on his crutches.
"James, you shouldn't be here." Her voice was not loud, but it carried a strength that made him nod in agreement. "You aren't strong enough for this yet. Come back in a week, and then you can have a proper visit."
Tamara turned him, and continued to support him all the way back to his car. They were both winded when they reached it. Neither wanted to admit it, but they were both aroused. Tamara could not help but take note of the bulge in his trousers when she helped him into the driver's seat. She licked her lips and forced her eyes to hold his.
"Are you going to be okay to drive?" she asked sincerely.
"Yes," he replied with a nod. He carefully maneuvered the crutches into place in the passenger seat, so that they would stay put while he drove. When he turned back to her, his eyes took in the swell of her heaving bosom. Her breasts were right at eye level, and they surprised him once again.
Tamara had really nice breasts. James looked guiltily from those lovely mounds up to her face. She was smiling at him again, but for once that smile was not marred by sadness.
"I'll see you next week," she said.
* * *
That week made a huge difference. Tamara thought he looked far better when she saw James making his way toward her. He still needed crutches to get around, but it was not the epic struggle it had been the previous week. He had been gasping and was obviously in pain the last time he had attempted to pay his respects. Now, he had a look of grim determination on his face. The pain was no longer physical.
This pain...was her constant companion. As was always the case, her heart went out to her grieving friend. Tamara carefully stepped away to give him privacy. She concentrated on the flowers and headstones two rows away and kept her gaze carefully averted from James so that he was free to do whatever he needed to get closure.
She was surprised to hear him approach afterward. Tamara carefully wiped her hands on the rag she carried before turning to gaze up at him. The fresh tears were still clear on his face, but his smile was happy when he spoke to her.
"Hey, Tamara," he said simply. "Thank you for last week."
She nodded and smiled back. "Any time."
Her eyes widened slightly when she realized that he was looking her over. He was looking at her body, and he looked hungry. It made her suck in a breath when she realized he was not even aware that he was doing it. Just as he had pushed himself too hard too soon in an effort to be strong last week, he was denying himself any sort of physical pleasure in the aftermath of his wife's passing.
Tamara could not help but think about how his cock must be craving attention.
