The Death Of Tammy Janeway Pt 01

The Death of Tammy Janeway

A Bachelorette Party Side Story

"I'm SHOT!!!"

I knew that soon I would be dead.

If you've never been killed, you might want to stop reading now. I'm going to tell you how it happens. Real talk, OK? Dip, if you need to.

First of all, time slows down. I saw the bullet exit the gun. I watched its progress as it barreled towards my heart, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter. I knew it was coming. I just couldn't get out of its way.

If you've read (and understood) the physics of black holes and the theories about event horizons, yeh, it's a little like that. The bullet was on its way. I knew it was coming. I knew that this was my last day. Yes, my whole life flashed before my eyes. But what they don't tell you is this--it took forever. I lived my past life and a few future lives in the time that bullet took to puncture my breast.

When it struck there was a HUGE flash. I lived another full life, from womb to tomb, in the space of that instant, and I mean that literally. Childhood. Middle School. First dance. Varsity volleyball. First kiss. First joint. First fuck. College. Love. Marriage. Children. Career. Adultery. Middle age. Ten-thousandth fuck. Pain. Reconciliation. Longing. Old age. Death. Each and every minute of that instantaneous life, I knew the bullet was on its way. When the bullet struck it was only briefly painful. I experienced another flash of light as I transitioned. It was almost joy, you know, like when you've waited for something for so long and been so frightened. When it arrives it's almost as if a weight has been lifted.

And then I was fully dead, spaghettified from my toes up, spiraling into the black hole on an elongated stream of atoms, fully aware of my surroundings but wholly unable to change my destiny. (Event horizon theory posits that, if you fall into the event horizon of a black hole feet first, the pull of gravity on your feet is so much greater than the pull of gravity at your head that your body is snatched into atoms from the toes up, "spaghettified" as it were. An event horizon is a "gravicline").

In that instant, believe me, the dead are aware. There were millions of them transitioning, even as I. I could see their contrails. They waved to me. I was a newbie, happily streaming my way into the abyss, a whisper of matter no more consequential than a wisp of smoke.

The guy who shot me stood there forever with this idiot, quizzical look on his face. I could see him just on the other side of the event horizon. He hadn't meant to shoot me. The fear and confusion on his drug-addled grill solidified as he drifted into his own abyss. In that instant his whole future changed. He was headed for a different destiny, one more obscenely tropical than my own. I could see the recognition of perdition in his eyes. As I lay there dying in the snow, he turned and ran. Coward.

I lay there for an eternity of lives before the police arrived, already dead, but transitioning. I saw the po-po drive up. They rushed in and took my vital signs. No heartbeat, no breathing, just awareness. There was a great chasm set in place so that those wanting to cross from one side to the other could not. The event horizon is a one-way trip. The cops taped off the crime scene.

After that my lover, Chad, drove up in his Porsche. He bolted from his car in a crazed rage of loss and grief. Seeing my body lying motionless in the snow he unleashed an agonizing, soul-bending shriek. I reached out to him uselessly. He couldn't see me. I was dead.

I wanted to tell him I loved him. I could not. He lived in a reality I'd left behind. I could see him but I could not communicate with him. I was spiraling into the black hole of foreverness. Still, I felt gratified at his ungodly shriek of anguish. I knew then that he loved me. That knowledge would sooth my long trek into infinity.

My husband was there, too, the man who'd thrown me out into the cold on Christmas Eve. He'd flown into a rage after receiving news that a strange man had kissed me on the cheek at a Starbucks. I loved my husband, too, but my death showed me a future life with the man who'd kissed me, Chad, and three little bi-racial children with crooked smiles. My legal husband was nowhere to be seen in this future. I had no future with him.

You may be confused at all this. Let me back up. I have all the space-time in the universe to tell my story.

I was born Tamitha Janeway to Robert and Tamika Janeway of Allen Park, Michigan in early nineties. As you may guess, I grew up in an ordinary household. My mom was a housewife. My dad worked as an I/T manager for General Motors. I have an older sister, Shelby, and a younger brother, Malcolm. I fought with my siblings regularly but, of course, nobody else had better fight with them. Shelby is the family athlete. She ran track and played softball, earning a scholarship to the University of Oklahoma in the latter. Malcolm was a spoiled child. He got in trouble a lot and ended up being a pothead. My dad put him out of the house when he turned eighteen. My mom kept letting him come home. He finally straightened out. He's a bartender up in the northern tier now, and lives in a cabin that he built with his girlfriend.

I was the family scholar, a little nerdy, I guess. I made good grades and ended up getting a partial scholarship to Purdue. I stayed in Indiana for two years after graduating before moving back to Greater Detroit.

While I was at school I came across the Jehovah's Witnesses. I'd say this was one of the defining moments of my life. I've always been something of a pragmatic rationalist with a spiritual bent. Studying with the Witnesses answered a lot of my questions about the Bible and religion in general. It just made sense, you know? So even though my family looked at me funny, I agreed to be baptized into the religion. On weekends I would take up my spot on street corners to proselytize. During the week I worked as a low level executive at a Big Pharma company.

But you're not here to read my bio. You want to know about my sex life, right? I mean, this IS Literotica. It's not a forum for me to discuss my religion. You also want to know about how I ended up being dead.

So here's what happened:

I'm no prude. I'd had several boyfriends in high school, but I didn't lose my virginity until my sophomore year at Purdue. I was dating this guy. He was a Que. By that time I'd pretty much learned how to fend off men's advances. I'd let them get only so far. This guy (I'll call him Joe) wouldn't take no for an answer. I let him finger me, I let him lick me, I let him suck me. I even went so far as to suck him. "Joe" was SO persistent! One day...I don't know how it happened. We're kissing and petting and going on. The next thing I know, his dick is inside me.

I dunno how it happened! I was in shock. One minute it's his finger, then it's two fingers. The next thing I know he's humping me to beat the band. I remember thinking:

"A dick feels so much more elegant than a couple of fingers."

A dick? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN!?! I went to push him off, but it was too late. He'd cum in me and he was finished. I didn't know it could happen so fast!!

"Joe" rolled from atop me easily. He was already asleep, leaving me with this huge muddle of sticky between my legs. My mom had told me about this, but the reality was something else. There was so much of it!! It oozed from inside me in a never-ending puddle of drip. I just lay there and whimpered. "Joe" never knew my anguish at the loss of my maidenhead. He got up the next morning and left.

Of course, this was my first time and, just my luck, I got pregnant. I called "Joe" to tell him the news. He didn't want to hear it. He said it wasn't his, COULDN'T have been his because, he said, we'd only done it the once, and girls couldn't get pregnant that quickly. He told me to pawn the baby off on someone else; HE couldn't be bothered.

I prayed about it for another month before visiting the Women's Clinic. My grades had plummeted. I was a mess.

I took the spring semester off and went back in the summer. That was the summer I met Jasmine and Toni, the two women who introduced me to the Jehovah's witnesses. I studied the Bible with them, on and off, for two years.

At the time I was still struggling with my sex drive vs my spiritual drive. I've always had a strong sex drive. I masturbated regularly, even before my encounter with Joe. When men fingered me I would climax. I couldn't help but admit that Joe's dick felt good inside me. I just always heard my mom's voice telling me about the negative consequences of pre-marital pregnancy, hence my long-term virginity.

While I was studying the Bible with Jasmine and Toni, I started a sexual relationship with another man. His name was Malik, an engineering major from Cleveland.

I'd been traumatized by my experience with Joe. It wasn't because of our sex, but because of the casual manner in which he dismissed my pregnancy. If the truth be told, I enjoyed the sex although I had to pretend I didn't. The abortion left me in a moral quandary, but I couldn't wait to have sex again. Malik solved that problem.

Malik was my second love. My first love was Chad Finneran. I mentioned Chad earlier but, at this point, we'd never had sex. This part of my story concerns my early sex life. Chad and I re-connected later under somewhat different circumstances.

I enjoyed fucking Malik. Our love life started out slowly and gradually became intense. He and I took the more traditional route. We became companions first, and then friends and finally lovers. I studied the Bible during the day with Jasmine and Toni. I explored my vagina's unbridled capacities at night with Malik.

That first time happened like this: One day Malik and I were studying together in his dorm room. I was twenty-two. Like most women, I had a fairly regular masturbatory schedule. That day our study session overlapped my scheduled date with my pussy. I tried to study, of course, but found I could not. So one thing led to another and yadda yadda yadda, the next thing I know I'm lying naked in a big pool of sweat and semen.

Does that description work for you? No? I thought not. Here's the long version:

Of course, I could not come right out and tell Malik I needed to masturbate. I couldn't tell him that I needed to NUT, and ask his assistance. That's not what women do. I had to make him think that he'd originated the idea. So first I got up to use the restroom, and I left the door partially open so that he could hear me urinate. I took a healthy whizz, wiped myself, then I came back to the study session acting as if nothing had occurred. Nothing sexual there, right? Wrong. That piss put my pussy on Malik's mind, whether he knew it or not. Men don't know the difference between a pussy and a peehole. It's all the same to them. Female urination is a subconscious aphrodisiac for men. I'm sure I read that somewhere.

I picked up my book and started reading. But I noticed that Malik began to fidget a bit. I also noticed him peeking at me over the rims of his glasses. That whizz definitely broke his concentration.

I began to fidget, too, but not due to any subconscious stimuli. I knew he was watching me. I needed a setup for my next move.

"I'm hot," I said. "I feel sticky. Do you mind if I shower?"

Of course he's not going to mind. In his mind he's thinking that my shower might be a convenient time for him to take a whizz. That's how men think. I'm sure I read that somewhere. A man's whizz comes from his sex organ whereas a woman's whizz does not.

So I go into the bathroom again. This time I close the door fully. And I stay in there for an inordinate amount of time doing nothing. I don't turn the shower on. I know Malik is listening. I undress fully, then I wrap myself in a towel and, without saying a word, I traipse back out into the room to pick something from my purse. Malik sees me, of course. Now my tits and my pussy are on his mind, even though he's seen neither.

I go back into the bathroom and jump in the shower. And I'm waiting. And I'm waiting. Sure enough, here he comes. He whips it out and takes a whizz. I can see his form, but his back is to me. Did you know you can tell how big a man's dick is from listening to him piss? You can. The really big ones have a deeper timbre to their piss. I read that somewhere, too.

So I'm straining to hear him piss so I can get a good guesstimate of his size. (The shower is making that difficult) His urination is a stimulus for me, too. He can't see me in the shower, so I start rubbing myself. And I'm rubbing and I'm rubbing. It feels good to soap up and press my pubic hair up into my pussy. I guess that's what pubic hair is for, you know, female masturbation. I hear it feels good to a man's dick, too, but I wouldn't know since I don't have a dick. I kept hoping Malik would peek inside the shower and catch me, but he didn't.

I washed my hair. When I jumped out of the shower he was gone. I toweled up, you know, with a full body towel below and another towel on my head, wrapped like an African maiden. Then I went back out into his dorm room like that. I sat directly across from him. I'm piddling about, doing this and that, you know, girly stuff in preparation of actually getting dressed.

And then I played my trump card--I crossed my legs, a la Sharon Stone, and gave him a full on look at my pussy. But just for an instant. It's really as much as a woman can do. If he doesn't fall that THAT move, he doesn't deserve to fuck.

He fell for it. That man was on me like white on rice. I feigned surprise but, of course, this was part of the act. He was only wearing gym shorts and a Boilermaker t-shirt. These came off instantaneously. In seconds his dick was in my mouth. Hello? What happened to the preludes? The kissing? The hugging? The fingering? None of these things happened. It was just Wham! Bam! Suck my dick, Ma'am!!

I sucked him. I'd seen the videos and, of course, my mom told me about it. So I did what came naturally and hoped he would reciprocate. He came in my mouth. Yuck!!! And it didn't take him long, either. I almost gagged. I swallowed what I could and let the rest spill. He slumped.

Excuse me? Don't you have some more work to do? Malik? Hello!! There's a pussy down here!!

His dick softened in my mouth. He wouldn't pull out. He told me later that this was the most thrilling experience of his life. He said he'd wanted me to slob him up for months but didn't know how to go about asking for it. So he just went for it and voila! I was down like Freddie Brown!! Because, of course, I'd been jonesing for that tonsil probing, too. (This last part was what I told him. But it wasn't true. I much preferred to get fucked good and hard. That blowjob was for his benefit, not mine.)

The good thing is, he reciprocated. He got down there and licked me into three straight mind benders. After my third orgasm he rose up and his dick seemed three times as big as it was before. Man, it was huge!! He let me see it before it disappeared into my poochipap. Oh, man! We went at it like alley cats. And THAT'S how I woke up lying in a big pool of sweat and semen. You heard?

One day Jasmine told me that Christians aren't supposed to be having pre-marital sex. By that time I was pretty much sold on the idea of becoming one of Jehovah's witnesses. She hit me with this doozy casually, like a car salesman who advises a buyer that there's an exorbitant state tax on her new gas-guzzler after she's already decided to buy. Malik and I were just hitting our stride!! We were making love several times a day at this juncture, complete with the kissing, the fondling, fingering and the fellatio. We were in heaven, let me tell you.

I approached Malik with my new dilemma. I told him of my strengthening devotion to my new religion and I told him of this troubling new mandate. I asked him if he'd be interested in joining up with me. He was less than enthused about the idea. I asked him if he was interested in getting married so that we might continue having our affair. He was even less enthused about THAT idea.

I was dizzy with indecision. On the one hand I had a religion that made sense of the world to me. All other religions were false. This was the Truth. This was my ticket past Armageddon and into the New System.

On the other hand, I enjoyed spending my free time making love to my new boyfriend. I enjoyed having Malik's dick in my mouth, or his tongue in my bottom, or vice versa. It kept me balanced and centered. Our sexual encounters had become more and more explosive, a daily Fourth of July fireworks show. Our lovemaking was my constant delight. Like a junkie, I couldn't imagine spending a day without my favorite drug.

I approached Jasmine with my dilemma. I told her of my devotion to my sex life. I loved Malik. I loved making love with him. Was this "no extra-marital sex" thingy a dealbreaker to joining her church?

Jasmine asked me if I loved Malik? Or if I was more in love with his dick.

I couldn't answer her question honestly. In my mind the two were one and the same. When I thought of Malik, his penis always sprang to the fore, or rather, our lovemaking was always my primary concern. I mounted him every morning and fucked myself into a tizzy. It took the edge off. We would sneak off to screw in public places like the school cafeteria or, say, the piano room in the music building. If we had dinner together I took off my shoes and reached under the table to massage his crotch with my toes. I blew him on every possible occasion; I'd become enamored of the taste of semen. At night we would fuck for hours, fall asleep, wake up and fuck again. Studying took a backseat to our lust, and often took place after midnight when we were too exhausted to fuck.

I told Jasmine all this. She told me I wasn't ready to become a Christian, and she told me that my place in the New System was insecure now that I had been exposed to the Truth. Her job, she said, was to teach. Once her students learned the Truth, she said, the decision to leave their sinful life behind was up to them. I could not say I hadn't been warned, she said. Armageddon was just around the corner.

Then she asked me something that threw me for a loop. She asked me to describe Malik's dick. (She didn't say 'dick'. She said 'penis').

To say I was taken aback would be a massive understatement. Jasmine assured me that her interest was purely for my Christian benefit. She claimed she had something in mind that would help me get over my "addiction" to sex.

So, reluctantly, I described Malik's dimensions. I described his size, girth and taste. Also, I described his preferences, you know, such as when and whether he liked being on top or bottom, or how long he would lick pussy before hopping up to plunge some hole, or if and when he would toss salad, or whether or not he would suck tit while humping, and whether or not he pulled hair while riding from behind.

Jasmine listened with the fervor of a zealot. She seemed, at once, disgusted and aroused. She said she'd like to meet Malik and perhaps strike up a Bible study with him.

So I arranged for her to come up to my room one evening for one of our "study" sessions. I didn't tell Malik she would be there.

Now, Jasmine is about five years older than me. She's white, and she's a couple inches taller than me. She's very pretty, you know, a brunette with a winsome smile and just the faintest hint of a mustache. She wears real plain clothes so I can't really describe her breasts or her bottom. And she's married. If I had to describe her, she looks a lot like Samantha Stevens' cousin Serena from

Bewitched

. And yes, I know that Samantha and Serena are the same person. Haven't I said she's a brunette?

Jasmine grew up as a Jehovah's Witness. She's been married since she was eighteen years old. She never talks about her husband, nor does she talk about her sex life in the way that women often will. She just likes listening to me talk about mine.