Posted by Barbanne on March 07, 2002 at 15:58:03:


My name is Dave and I'm fifteen and everyone says I'm a kid and couldn't know what love is.

But I do.
I love her more than words can describe, more than anything, more than I love life itself.
Boy it's sure quiet. Well, I guess it is three am after all.
Even though I am having this conversation in my head I am whispering because lord knows I shouldn't be in here. Not in here in the cold dark silence of Patrick's Funeral Home. If anyone knew I'd be in deep shit. I've made sure the drapes are drawn and what little light escapes from my hooded lantern doesn't penetrate outside. My lantern just makes it possible to see in here but it sure doesn't help to warm the place up. It's like an ice box in here. That's OK though as I made sure I was well rugged up and apart from me there's only the two girls in here and they are both dead and don't feel anything.
Leastways that's what Mister Patrick says.
They're occupying two of the four tables in here.
The girls are.
They are shrouded over with white sheets and only one set of feet stick out from under one of those shrouds. Small delicate, slender feet with a cardboard tag tied to the right big toe and lettered in thick pencil by Mister Patrick in his strong, bold script.
Barbara O'Brien it says.
Then under that it says Bad Barb. That's what they all called her, Bad Barb, but she wasn't bad just wild and a bit crazy. I suppose I should call her Miz Barbara but she don't seem like Miz to me. That's what I call the ladies of the town and Barb ain't no lady. Weren't no lady should I say. She went to school with my sister Amy and that makes her only a few years older than me. There on that tag it says so. Nineteen years old it says. Not even twenty.
On the other table is June, Flaming June they called her and she's dead too. Shot dead. She's all covered over though.
Barb's the one I came to see and so I take my lantern over and hang it where the light falls on the sheeted figure on the table and I peel that sheet down and off and fold it and put it to one side.
Under the sheet Barb's totally nude and lying on her back.
She was never one for the outdoors and she was always pale when everyone else was browned by the sun. Now, lying here in the gloom she look's totally bloodless and real pasty white. The blackening ring around her neck stands out like print on a page.
They hung her you know.
Lynched her.
I step up to the table and look down at her body.
Her corpse.
There's a wooden block under her neck and her head is tilted back and all her lovely, frizzy, brown hair is spread out over the table. Still lustrous and shiny, not faded and dead like she is. Her eyelids look sort of translucent and bluish and are half close and her eyelashes are curled up and below those lids just the white part of her eyeballs is showing. White and sightless like they were blind. Her lovely blue pupils are nowhere to be seen. There's some crusty pink tinged snot around her nostrils and her mouth is gaping open, little white even teeth lined up and her tongue is blue and swollen and pushing out from the side of her pouty lips.
Then that slender, awful, ruined neck.
The pattern of the hemp marks is still imprinted on her chafed skin and the mark is black and blue like the worst bruise ever. Her shoulders are thin and well formed and her collar bones are prominent and her arms are by her side her hands palms up and her fingers are curled and stiffening and her nail polish is cracked and flaked and ruined. Her tiny breasts are soft and flattened and her big brown nipples stand out like two round brown stains. I touch her breast and it's softly fleshily yielding and dreadful cold. I touch her nipples, they are sticking up defiantly and they are as hard as iron and icy cold. I run my hands down over her tummy and then let my fingers glide over her legs and feet. Her skin is cold, dead cold and smooth but sort of goosey and pimply. She always had freckles on her face and chest and those little brown suckers are really noticeable against the porcelain whiteness of her skin.
Under her slight tummy bulge is a dense bush of curly brown hairs and peeking out from under it is her pussy lips.
I touch them with my fingers and they are cold and giving, almost like putty. I slip my fingers inside her and it's soft, oh so soft and wet and slippery in there and I feel around ever so carefully. That little nub that must be her clitoris what made her pant so and get so excited and moan and stuff. I play with it but she don't writhe or pant or moan anymore. I take my fingers out and they are covered with her stuff and I lick it off and I can taste her and I love her more than ever before.
Why did they have to hang her?
String her up like a dog.
Why'd she do it, why'd she shoot June? Why? Why? Why?
Let me tell you how it happened.

Our town, Silvertail, is nothing if not the ass end of the world.
Located up in the high country it consists of a dusty main street with a general store, an office for the sheriff, the Lucky Chance saloon and Patrick's Funeral Home and an ostlery and a feed barn and a few other buildings and the church up on the rise at the end of the street overlooking boot hill. The shool's down the other end of main. Oh and there's the railway station three kilometres out of town.
Its plumb hot in the daytime and freezing at night except in winter when its freezing and covered in snow for three months.
That day, a Friday, I was helping inside the saloon, sweeping out and cleaning the windows and stuff like that. The bar was full of big, hot sweaty guys and mostly they was bare chested from the heat and they had been drinking heaps and were getting rowdy and rambunctious and, underneath it all I could feel violence was brewing.
Flaming June, she had taken her name from a painting by Lord Leighton which hung above the bar, she was entertaining the boys. She was feisty and hot tempered and red headed and had gorgeous breasts and wide curvy hips and she never wore panties or so they all said. She had on an emerald green satin dress that popped her tits up and out and ended above her knees in frills and lace and just clung to her body like paint.
June was singing (sort of warbling really) and kicking her legs up and the boys was singing along and drinking heaps. Absolute heaps. Melissa was serving at the bar. She was a scrawny dishwater blonde with a pallid personality. The boys was ignoring her.
In sashayed Barbara. Bad Barb they called her. She was wild and a bit rough and the other guys told me she was a nymphomaniac and I was busting to find out for myself.
I don't think Barb had ever done anything dreadfully wrong although there were stories that she had robbed a bank once and anyway she was just out of school a few years back. She was a small compact sort of flat chested, skinny girl with wild unmanageable hair and she was wearing jeans and a denim shirt and boots and she always had a big old six gun tucked in the back of her belt around her waist.
I loved her passionately.
She walked clinkity clink across to Melissa and said, "Sarsparilla please."
Melissa put it in front of her and she flipped over a coin and June said, "Hey boys.....sarsparilla??"
Barb looked across at me and said, "Hi Dave how's Amy?"
"Good," I said.
"Sarsparilla wimp," said June.
"Pantyless fat ass," said Barb without taking her eyes off of me.
The guys was laughing and the place smelled of sweaty male lust and female anger.
June came dancing across to where Barb was and screamed, "Skinny bitch."
Barb swiped her backhanded across the chops and it was on.
Those two girls went at each other hammer and tongs. Mostly they pulled each other's hair and scratched a lot and screeched at each other. They both had high squeaky voices and wow!!! the names they called each other. Words even I hadn't heard.
The guys clapped and laughed and shouted out stuff.
Like, "Whack her cunt June."
And, "Bash her tits Barb."
Stuff like that.
They were really enjoying this.
The girls went down on the floor and I could see that was true, about June's having no panties on I mean. And then they was up again and grappling and that big old six gun of Barb's was out and they crashed into the bar and spun around screaming like banshees and then.................BANG!
June went backwards on her high heels arms windmilling and crasho! She landed on her back on a table and her green skirt was rucked up and her shaved pussy was obvious to all and she had a bullet hole between her eyes and she was spreadeagled and she was dead. Blood trickled down her forehead and oozed from her mouth and her eyes was wide open and staring at the ceiling like she just got the greatest surprise of her life.

The bar was silent.
Melissa screamed.
Then the boys started shouting. I was scared and hid behind a table.
"She was our entertainment," said someone.
"Why'd you kill her," said someone else.
"Let her entertain us," shouted a drunken voice and Barb went down under a ruck of three or four guys. Her gun went skittering along the floor and they had her up and over the bar. Her shirt was torn open and someone had undone her belt and her jeans were around her knees and her panties were ripped away and they set in raping her.
I heard her squeal, "It was an accident."
Then I just heard her screams.
I was frightened and cowered under the table.
The boys were dragging Barb outside. I looked over at Melissa. She was frightened witless. June was still dead. Dead and bleeding.
I ran to the doorway.
The boys had Barb over under the big sycamore tree and her shirt was flapping loose and her pants were around her knees and they had made a noose from a hempen rope and they had looped it around her neck and had tied her hands behind her and had sat her bare bum sidesaddle sort of, on a big bay horse and the rope was tied to an overhanging branch and they were all yahooing and saying, "Necktie party!!!" stuff like that and someone whacked the horse's butt and whooped "Giddyap!" and away went the horse and Barb came off of him and snap, the rope whanged taut and she was swinging there twisting and turning.
She took forever to die.
First she made choking noises like, "Aaagh...Aaack.....gaaaack....uuurrrkkkk" and stuff like that and her face went bluish and her lips went real blue and her tongue hung out lots and she went, "Oooohhhheeerrr," and then she just hung there head twisted to one side and tongue dangling out.
After a while she thrashed some more and made piteous little cries.
Her pants were all ruckled down around her knees and her legs had a big triangle of space between her thighs and where her pussy was and her pubic hair hung down whispy like a beard into that space and her pussy lips were swollen and bulging downward.
Her face looked blue and her tongue was fat and pushing out and then she said, "Oooowwwwwkk," and thrashed some more but feeble like now.
She sort of twisted a bit.
Her eyelids were fluttering and she was trying to kick her bound feet but just little spasms of jerky kicking that was all.
She shivered all over and just made strangly noises like, "uughhtuuutuuugghhuuutuuut"
Then it looked like she tried to jerk herself free but it only made the rope bite harder and she went bluer still and red, bloody, frothy snot bubbled from her nose and mouth. The rope dug itself into her flesh, biting, bruising, constricting her blood vessels, cutting what little blood was still flowing through to her brain. She was drifting very quickly into total unconsciousness.
She had been there for about twenty minutes now.
She hung like that for a while longer, maybe ten minutes more, not moving, head twisted sideways and tongue swelling visibly and eyes closed and snorting bloody froth and then she shook all over like a person suffering a seizure and her legs swung back and forth and there was an awful creaking cartiledge sound from her neck and she went limp and just hung there unmoving and I knew it was over at last.
I ran out of the door and shouted, "Bastards, why'd you kill her you bastards!" And then I cried. I looked at her semi nakedness. Face blackening, tongue protruding and body dangling inert. Her heart was still beating a feathery pulsing, lubba, lubba, fluttering, running down. I could see her breast quivering with the hidden beat and then that too went still and it was truly finished.
The men looked sober now and a bit shamefaced for what they had done and they started moving away quietly.
Some of them brought the horse over and they untied the noose from Barbara's neck and she collapsed limply into their arms. They lifted her over the saddle and laid her face down. She was a skinny girl but like all women her ass was big and round and her pussy nestled in there and I sobbed that now I would never know it, never feel it close around my manhood, never have the sex with her I had yearned for.
I loved her still.

The boys led the horse up to the sheriff's office and tethered it outside.
He was away but Chester, that's his deputy, found the horse and its pathetic, gruesome burden when he got back an hour later.
Then he found June.
He got Doc Peters and Mister Patrick and those two sad girls June and Barbara made one last journey to Mister Patrick's morgue.
Later that day a photographer from the Dodge City Clarion arrived and Barb and June were tied onto boards with ropes under the bust and around the waist. Both girls were still semi dressed in the clothes they had died in and cardboard placards reading "Viktim" for June and "Killer" for Barb were strung around their necks and they were propped up on the verandah of Patrick's while the newspaper guy got plenty of shots.
When he left they were taken back inside and Mister Patrick got them both nude and laid out like I found them.

So that's how it was.
And here she is dead and cold.
I can't stand it she is so beautiful.
I masturbate onto her cold, dead, marble like flesh and the relief she gives me is wonderful.
Then I hear a noise.
Someone's coming.
I swipe my cum off of Barb's tits and cover her over and killing my lantern duck behind a pile of coffins.
It's Missus Patrick.
She comes in with her own lantern, much brighter than mine and she hangs it from the ceiling and then uncovers both corpses folding the shrouds up neatly. Then slowly, ever so slowly she strips naked. Missus Patrick is a big boned brunette woman and naked she is impressive.
"Oh my darlings," she says kissing both dead girls on the lips. "What pleasures you afford me."
Then she slips her finger into her pussy and bumping and grinding her butt makes love to her hand while stroking Barb's cold flesh with her other hand.
I find I am getting an erection.
She gasps and goes red faced and pulls out a sticky fingered hand and says, "OK Dave you can come out now."
Shaking with fear and arousal I emerge from my hiding place.
"You came for her didn't you?" said Missus Patrick.
"Barbara. Yes I knew it. She loved you did you know that?"
"I love her."
"I know you do Dave and she loved you too. She told me so but she said she was afraid because you were just a boy and she didn't want to ruin your life by becoming yours."
"But why?"
"She had principles Dave and they told her she couldn't show her love for you and so she went with everyone else trying to hide her hurting."
"I would have loved her Miz Patrick loved her and looked after her."
"And she would have come to you when you turned sixteen I know that."
"Oh Miz Patrick."
"Love her now Dave she would want that."
I wanted Barbara then with a wanting that was an aching and an adult need and lust.
While Missus Patrick helped me I undressed and covered Barbara's body. Her face was still bluish and her lips were blue and her eyelids translucent but that only made her sexier and I closed her lids over her dead eyeballs and slipped her tongue back into place and then mounting her dead flesh I pumped myself to an affirmation of our unspoken love. My hot cum squirted into her pussy and I knew the ecstasy of perfect bliss.
"Come here tomorrow afternoon." Missus Patrick said.

The next morning the sheriff returned and went to look at both bodies and then questioned the boys who had lynched Barb and they was a sorry hungover lot I can tell you.
Then he called me in and I told him exactly how it went. After me Melissa came in and between sobbings told him much the same.
"Dave," he said to me, "seems there has been a mob murder committed here, but them boys is all well spoken for and let's face it boy nobody around here had much time for little Barbara O'Brien so much as it goes agin the grain I'm gonna let it lie."
"It was pure bloody murder sheriff."
"It was that boy."

I went back to Patrick's that afternoon and Missus Patrick had a big new camera and that flash powder that's all the rage back east and she and me arranged Barbara and June and photographed them together and then Missus Patrick got nude and held the girls and I photographed her and them and then she photographed me with Barbara in a lot of poses and then I had sex with my sweet dead girl again and Missus Patrick got all that on film too.
Afterwards I helped her dress those two dead girls in their prettiest dresses and laid them out in coffins and the next day June was buried in the cemetary on boot hill and almost the whole town came and after that Barbara was buried in an unmarked felon's grave and apart from Mister and Missus Patrick I was the only mourner.
And that's my story.
My story of lost love.

I run the spread next to Riley's now, Grant Riley he's married to my sister Amy and I have never married to this day. People say to Amy "Hasn't that Dave found himself a gal." and she shakes her head like no.
I take flowers to my lover once a week and I have my photos and I know I loved but lost my best girl long ago. Course she has never aged like I have.
She's still gorgeous, funny, wild and crazy Barb.
Bad Barb.