She Only Wore a Shirt to the Funeral

She Only Wore a Shirt to the Funeral
By Ken Haramiru
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A note on this story: Everything up until “My prayers weren’t answered” actually happened. Afterwards, I couldn’t wait to get home and write a story about what could’ve been.

Today, I just got back from attending my ex-girlfriend Lois’s father’s funeral. He had lived a full life, and as a Catholic he’d had a large family. Most of the women in his family were smoking hot, and there were several there in their 20s and 30s. He was German, and Hitler would have been proud of the dozen or so intensely fuckable blondes at the funeral. Some of them were related to him, others weren’t, but each and every one of them caught my attention. While all of them were attractive, none of them made as much of an impression as Jade.
When I first saw her, I was seated next to my friend Fred in a pew near the back of the church. The pew in front of us had a few folks in it, but they were leaving one person’s worth of space for someone who hadn’t arrived yet. And then Jade showed up. She was another smoking hot Teutonic blonde, probably right around 30 years old, with what was either perfect light yellow blonde hair 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. She had a slight frame, and what looked like a natural light tan acquired from laying out on the beach. My eyes first noticed 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 could’ve been modest with leggings or yoga pants, but her long, slender legs stuck out the bottom sexily. She looked like she was dressed for the bedroom, not for a funeral. She’d chosen to come to the funeral wearing no more than a shirt – and as she sat down, I caught a flash of black panties. My eyes went wide in disbelief as she sat down, the slits up the side revealing an amazing amount of her legs. I’m not sure if she noticed me noticing it, but even as the priest went to the altar in front of the congregation, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Moments later, the actual funeral mass began.
Halfway through the service, Jade stood up and edged her way out of the pew, towards 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 towards the back of the church. It a tremendous effort of will not to look at her ass as she walked away. If I were a Catholic, I’d already be thinking about scheduling my next confession.
The funeral continued, and Jade never did come back. The mass finished after about a half hour, in a cloud of incense. Moments later, the congregation stood up to leave the church and file out of the exit. It was then that I noticed, for the first time, 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. I spotted Jade again, who was still wearing a shirt for a dress, and she had 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 tracing 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.
Nope, my prayers weren’t answered. I looked up farther and caught her brilliant blue eyes fixed on mine, with a knowing smirk adorning her lips. She brought her hand up and waved at me, winking seductively. Holy damn, she was hot. I’m more of a boob man than anything else, but this woman had legs to kill for.
The congregation started moving again, and part of me was reluctant to walk away. But I did so, giving her only a smile in return as I walked away.
After the funeral, our vehicles made a convoy to the graveside service. That service was much shorter, and consisted of just a few people saying a few kind words about the deceased, followed by workers lowering the casket into the open hole. The temperature was down to about 50 degrees, and there were considerably fewer people there than there had been at the service. Once the service was over with, we convoyed off to the reception – which was held at the deceased’s house. I’d first met Lois, my ex, over ten years ago, and we’d remained friends after figuring out that we weren’t a good romantic match, so I’d been there a couple times a year ever since. I parked on the street outside of her house, then walked up the hill and made my way through the crowds into the house. While the house was large, it wasn’t huge, and there were a lot of people there at the reception. I quickly realized there wasn’t anything for me to help with, so I took a seat on a nearby couch, and Fred sat down next to me moments later.
About fifteen minutes later, something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. The shirt-dress girl was back, still holding the young boy she’d had in the cry room. Her eyes darted around the room, but then fixed on me. She smirked again, and kept walking to the kitchen, where the food for the reception was.
“Whoa buddy, you OK?”, Fred asked. “You kind of spaced out on me there.”
I rolled my eyes and retorted, “What are you, blind? The girl who thinks a shirt and a dress are the same thing just showed up.”
Fred looked over towards the kitchen and didn’t see anything – which would of course be the norm since the kitchen counter was in the way. I sighed and went back to our conversation, not really wanting to talk about it much further.
Inevitably, Fred got up to go to the bathroom, and I decided to get another plate of snacks. I was halfway through the kitchen when I felt a warm hand touch me at the crease of my arm, just opposite the elbow. “Hi”, a sultry female voice said from my right.
I looked down, and quietly had a heart attack. The shirt-dress girl was there smiling up at me, without the little boy. I wasn’t sure quite what to say, but she leaned into me for a second and said, “I’m going into the laundry room. Follow me a couple of minutes later.”
She had a smile which I wasn’t quite sure how to place, but I plucked a strawberry off of the fruit plate next to me and set it on top of my plate. “Sure”, I said in a voice much more confident than I felt.
She let go of my hand and slipped over to the other side of the kitchen, which led to the laundry room. Lois’s father had built a laundry room on the other side of the kitchen, apparently so that he could re-use the same water hookups. I glanced down at the time on my cellphone, then walked back towards the couch where Fred had already returned to.
I plopped down next to him and worked on my plate of snacks. I’ve always been a fast eater, but I tried to pace myself this time. I knew for a fact that I’d finish everything on the plate in about a minute if I didn’t. “So, was that her?”, Fred asked.
“Who?”, I replied nervously.
“The girl talking to you. When she turned around, I saw what you meant about that dress. I think it really is just a shirt”, he said.
I nodded. “Pretty sure it is.”
Fred smirked. “So, did you get busted for checking her out?”, he asked.
I shook my head. “Nah, she just wanted to know if I was part of the family”, I lied. There was no sense in getting Fred worked up into “go get her!” mode, even though he was my best friend. I’d come clean with him about what went on once I found out; either way we’d end up high-5’ing or fist pounding over it. As professional gunslingers, we’d cultivated the “grown-up frat boys” look.
Yes, I said professional gunslingers – but not in the sense you probably took it. We both work at a gun shop together, one which specializes in selling to armchair amateur Special Ranger Recon Commando Seal types with more money than sense and a love for every tactical “go-fast” gadget known to mankind. We’re both brown-haired and blue eyed white guys, although Fred was more tan because he went surfing once in a while. Fred was 5’10” and stocky, while I was a bit taller and thinner at 6’2”. We both stayed in “movie military” shape and wore muscle shirts to work, frequently trading off which one of us was growing a beard and which was clean-shaven.