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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N


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Archive name: hangman.txt (mm, death)
Authors name: Kurt Hoffman (c) 1995
Story title : T r u e L o v e

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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 1995.
Please do not remove the author information or make
any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-
commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of
commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.
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	The day I was to be hanged arrived. A guard
called my name, and I shook off a dream of innocent
days: impregnating schoolgirls and getting beat for it
by my old man. I loved that leather skinned old alco-
holic. I was surprised that I'd gotten any sleep at all,
but the previous week of wakeful anticipation must have
exhausted my body. 

	We were not meant to know the hour of our own
death. Indeed, I'd given no warning to the folks at the
liquor store before spraying them with bullets. A mercy
I figured.

	The warden indicated that he'd be back to fetch
me in an hour. My cell mate lay sleeping. A sailor,
tough as nails, but prone to every sort of emotional
outburst. One evening, a scrap of yellowing bay leaf in
his stew sent him on a poignant monologue about a be-
loved dog he once owned and, apparently, cooked for. His
cheeks washed with tender tears... he was nonetheless
able to rend a scoffer's throat with a sharpened fork.

	I watched his muscular chest drift softly up and
down as he lightly snored.  I climbed on top of him and
leaned my ear against a meaty pectoral. Warmth... the
bristle of his thick chest hair... and a thumping
heartbeat... the acrid smell of his body. I turned my
mouth to his dark nipple and began to sip it lightly. It
shifted a bit. I noticed a slight change in breathing, and saw
his eyes gaze down at me through slits. They closed. I
began working on the nipple in earnest, sucking it into
my mouth and holding it in my teeth. The sailor grunted
and pulled me up to his face. "You're going to die to-
day." he said, eyes going moist. There was nothing to
say.

	He drew my mouth onto his, and held me very
tight, sobbing. I felt his familiar, thick erection grow
between us. He offered his tongue, I took it deep inside
my mouth as we ground our crotches together. At length,
he made a sudden motion, and managed to roll us both
over. I spread my legs, bracing them on the low hanging
bunk above. He gazed into my eyes and took some spit
from his mouth. I reached back with my arms to hold the
iron bars of the bed and felt his huge meat press into
me. He filled me. He reached down to taunt one of my
nipples as he began to pump. 

	I pulled his torso down close and locked my lips
on his. He began to pick up the pace. I was not going to
last another instant. He planted his mouth over mine,
and with one hand, pinched my nose shut. I began to
suffocate. Come began to well up in my balls. I felt his
dick, which had seemed rock hard, become harder still,
and I knew he too was close. He took his other hand and
held my throat closed. I felt a thousand carbon dioxide
bubbles effervesce in my blood stream and a general dim-
ming. I convulsed in orgasm, shooting gust after gust of
hot liquid.

	I could sense his warmth on top of me, in me.
Then nothing.

	Later that morning I was brought, shirtless and
reeking, before a jeering crowd of prisoners. The pro-
cedure was unremarkable. The hangman confided to me an
anecdote about a sports team. A member of the municipal
government gave a brief talk, summarizing the benefits
of executing me. I looked forward to the moment I would
hang boldly before the crowd, displaying my proud erec-
tion. I heard in the distance a hysterical weeping.

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