Letting the Gun Cool

(by LB831052@aol.com, 07 May 2004)


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Letting the gun cool
by lb8310520@yahoo.com

Maggy let her gun descend. She would like to have let it drop. Yet at
the bottom of the arc, she made her arm a pendulum and let swing the
massive hunk of hot metal. Happiness is a warm gun, but not when it
burns your leg or melts your vinyl skirt. Frank was still alive. She
could hear his labored breathing and weak grunts. She thought how
strangely beautiful that moment is -- when a person who is doomed is
still trying to live. The fleeting life-force holds on to reeds along
the stream, but the reeds snap -- no match for the strong current
heading down the drain. 

Maggy walked up to the previously oh-so-dangerous man. Now completely
vanquished, he was no threat at all. She squatted in front of him and
looked into his sleepy eyes. A lifetime previously, a paramedic, she
took a moment to role-play. She checked his pulse and found it strong
but bounding. She imagined if it were better light she would be able to
see that he was "cyanotic and diaphoretic" (blue and sweaty). She also
noticed jugular vein distension and tracheal deviation. It meant that
one of his lungs had been penetrated by her bullet and was so collapsed
that his windpipe was pulled to one side. If she were still bound by
oath to save his life, she would have quite a challenge. This would
actually be a pretty good call. Just interesting enough, but not
completely hopeless. However Maggy was not planning to apply an
occlusive dressing and carefully tape it to form a flap that would let
the air out, but not in. Neither was she planning to needle decompress
him to address his tension pneumothorax. She was planning, specifically,
to watch him die. Given his current state, that wouldn't take too long.
She had used a silencer, as was her custom. It made her pistol long and
hard to wield, but she had grown used to the extended barrel. There was
no rush, no police on the way, and more importantly, no paramedics.

Maggy noted a pack of Parliaments in Frank's shirt pocket. She gingerly
removed them, since it was a soft-pack. She took one out, considered the
slender shape for a moment, then brought it to her lips. "Do you have a
light, Frank?" she asked the dying man. His eyes did not reply. He was
engrossed in the conclusion of his dance with life. She couldn't blame
him. She turned his massive body on its side and fished in his pants
pocket. Out came his wallet and some keys. Feeling deeper she found the
smooth shape of a Zippo, nestled against the warmness of what could only
be his dick.

"Oh, Frank." She paused and looked down, then deep into his fading eyes,
"Do you remember the first time a girl touched your cock? What was it
like? Did she love you? Or did she just feel sorry for you?" Maggy
smiled with part of her lips, but not the corners, and not with her
eyes. She pulled the silver lighter out, flicked it to life, lighting
the cigarette in the corner of her mouth. She sucked deeply and savored
the taste. She exhaled a plume of smoke into the warm summer air. It was
truly a beautiful night. She could even see the stars between the
buildings. Then she put her hand back on Frank's penis. "That young girl
was the first to fuck you, now I'm the last. And I have to tell you --
you are truly fucked right now. Here's a present. Tonight I return your
virginity to you."

As she gave Frank his last hand-job, Maggy could feel the femoral pulse
in his crotch. The throbs were getting slower and slower. And then they
stopped. Maggy still massaged his dick. It was a pleasant activity to
give a hand-job to a man that wouldn't try to turn it into a wrestling
match. Sometimes a hand-job is just that. It's not sex ... it's even
innocent. It's the simple pleasure of holding a warm cock in your hand
and playing with it; feeling it get hard and, if all goes well, spurting
a load of hot semen on the ground so you don't have to swallow it. There
was little chance that Frank's body, however, well in the throes of
volumetric shock, would divert any precious blood towards giving Frank
an erection commensurate with her ministrations, let alone an
ejaculation. But that was for the best anyway. As she expected, Frank
started making agonal respirations. Maggy inhaled deeply on her
cigarette, then sealed her mouth to Frank's and he drank his last
poisonous breath d irectly from her lungs. After a few seconds of
quiescence, she ended the long, deep, fatal kiss then watched the smoke
seep from his now dead lips. Finally she smiled.

Maggy sat against the hulk, dangled the cigarette from her lips and set
about the business of holstering the now cooled pistol. She would wait
until she was home to reload the magazine.


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