Angela Undress

I, Mitchell Ryan Magnuson, born February 2d, 1959 in The city of Joplin, Jasper County Missouri, declare this Document to be my last will and testament; there being no others.

Being of sound mind and unbelievably unsound body do herein state:

1. My attorney, Norman Atchison, is the executor of this will. He shall serve without bond and has discretion in the execution of this will.

2. I require of my executor that he arrange for my burial at the Grainger, Kansas Cemetery. Norm, I'd like a plot near the old cedars, something overlooking the lake if you can swing it. Pine coffin is fine. See if you can find a piper to play "Amazing Grace." Have the preacher read the 73rd Psalm and say a prayer. Oh, and Norm, I want a Cadillac Hearse; I don't want to go to my final resting place in an SUV, some damn Chevy Suburban out- fitted to carry the dead. No sir. Cadillac. Black.

3. All my earthly possessions I give to Ms. Angela Holbrooke of Kansas City, Missouri, on the following conditions:

a. When Angela returns to the States, after she has had time to deal with her grief, if any - just joking, my lover - she is to visit my grave site alone.

b. Norman will arrange for her to be alone and for final instructions to be delivered to her on that day. She is to follow the instructions in the final letter.

c. Upon completion of these two requirements, Norman is to deliver my estate to her less his fees and expenses and whatever encumbrances that the State and Federal Government attaches. Oh, and by the way, perdition to the IRS.

4. I realize that holographic wills are likely not legal in the state of Kansas, I don't know. But to the probate court judge that will probate this will, I declare that at the time of this writing I know that I shall die probably before the ambulance reaches me and this is all the time I have. I declare to the court that there is no ambiguity in my last wishes. Norman Atchison, Esquire, despite his profession, has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Angela Holbrooke has been my lover, my concubine and I suspect, under the laws of the State, my common law wife for the last 10 years. My estate, such as it is, is neither small nor overwhelmingly large; just a guess, but in round figures, I'm probably worth about a half million. Norman can figure it out.

By My Hand, 10:12 PM CDT, This the last day of July, MMII, anno domini In my residence in Mission, Johnson County Kansas.

* * * * *

"It's what's called a holographic will. He wrote it in his own hand with no witnesses. It was beside him when they found him.

"Mitch was right. Kansas doesn't recognize holographic wills but I think I can get this one probated anyway due to the circumstances - you are, by virtue of 10 years of cohabitation, his common law wife."

She read and re-read the paper in her hands; the attorney's voice was a hollow echo in the back of her head.

When Norman Atchison saw tears dripping on the page, smearing the ink, he quickly but gently removed the will from her hands and sat it on his desk.

He held her as she sobbed.

* * * * *

The funeral was a simple graveside service. The last remains of Mitchell Ryan Magnuson arrived in a 1974 black Cadillac hearse, mint condition.

The stained pine casket rested above the open grave.

The sky was dark purple in the southwest with an approaching late summer Kansas thunderstorm.

In attendance, the old preacher from the town, Norman Atchison, a few of Mitchell's closest friends, the sexton and a 69 year old Scottish bagpipe player in full regalia who played not only "Amazing Grace" but "Scotland the Brave."

Norman smiled when the piper broke into "Scotland the Brave." The old Scotsman was strutting his stuff. Mitchell would have been proud to be at his own funeral. Norman just wished that Angela was here.

Angela Holbrooke was an anthropology professor doing work somewhere in rural China. It would take the U.S. Embassy the better part of three weeks to find her and get her on a plane back to the States.

Her lover had died of a massive heart attack and did indeed die before the ambulance arrived.

Norman was the last one to leave the grave, save for the sexton waiting to complete the burial process. He smiled again, looked at the dark purple threatening skies, the lake about a mile across and below from the cemetery and the old cedar trees on the ridge of the knoll that was the Grainger Cemetery.

He touched the casket, "Rest in peace my friend. I got you a nice place here. You come back and haunt me and I'll get the Ghostbusters on your ass."

He handed the sexton an envelop to be given to Angela whenever she arrived.

* * * * *

It was mid September before Angela could bring herself to drive the 100 miles south to the rural cemetery. She fought back tears half the trip and then got exceedingly angry the other half.

They had argued about this; where he would be buried when he died. He insisted upon being in this little rural cemetery. She wanted a nice "quiet" plot in the city. They had argued about it the night before she left for China and because of that argument she slept alone in their bed and he slept on the sofa. Damn him and his bullheadedness! Damn him! She didn't expect him to die any time soon but then, who does expect their loved one to die suddenly.

She pulled into the cemetery about 6 PM. She was met at the gate by the sexton who handed her an envelope and then he left, locking the gate behind him and giving her the key. He pointed across to the town, "You can drop the key off at the Quiky Mart, 'cross the way. Oh, I'm sorry, go to the top of the ridge, along those old cedar trees, he's there in that row. Nice place."

She stood before his tombstone, kicked dirt on it and cursed. She held her hand to her forehead and fought back tears then she tore open the envelope.

My dearest Angela,

Rotten luck, eh? You somewhere half way round the world and me, lying on the couch, this 1000-ton weight on my chest. Don't think the ambulance is going to make it - at least I hope not, not that I want to die and leave you alone, but you know I wouldn't want all that crap in the hospital keeping me alive.

Dying is much simpler; there'd be no arguments over pulling the plug.

If Norman has done his job, you are standing in front of my tombstone, taking my name in vain and kicking dirt on my tombstone. I couldn't rest in the city. I wanted to be here. Always have since my grandparents brought me here for a Memorial Day service when I was 5 or 6. Look around. Isn't it beautiful?

"Yes Mitchell, it's everything you said it was. Damn you! I am so sorry about fighting over this..."

This is really silly, I know. But I want you to do something for me.

One last thing.

Angela, undress.

Lay your clothes beside my grave and let us be together one last time until we are reunited in paradise.

I'm imagining your tangle of raven hair falling across your naked shoulders. God, Angela, your shoulders.

Imagine me planting kisses on your soft, fragrant skin, behind your neck, across your shoulders, caressing your exquisite collarbones and sweeping my fingers past those Cheekbones of yours.

Angela looked back toward the front gate and realized she was relatively secluded and the gate locked. She bit her lower lip and started to unbutton her blouse. "Mitchell, you are insane," she whispered and then giggled behind tears.

She laid her blouse down beside his tombstone and rapidly slipped out of her bra exposing her warm, moist skin to a soft gentle breeze. She stopped again and looked around. She smiled.

"Jesus, Mitchell, I haven't made out on the grass, on my clothes since high school. Did you know that?"

She slipped her skirt and slip off and laid them out too. She laid her panties on his tombstone. "Here, I wore your favorites." And then she laid down to continue reading.

Everything about your body is a delight to me. To heft your breast as I pressed myself to your back. To see your nipples distend under my touch. I love those delicate blue veins underneath the translucent skin of your breast.

And, oh God, your sex! The gateway to paradise, isn't that what Pacino said in "The Scent of a Woman"? Your wetness, your slickness, your warmth...

Angela my love, I wanted to write an epic poem extolling my love for you and all that is you but...

With distress Angela noticed that his writing was becoming erratic.

Ah, shit. This pain is getting worse. I'm having trouble breathing. Gotta go.

Please Angela, undress. Please have an orgasm here in my memory. Wipe your fingers on my tombstone

That was it; the ink trailed off as if that were the moment of his death. Angela rolled to her back, looked up at the evening sky. Tears streamed down her cheek for a few moments but then she took a deep breath and rolled to her side facing the grave, bending a leg.

She was startled to find she was wet.

She stroked her swollen sex slowly, slowly pinching and pulling a nipple.

She closed her eyes and imagined him there, caressing her, kissing her, licking her sex the way she loved to be licked.

She was languid, laying on the ground, imagining as she had never imagined before the way their bodies entwined in passion.

Moans escaped her lips. She rolled back and forth, imagining the lustful frenzy of when he took her roughly in the night.

Her first orgasm brought a fluttering cry and then she called out his name.

She had lost all sense of time and place. It was dusk now. The moon was coming up on the horizon.

"I will always love you Mitchell."

There were no more tears. Angela smeared her wetness across the tombstone, smelled her fingers and smiled to herself, "You would have liked eating me tonight."

She laid there for another while, thought about getting up and dressing and decided to lay there under the moon. She stretched like a cat and laid spread-eagled beneath the heavens. She imagined Mitchell looking down and smiling.

She reached for her sex and absentmindedly stroked her clit, eyes closed and thought more about her lover.

Sometime in the night, she did rise and get dressed, leaving her panties on the tombstone.

She brushed her clothes off and sat beside the stone. She felt at peace. She knew he was.

"I'll stop by now and again, Mitchell. I love you." She touched her fingertips to her lips and then to the cold marble of the stone.

She ended up staying to see the sunrise. It was the most beautiful sunrise she thought she had ever seen.