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At trusting to luck. And justlike that... just like that, without thinking, I did something brutishlike barging into a woman...She snapped and snarled... and spoke with this musical Irish accent."Ye'll bidder mind yer manners..." I... I'm sorry... I'm..." Sey yer should be! Ah... I ken ye have problems... Lonely an all...Well! Tis not right ye take yer loneliness on other lenly folk llke theeld!" I am sorry if... but..." I git in the way... all the same..."Her eyes began to sparkle oddly..."I heve it. Ye be on yer way... an ye'll be lonely ne more!"I was confused though. How did she know? My past life had... well mychildhood had been bitter painful... ghost ridden... It left me tooscared to try to reach people... and now... at my age... but how didshe know? I... As I looked her body seemed to melt... flow... alter... "Marcha hev long wished tae play tis game wi men... I tank ye... ferthis excuse."Marcha? I pondered... an Irish goddess, fabled for turning men intowomen... or at least. Smither said, her eyes going vacant as she reminisced. "He had a nice hard cock. Not like the wimpy one I'm used to." Well, I'll miss that blonde cheerleader's tight wet pussy. I'm stuck with an old hag's dried up one. And, man, her ass was even tighter."They continued laughing, jibing each other with merriment. And then they stopped laughing when they heard a loud crash. Running to the parlor, they found pieces of a shattered vase on the floor. Looking at each other in confusion, Mrs. Smither shrugged and was about to get a broom and dustpan when they heard a door slam on the second floor. Mr. Smither retrieved his shotgun, cracked it open and inserted two new shells, then snapped it shut. Stuffing extra cartridges into his pocket, the two hobbled up the stairs. Mr. Smither kept a finger on the trigger as the muzzle of his shotgun led the way, cautiously conducting a room by room search. Mrs. Smither crouched behind her husband with a hand on his shoulder, peering nervously around.
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Coiffure.I felt his hand leave my chest – and chose not to examine exactly how chilled I felt without it there – and then some gentle tugging on my mane. It brought back more memories of him being far less gentle with my hair, his hands weaving through it as he positioned my head the way he wanted while he kissed me, or held me to him as our hips slapped together urgently while he whispered words of love that had seared themselves onto my mind – and though I knew, I knew they weren’t real and were just the result of too much booze and a guy who was disappointed and horny, I’d never forget how I felt when he uttered them, and how tightly he gripped me.“There.” That voice chuckled. “It’ll be easier if you can see, but I can just drag you out from under there, if you’d prefer.”I stifled the urge to F-bomb him again, and instead lifted one leg and waggled my foot. “Drag away.”Before I knew what was happening, I was free of the infernal tree, my hair relatively intact, and I could feel.

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