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MARY SMITH. HANGED FOR MURDER. 31st. OCTOBER 1873 "I don't like this"! "Oh yeah," he sighed impatiently, "What's wrong with it." "It's dark," she continued to complain. "Of course it's fucking dark; it's ten thirty at night at the end of October," he replied irritably, "What do expect...blazing fucking sunshine!" "Please don't swear at me Andy," she scolded him, "I can't help it." "Can't help what," he demanded angrily. "I'm scared!" "Scared," he questioned, "Scared?" "Yes," she answered nervously. "Scared," he repeated. "What are scared about?" "Well, we're in the middle of a fucking grave yard, aren't we," she retorted; descending to the use of Andy's vulgar language. "So?" "So," she repeated, "It's full of dead people, innit...Smart Arse!" "Yes, Smarty Knickers, of course it is, it's a fucking grave yard," Andy reminded her. "It's spooky," she insisted. "No it's not," he argued. "Well I think it is," she said petulantly. "What," Andy replied, allowing his exasperation to rise, "Do you think they are going to do Gem, get up and dance a ring of roses around the fucking headstones." "They might," she insisted, "It is Halloween you know." "Bollocks," Andy retorted, "You don't believe in all that stuff, do you Gemma." "Well, no," Gemma replied uncertainly, "But you never know. I just don't like it here Andy!" "It's your fucking fault we're here Love," Andy said, softening his attitude. "How's it my fault all of a sudden," she answered defensively, "It was your idea to bring me here." Andy's patience wearing thin, he tried to remain calm and remind his girlfriend of the necessity to enter a grave yard in the dead of night. "Look," he began, "We can't do it at your home because of your kids, and we can't do it in the back of my car in case your old man drives past in his fucking taxi, so where else can we fucking do it?" "We always do it at your place,"she reminded him, "Why do we have to do it here, all of a sudden." "I've told you Gem," Andy reminded her, "We can't do it there any more, the landlady doesn't like it." "Well, she ain't fucking getting it, is she," laughed Gemma. "And neither am I, at this rate," complained Andy. "I don't think I want to do it now, anyway," Gemma whined. "Aw, come on Love, it'll be right."Andy reassured her, seeing his chance to shag Gemma slipping away. "It'll be all right, once you get going. You know what you're like." "No, Andy," she insisted, "I don't feel like it now." "Aw Gem," Andy pleaded, "Don't do this to me. You know how much I fancy you." "No, sorry Andy," Gemma insisted adamantly, "It's this place it gives me the creeps!" "Come on Gem," Andy pleaded again, "They're all fucking dead, for escort beylikdüzü fuck's sake. What harm can they do!" "I don't really want to Andy, I'd sooner go home." "Just a quickie then," he beseeched her, undoing his belt with one hand whilst massaging Gemma's breast with the other. "Well, be quick then," Gemma acquiesced whilst looking furtively about, "But don't expect me to enjoy it." Holding her face between his hands, Andy kissed Gemma tenderly, causing her legs to weaken as they always did and, lifting her skirt, he slipped his hand casually between her legs with his usual familiarity and lack of finesse. "There," he said, feeling Gemma's moist response, "Your changing your mind already Gem." "Mmm," she replied, "But be quick." Sliding Gemma's knickers to her knees, Andy dropped his trousers and prepared to reap his reward for the meal he had bought her, the drinks he had poured into her, and the puerile, mundane conversation that he had been forced to endure all evening. Dropping to his knees, his head under her skirt, Andy set about devouring her cunt, the ritual prelude to shagging that aroused them both and increased their desires. He was not, however, prepared for Gemma's ear shattering scream, resonating around the bleak memorials, as she pulled away from him in blind panic, scurrying to and from and screaming hysterically. "Ouch, fucking shit," she exclaimed as, turning this way and that, her knickers around her ankles restricting her movements, she tripped and fell against a headstone. Showing an almost compassionate side to his nature, Andy squatted beside her, taking her into his arms and, talking softly, calmed her with soothing words. "There, there darling, it's okay, it's okay. What got into you Gem," he asked with genuine concern. "That noise," she said, looking over each shoulder in turn. "It was only an owl," laughed Andy. "Well, I don't care what it was, it frightened the fucking shit out of me!" "Relax, Babe," Andy said soothingly, his hand once again up Gemma's skirt. "No, Andy," Gemma whined, "I really don't want to." Andy continued, knowing Gemma's resolve would soon weaken as she had never, on previous occasions, had the will to refuse him for long. His persistence paying off, Gemma slipped her knickers over her shoes, lifted her skirt and parted her legs as Andy, wanking himself furiously, slipped his dick into her wet, smooth orifice. Gemma started to moan and writhe as she felt Andy penetrate deeply into her, his balls rubbing against the sensitive flesh between her vagina and rectum. Biting her lip, enjoying the ecstatic sensation of Andy's dick inside her, she turned escort akbatı her head towards the headstone and read silently: "Mary Smith, Hanged for murder. Thirty-first October, eighteen seventy-three." Slowly it dawned on her, just as Andy was getting into his stride, that they were shagging above the grave of a murderer. "Fucking Hell, Andy," she said, pushing him frantically away from her, "We're only doing it on the grave of a fucking murderer!" "Aw Gem, not again," Andy complained, "All I want is a fuck!" "Well," said Gemma, pulling her knickers up, "You ain't getting it here!" "Gemmm," Andy whined. "It's no good, Andy, get me out of hear, before I go fucking mental." "Oh, all right," Andy conceded, "But I'll remember this the next time you want a shag." "If you don't get me out of here Andy," Gemma said firmly, "I swear there won't be a next time, not for you!" Reluctantly, Andy led Gemma back to the cemetery gates, still bemoaning his wasted investment and cursing his timorous girlfriend under his breath. Pulling an empty hand out of his trouser pocket he urgently searched the other. "Fuck it," he cursed, "I've lost my fucking car keys!" "Oh great," said Gemma, "Just fucking great. How the fuck am I going to get home?" "Call a taxi," said Andy uncharitably, "It might be your old man who turns up." "Oh funny," mocked Gemma, "You think you're so fucking clever don't you, but you've got a lot further to walk than me." "No," he said, "We're going back to look for them." "No we're fucking not," said Gemma emphatically, "You can go on your own, I'm off home. See you at work tomorrow." Andy stood next to his locked vehicle, and watched Gemma's arse sway from side to side as she waddled along the pavement until the clip-clop of her heels receded into the murky darkness. The hushed stillness of the night, and the remoteness of the area, on the edge of town, combined to raise Andy's concerns about re-entering the cemetery and he had to search deeply for whatever reserves of courage he possessed. His deep sigh revealed the depth of his anger at the loss of his keys and his frustration caused by Gemma's refusal to fuck, once she discovered the sinister surroundings in which they were performing the act. Her senseless superstitions, for once, stronger than her normally overwhelming desire to indulge in the weekly activity that formed the basis of their relationship. Andy cursed her and his luck and, still feeling horny, decided that if he found his keys soon enough, he would try his chances with his landlady. Gemma's remark about her, having made him realise that jealousy might have inspired her to warn him escort beylikdüzü about his immoral behaviour under her roof. "Fucking stupid bitch," he said, referring to Gemma, and angrily kicking the tire of his car, There was nothing to be afraid off. "So what," he shrugged, "So what if it was a murderer buried there, she's been dead for fucking years!" He looked into the dark, desolate cemetery and, now no longer inspired by his intention to shag Gemma, had second thoughts about returning to hunt for his car keys. He looked up at the sky and cursed as a cloud moved slowly across the moon, blocking out what little light there was and plunging the cemetery into further, prohibiting darkness. Contemplating walking home and returning in daylight, Andy looked at his watch and calculated how long the journey would take him. Too bloody long, he concluded, his landlady would have gone to bed, and he still would not have had his weekly shag. In spite of his new desire and his fresh intentions, he felt reluctant to enter the cemetery, the dark sanctuary of the dead that now seemed increasingly foreboding and scary. His own intuition counseling caution, Andy's imagination should have conjured up images of ghosts and ghoulies but instead formed pictures of his landlady with her plump legs wrapped around his waist. Inspired and fortified by those and similar images, Andy seized his courage in his hands and ventured forth, taking, at first, small, tentative steps towards the cemetery gates and the cruel destiny that awaited him. Startled by a sudden, unfamiliar sound, he cursed again as the owl that had initially spooked Gemma repeated its eerie call, a warning perhaps, from the wizened bird of myth and verse, advising him not to enter. Taking a deep a breath, Andy shivered as he crossed the threshold of the cemetery entrance, the heavy iron gate yielding noisily as he pushed it open. Aware of the raised hairs on the back of his neck he recalled his words to Gemma. "They're all fucking dead," he reminded himself, "They ain't going to get up and dance around their graves!" His mouth dry, his heart beating like a drum, Andy crept almost stealthily between the rows of headstones, as if afraid of disturbing the incumbents or, maybe, they disturbing him. With nerves as taught as guitar strings, he kept looking over his shoulders, aware of the slightest sounds as he carefully retraced his steps. Fear weakening his knees and impeding his progress, Andy fought against the nausea welling in the pit of his stomach and concentrated his thoughts on how he would seduce the middle-aged widow from whom he rented his room. Thoughts of the utmost impropriety, considering the lady's age and status, spurred him on towards his goal among the tributes to the dead. He knew exactly where he lost his keys; it could only have been when he briefly shagged Gemma beside the grave of Mary Smith, who was hanged for murder, he reminded himself.