I was confused with her request, but complied anyway.I moved over to sit next to her and while she stood up, I positioned my open hand on her pee stained seat. My heart was racing and my cock throbbing. What did she want me to do next, I thought.She sat back down on my hand and I could feel the warmth and wetness of her panties.She looked at me and whispered: "Now hold your hand still." I did as she said and wondered what was going on. Suddenly I felt a warm sensation on my hand. She was peeing. I looked at her estatic gaze with wide eyes and a throbbing cock. She was peeing on my hand, in her seat, on a bus, with people around her, who didn't had a clue.She moved her butt up to let me retrieve my wet hand. I sat back in my seat and looked at my hand. The pee was still dripping from my fingers. "You want to taste it?" she asked. I looked up and didn't know how to respond. Taste her pee, I thought, isn't that discusting? "Trust me." she said.I raised my hand to my face and sniffed it. Ray's brothers and sister, my own brothers and my sweet, sweet grandchildren, all perished save Ray. They never even reached France. The accident only left, as you can probably guess, my son, his harridan of a wife, and me to carry the ill-fated Edmondson flag. I've often asked myself why I was spared when the rest of the family perished so awfully. If it was to save my son from his ultimate fate, I have clearly failed in the duty. Instead, I have found myself slowly growing increasingly sick and lonely. As you've noticed, I speak frankly. I do not have the time to mince my words, to make pretty the vile horrors I've been touched by in the last few years. Is my sole purpose to witness the tragic decline of all that I love -- all that I am? If that is to be my lot in life, then I should end it now.But first, I must relate to you the events of the 31st of October 1999, the anniversary of Sebastian's murder. In the telling, I must be strong. I shall try to be as accurate and truthful as.
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