Message-ID: <36980asstr$1024740604@assm.asstr.org>
From: "Kenny Gamura" <turtlemeat69@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} [rom fest] Sweet Julie Brown Eyes {Gamera} <*> (FF 1st)
Date: Sat, 22 Jun 2002 06:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

                         Disclaimer

    What follows is a work of fiction based somewhat but
not entirely on really life events.  The major characters
have been changed beyond all recognition by even their own
parents.  Many other things have been completely made up by
the fevered mind of the writer.  It is submitted in entry
to the ASSM Summer Solstice Rom Festival of 2002 in the
"Romance through the eyes of..." category.  As such, it is
a sex story meaning that it includes descriptions of sex
acts and so you should most likely not be reading it,
especially if doing so will result in prison, spankings,
restrictions of privileges, or excessive numbers of "Hail
Marys."  Special thanks go to Katie McN for her constant
encouragement, mentoring, and friendship.

   In no way does the posting of this work on the Usenet
imply that the writer has waved any rights under
international convention and copyright law.  The use of
this story on any web-site, both commercial and free, is
prohibited without advance permission.  The archiving of
this story by ASSM and Goggle is understood and encouraged.
Come-ons for penis enlargement systems and hair
replacements can be sent to the address below, where they
will be deleted without being opened.  The occasional piece
of fanmail will not be deleted, but instead, will be read,
answered, and saved forever.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera

turtlemeat69@hotmail.com
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Gamera

                  Sweet Julie Brown Eyes
                A Summer Solstice Rom Story
                            by
                      Kenny N Gamera

   I was in the geology student lounge, sulking after the
Geochem final, which I had flunked and, with it, the class.
So I sat by myself in an old wooden chair near the window.
Outside, people walked by in the early summer sun and wispy
clouds that blended into the light hazy of the mid-west
sky.  I could hear a lawn mower through the open window,
the occasional shouted name or excited greeting of two
students.  The light earthy smell of some flower, which
surrounded the Student Services Building next door to
Natural Science, came in with the same light breeze that
carried the sounds.

   I had flunked exams before this one; this hardly having
even been the worst.  None these, however, made me feel
this bad, because when I had failed those, I was either an
apathetic high school student or a relatively carefree
college undergrad.  Now, I was in grad school, and earnest
grad students do not fail tests, let alone, whole classes.

   I stared at the far corner, as I thought about the
should'ves, could'ves, and what-nows.  The smells and
sounds of summer entered only at the edges of my awareness.
My focus was on the corner of the room, at the sloppy mess
of a discarded newspaper, lying, not a wad but not a stack,
covering and covered by tall paper cups of mostly drank
cappinicino.  The edge of the bottom half of a torn pizza
box protruded from beneath an overworn easy chair.

   My thoughts lived within a mind just like this room, I
thought to myself.

   That is not the point when the door opened to the
lounge, but eventually, it did.  I was studying the dried
cheese melted to the box.  My arms were folded across my
chest in stiff and unrelaxed way.  My brow was furrowed.
My frown honestly hurt my face.  I did not look up.  I did
not say hello.  I just stared at grease-covered cardboard
and thought at the intruder to go away as I prayed that who
ever would stay.

   "Kendra?"

   I looked away from the corner, turning my head just a
degree or two to the pest who had sat at the study table
that posessed the room's center.  It was Julie.  Her gaze
asked me if I were alright.  I hoped mine were saying,
don't ask, as I turned to look into her big brown eyes.
For what it was worth, she did not.

   Rather, she said, "I wanted to know if you would like to
come over and watch a video tonight.  Tina is coming over,
and I thought we could have a girl's night in."

   I shrugged my shoulders, "Sure, why not."

   We made arrangements about when and how, the proceedings
of which I paid only half mind.  The rest of my mind spent
the time playing with the memory of my failure and the open
emotional wound as if it were a paper cut on my tongue.

   "Kenny, what are you doing?"

   Her words caught me off guard.  It wasn't her calling me
Kenny, everyone does that after awhile.  It was what she
asked that caught me unaware.  It was not of the sort that
one comes to expect when she is pouting, for it should be
clear.  Clear or not, I felt no need to lie.

   "I'm feeling sorry for myself."

   "Why are you feeling sorry for yourself," she asked.

   This was a question I could handle in my own clever if
bitter way.  "Because no one else does."

   "I feel sorry for you," she said in a soft voice.

   I looked into her brown eyes again, and could tell she
meant it.  I so much wanted to put her to the test, but
from somewhere, I found the control not to ask her, "do you
feel sorry enough to make to me."

   I haven't the room to list all the reasons that I
couldn't say this to her.  Mostly, I have a difficult time
in finding the lesbians among the women I meet.
Especially, the ones that I am attracted to.  After a few
unfortunate attempts in junior college that cost me several
long-time friends, I learned to keep my feelings to myself.

   The hurt with Julie started the previous year, before
she had even started here.  She was visiting to find an
apartment to share with one of the students I had started
with that year.  She was finishing her bachelor's degree
and was about to begin her master's.  My roommates (Jeramy
and Steve) and I had a couple of open rooms in the house we
rented.  They were interested, and  I had offered to show
them around the place.

   They found someplace else just a few doors down the
block later that day, but I had a chance to spend lunch
with her, while Pat was on the phone with a building
manager of one of the apartment complexes to which they
were applying.  We spent the entire time talking about
ourselves, movies, books, and whatnot.

   We had a lot in common despite differences in our
backgrounds.  My father was a career sergeant in the
military and hers was a middle manager.  This still lead to
some shared experiences in home hopping and new schools and
a good sampling of different parts of the country.  We
compared what we liked and hated about each of our stops as
we grew up.  We had each lived in different regions and at
different times, but it added to the conversation rather
than took from it.

   Soon enough our burgers were eaten and the waiter quit
bringing fresh pops (which Julie called sodas).  In
addition, Pat had finally gotten off the pay phone and
wanted to go to the next place.  It was near where I lived,
and Pat, uncharacteristically, offered me a ride.  I turned
it down; I needed to search for a few things in the
library.

   I spent the rest of that school year and the entire
summer regretting the loss of that last chance to be with
her.  It was a long summer anyway.  My field work which had
a never ending quality of the sort that caused the old
cartoon character from "Calvin & Hobbes" to announce that
"archeologists have the most mind numbing job."  My
weekends and sometimes several consecutive weeks were spent
scraping dirt and eating ramen noodles, not always cooked.
It became one long, endless Sunday afternoon, filled with
contemplation into the loneliness I could not shake.

   While no rule exists that a depressing summer should be
spent being depressed, that is how I spent that summer.  I
had yet to shake it through a couple of terms.  My grades,
never the greatest, dropped like a stone.  My performance
as a teaching assistant declined as well.

   The one bright spot was Julie, who went from a student
in the lab I attempted to teach in Reservoir Geology to
friend to really good friend.  Along with Tina, who had
gotten engaged to my roommate Steve, we became a regular
grouping of friends for lunch and studying and trying to
come down from the bad trip called grad school over videos
and popcorn.

   Of the two, it was Julie to whom I admitted that I was a
lesbian.  Not that it was much of a secret, I am certain
that everyone but the densest in the department had
guessed.  Still, I felt uncomfortable with actually telling
someone about it.  Especially, as I felt that I was such a
failure as one.

   My telling her did give me a chance to bitch about my
love life and the relationship to nowhere with the
bartender at the place I would go to for afternoon coffee,
who's harem I had been trying to break into for nearly two
years.  In turn, she told me about her friend Dave, the
engineer who she wanted to date, who wanted to date her,
but who appeared to be afraid of dating anything that was
not IBM compatible and did not have internet access.

   She never complained about it.  Rather, she would make
dry witticisms about the lack of attention from the closest
she had to a beau in her life.  These, also, dashed what
little hope I could build that I would someday get close to
her myself.  In between, she would act just playful enough
to keep me confused into thinking that she may have been
flirting with me.

   I would look at the bratty smile and her sparkling brown
eyes as she told me and anyone around us that I was doing a
good job teaching "for a paleontolgist," and I would melt.
I imagined stroking her cheek but forced myself to quit.
There was always Dave, just off stage, moving from a high
paying computer job to a really high paying computer job.
What shy, inexperienced lesbian would stand a chance?

   Still, a shy, inexperienced lesbian could dream; I
finally got something resembling a date with the bartender,
which became a series, which went nowhere but to the
movies.  She had enough girlfriends to last her while she
finished up her degree and prepared to move to (groan) San
Francisco.  I did not fit into her plans and after the
third date, we went back to just talking when I showed up
at the bar.

   Between all of that and Geochem, I found myself at
Julie's place that night after the final exam feeling like
shit about myself and the world.  Julie let me in, and I
followed her into her living room after I kicked off my
shoes and set them next to the door.  She had a stack of
homemade videos and a two-liter bottle of pop with a couple
of glasses on the coffee table.  She offered some to me.
As I poured, she sorted through the tapes.

   "What would you prefer teen angst or Godzilla?"

   "Godzilla. Where's Tina?"

   "Found out that she couldn't come at the last minute.
Graham dumped an assignment on her."

   "So its just us?"  Pat was too hip to watch bad movies
and would be out getting plowed.

   "Yes," Julie answered with a big smile. "Just me and
you."

   Julie dropped the tape into the player and went to the
kitchen to start the microwave.  She returned to the player
as it popped.  When the bell rang, Julie was kneeling in
front of the television trying to find the spot where the
movie began.  Not wanting to watch Godzilla back up from
imploding buildings, I offered to get the popcorn while she
finished with the video.  She found the right place and
announced her success as I was bringing the bag into the
living room.

   She took it and sat it on the coffee table within easy
reach of the couch.  I sat down, and she took a spot next
to me.  With the press of a button, everyone's favourite
revived prehistoric reptile began to fight some unworthy,
destroying a good portion of Japan in the process.

   As the movie traveled along its predictable course, we
laughed at the guy in the rubber suit, drank our pop, and
ate our popcorn.  Occasionally, our hands touched at we
reached at the same time for a handful.  The slight touch
sent a shiver through me that was magical and painful
together.  I made no outward sign, but I feared that she
would notice; I waited as best I could until she had
already gotten some before I reached into the bag.

   The movie outlasted the popcorn, and I began to regret
my decision to avoid the little contact that I was getting
because of it.  I took a quick glance at her face.  She was
engrossed in the movie, not watching me in the least.  I
looked into her large, brown eyes, slightly magnified by
her the lenses of her eyeglasses.  I sighed softly to
myself and turned away to the concluding battle between our
"hero" and his opponent on a heavily wired mountainside.

   As the "bad" lizard went flying into a high-voltage
transmission station and received a fatal spine-snapping
flying tackle among the sparks, Julie reached for the
remote.  She stopped the tape just as the credits began to
roll over the screen.  Another button press caused the VCR
to whine and the tape inside to rattle slightly as it was
rewound to the beginning.

   "Feeling better?"

   "Yeah," I answered, "maybe a little."

   She shifted a slightly in her seat, drawing her legs
under her butt and turning towards me.  Her knee came into
contact with mine.  I almost flinched at the touch but did
not.  She did not move away.

   "Is there anything I could do to make it better?"

   I looked down to where our legs touched.  I could feel
an almost electric tingle at the point of contact, as if
like the exploding power station in the recently finished
movie, sparks were flying unseen into the air.  I wanted to
reach out and put hand over her denim-covered leg.  I could
feel the motion in the muscles of my arms as they dangled
limp against my body.

   "No," I said with a sigh, "I'm just tired."

   She reached out and touched my shoulder with just the
tips of her fingers.  More electricity flowed into my body.
I could barely keep myself from shaking.

   "It hasn't been an easy year for you has it," she said.

   "No, not really.  I think I bit off more than I could
chew."

   Her hand began to stroke my shoulder in a friendly way.
I wished that she would stop but said nothing.  I knew
protesting would be a dead give away about how I felt.  I
could almost see the resulting shock and awkwardness
between us.

   After a moment, I continued, "there's just so much stuff
I need to do and only so much time to do it all in.
Something has to be neglected.

   "It usually seems to be me."

   I looked up to her face.  It was crinkled into a
sympathetic smile.  Her brown eyes looked sadly into mine.
I wanted to reach up and touch her cheek.  I was afraid she
could see my body twitch with the internal battle between
common sense and my desires.

   I stood up, breaking contact with her.

   "I better get going."

   She got up with me.

   "Will you be alright?"

   "Sure.  I've made this far."

   We were standing facing each other; we were maybe half a
step apart.  I looked at her face.  She looked in mine and
moved her arms from her body, opening up for a hug.  I
moved into it.  Her arms wrapped around my waist and pulled
me against her.  My arms reached over hers and to her back.
She tilted her head just slightly, closing her eyes.  She
leaned forward.

   Our lips met.  My heart started pounding from fear.  I
stared wide-eyed at the top of her head, right along the
part of her long hair.  Her tongue tickled my lips, and
they parted enough for it to push through.  It explored the
inside of my mouth.  Her hands began to explore the seat of
my jeans, softly caressing the cheeks of my ass.  One hand
began to travel slowly up my back and along my neck until
it reached the back of my head.  She pushed my face closer
to hers.  I did not resist.  When she broke the kiss, I
took a huge breath to refill my empty lungs.

   "You're supposed to breathe through your nose, silly,"
Julie said with a giggle.

   I just stared at her as I caught both my wind and my
wits.  Her hands continued to fondle my ass and stroke my
hair, respectively.

   "Ready?" she said after a moment.

   I swallowed and nodded.  She again pushed my head
towards hers.  Our lips made contact for the second time.
Mine opened to allow her tongue to reenter.  It thrust in
and met my tongue.  It slid underneath.  The bottom of mine
felt the tip of hers touch it gently.

   I began to respond.  My slack arms tensed and yanked her
tighter against me.  My tongue fought a gentle duel with
hers as I released a sigh into her mouth.  We held the kiss
much longer than the first, but she still pulled away much
sooner than I would have hoped.

   "Let's go to my room," she said as we parted bodies.

   The hand on my ass moved away.  With it, she reached
around behind herself and took my hand.  She lead me into
her room and shut the door with her free hand.  She guided
me into the center of the room.

   "You're shaking."

   I nodded my head; it was true.  She giggled and placed
her hands on my shoulders.  I looked into her face and saw
her staring into mine with a smile.

   "Why," she asked.

   "I've never really done...," I started but stopped.
After a heartbeat, I tried again, "I mean, I haven't had
much..."

   She interrupted me, "haven't you ever...?"

   "Just once, when I was an undergrad," I said with a
blush that felt warm on my cheeks.  "She was drunk and had
a fight with her girlfriend at a party.  She fingered me,
but that was it.  I think guilt kept her from doing more."

   She leaned her head towards my face.  Our lips met and
joined together in a kiss.  Her tongue entered my mouth,
again.  I let it move around my mouth.  I felt its gentle
pressure run along the tops of my teeth.  Her tongue left
my mouth.  She pulled herself away from me, but I pushed my
body back towards her, fighting to keep our lips in
contact.  She moved a hand between us and pushed me away.

   "Kenny.  Kiss back."

   "Yes, Julie."  I turned my eyes down.  "I'll try."

   We kissed again; this time, I let myself grow bolder.
My tongue entered her mouth.  I tried to copy what she had
done inside my mouth.  The tip of my tongue lightly
caressed the smooth surface of her teeth and the salvia
slick skin of her palate.

   Her hands moved from my shoulders.  They slid down each
of my arms.  Her palms held me through the light flannel
sleeves of my shirt.  As I explored the inside of her
mouth, she reached my sweaty hands, which now dangled limp
at my side.  Our palms met, and her fingers entwined
themselves with mine.

   With our hands clasped between us and our lips locked in
a deep kiss, we stood in the middle of her bedroom floor.
My heart pounded so hard, I could almost feel my ribcage
expand with my pulse. I was lightheaded, and I felt the
classic case of butterflies fluttering in my tummy.

   Julie lifted my left arm with her right hand.  I let her
carry it up and towards her chest.  She shifted her hand
around mine, so my palm was exposed.  She brought my open
hand to her chest and used it to cup one of her breasts.  I
felt the swell of a hard nipple through the fabric of her
loose tee-shirt.

   I just held my hand there on her breast, with her hand
over mine and with my tongue in her mouth.  My mind melted
into the moment; I existed only then without either future
or past.  I lost track of my heartbeat.  I lost track of my
butterflies.  I lost track of all my doubts.

   From nowhere a button came loose on my shirt.  Then,
another came loose.  In the fog, I realized that my left
arm again hung free to my side.  I felt Julie fumble with a
third button, then a fourth.  My shirt opened to the tops
of my jeans.  Julie pushed her hand into the opening.  It
slid across the surface of my belly.  Her palm made a
circular motion rubbing my skin, before moving upward
towards my bra.  Her fingers forced themselves under the
hard plastic of the underwire.  The tip of her middle
finger grazed the underside of my breast.

   She moved her hand to the front catch of my bra.  She
gave a slight twist with her fingers and lifted up.  The
cup opposite of her grasp came loose and draped loosely
over my bust.  Julie released the other cup so it too was
lying loose.  She moved both hands to my breasts, bringing
them beneath the cups.

   She lowered her face to them, using a hand to lift one
of my dangling teats even closer to her mouth.  The nipple
entered and her tongue copied what it had done inside my
mouth.  I released her tit and held her head as she suckled
me like a baby.  My baby.

   I turned, holding her still against me and guided her to
her bed.  I pushed her away and forced her to sit down.  I
lowered down to my knees and took hold of the fastening of
her jeans.  She cooperated by arching her body up.  They
slid down her legs.  I reached up to the very top of her
thighs.  I dragged my fingertips along the smooth surface
of her skin to the tops of her ankle socks.  I dragged them
back to the top of her thighs.  I skidded along the edge of
her panties to her hips.  I pulled them down.  After
pulling them over her feet, dropped them atop her jeans on
the floor.

   I shrugged my shirt to the ground with my bra.  I looked
up at my Julie, wearing just her tee-shirt, her brown eyes
watching me.  I crawled closer to her.  I moved my face
close to her pussy.  With one hand, I pushed away some of
her thick pubic hair.  With the other, I parted the lips of
her pussy.  Her clit just poked from its hood.

   With so many others , I merely dreamed of this moment.
I looked up and saw the face of my sweet Julie, brown eyes
glowing with desire.  She grabbed hold of my head, her
fingers tangled in my hair, and pulled it towards her.

   "Do it, Kenny."

   My day had come.

                       Author's Notes

   Okay, I know that I said in the disclaimer that this
story was an entry in the "Romance through the eyes of..."
category, but it has a history, so it could be under the
Classics as well. It was started in April of 2000.  There
was a thread in ASSD at the time where a number of the
lesbian contributors were complaining about (FF) written by
men.  I forget who, but someone made the comment that such
stories felt as if "there was a man in the closet."  This
got me wondering if I could write a story about a lesbian
relationship that felt right.  Also, I wanted to see if I
could follow MichaelD's advice in getting mail, by
suggesting that I was a woman.

   To get it right, I based it loosely on the beginning of
my relationship with my ex-fiancee and our first kiss.  My
theory was that "people are people" and that if I wrote
truly about my feelings at the time that it would generate
the proper feelings and, thus, ring true.  I invite my
readers to let me know if I was successful and especially
ask any of my readers who are bi-women or lesbians to let
me know exactly when they knew I was a guy.  If I am a guy.

   "Sweet Julie Brown Eyes" was the third sex story I
started.  I quit working on it just days before I wrote the
first bits of "Beggars Can't Be..."  My very first story
was completed but it still sits half-typed and the second,
a series, has been all but forgotten as well.  I saw the
Rom Festival as a chance to finish this work.  I hope that
you agree with me that it was worth the time to finish.

Thanks again,
The same guy as above