Message-ID: <5364eli$9711021157@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/5364.txt> From: dez187lm@hotmail.com (H.D. Meister) Subject: Story: Tales Twelve - tales012.txt [1/1] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <63gria$dvv$1@solaris.cc.vt.edu> I wrote this one just a few moments ago. All comments can be directed to dez187lm@hotmail.com All standard disclaimers apply. _______________________________________________________________________ >From the Shadows: That Which I See By. H.D. Meister I have been here many times before. Sitting before my terminal with thoughts flowing through the alcohol fuzz which permeates my brain. I watch the scenes flow though the fog, and wonder which are truly mine and which belong to the alcohol. Not that it matters much anymore, for I am not that same dashing rogue. I am truly the master of Nothing. One which I see in many flashes is a beauty of uncanny looks. As with the others, she is not what passes for today’s most desired females. She has too much body for these “men.” I like what I see, and desire what I cannot have. No matter; I can still dream... and hunger. I want to give her that which she so richly desires, but we have decided that it will never be. And who or what do I have to blame for this infuriating duality? My own desire for friendship. Yes... I want to know the warmth of the tunnel which lies guarded by two plump, succulent thighs, yet before this, I want friendship. I would know the tast of her nectar. I would baptize myself in the waters of her pleasure. Yet firts... I must have friendship. Otherwise... it’s just fucking. Anyone can fuck. All that is needed is a stiff dick; a wet twat is optional. That is not what I wish. I desire... need... to know that she knows that I care. As I suck on one taunt nipple, a babe begging for the sweetness of mother’s milk, I must see the understanding within her eyes. She must know that I view her as a wmaon... not simply the most readily available cum-dump. As I sip at her fountain of life, I must hear her cry with joy. I must hear her trumpet to all that here is one who cares. Otherwise... it means nothing. It is nothing. Sex. It is done by all things which have a need to reproduce with another of its kind. Dogs. Cats. Birds. Even worms. All have a need for it. Yet man is unique in that sex can, and often, becomes a want. Something which is not immediate to survival. I know this, and strive to grasp this most ellusive of prizes. And she, more often than not, is the subject of these thoughts. I would know what others, including a close friend, have known. I would look inot her eyes as I entered her again... again... again... again... again... Yet first... friendship. She must know that I trust her. I trust her to simply enjoy my frail attempts to please her body and soul. She must know that every time I enter her center, I care. With each thunderous blast of my seed I send into the lateex death chamber, I care. She must know. So I sit as I do now. Before a construct of man’s mind. Before the eyes which allow me to see other’s desires and fantasies. I sit and await the coldness of loneliness. I spend quiet solitary moments pulling that same seed from within it’s warm home... and send it into the coldness of air. And all the while, I think of her. Maybe another, for I will not lie. Yet always is the clearness of her face, bouncing within my mind. I can see her smile. I can see her pain. I can see the human beneath the shroud she has carefully built... one grain of dust at a time... which shields her from the ways of man. I can see her eyes turn cold as she faces each challenge. I would see those same eyes clouded by pleasure. Pleasure at MY hands. At MY touch. At MY kiss. As I let her nectar coat MY tongue, I can see her pleasure flow thro8ugh her soul, coloring it brilliant hues of colors unimaginable. I can see her mouth hang slack as I drink... drink... drink. I can feel her flow ebb, and rise, and ebb, and rise. I would feel her tear at MY flesh as total bliss enters her soul. All these and more I can see. Yet... Until I know the comfort of friendship, I will never know that which I see so clearly. Until I know that I can walk along the sands of Life with her had in mine, I will never know what I see. Until that day, she shall remain the dream barely remembered. She will be nothing more that the released thougs, keyed by a cold beer. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /