Message-ID: <13083eli$9807151647@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/13083.txt>
From: <Mmtwassel@aol.com>
Subject: {ASS} Mat Twassel: Cloth Doll
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit
Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
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: <6eed616d.35ad09c3@aol.com>
***********************************************************
***********************************************************
Author's note:
I do not think this story should offend or harm the
typical mature reader, but for those of you who prefer
not to take the risk, please do not read this story.
***********************************************************
***********************************************************
Cloth Doll
by Mat Twassel
==============
How they met:
They're sitting across from one another in the departure
lounge at the airport. The gate area, the whole terminal is
crowded, and they're right at the end of the aisle, near the
main corridor. A child, toddler age, plays at the woman's
feet impervious to the bustle and busyness of the airport.
The man and the woman smile politely at each other the way
nice-looking but ordinary people do with one another
sometimes.
The child is playing with a toy--it's a cloth doll, small
and soft, wearing a short red party dress. The child makes
the doll climb up the woman's bare leg. "Does that tickle,
Mommy?" asks the girl. Yes, it's a little girl, the man sees
now, even though she's wearing overalls.
"No, honey," the woman says. The man looks up again, notices
the woman's legs--thin, long, shapely--are not bare after
all--she's wearing sheer nylons. The skirt when she's
sitting stops several inches short of the knee.
The cloth doll slides down the woman's leg, silently thumps
itself upon the woman's shoe. "Ouch, that hurts my bottom,"
the child has the doll say.
"Mommy will kiss it better," the child tells the doll.
The child presents the doll to the woman for her to kiss,
and she does.
"No, on the bottom where it hurts," the child says, and the
woman complies.
"Now be careful," the woman says to the doll, but
immediately the doll skis recklessly down the slope of leg.
"Ouch, that hurts my bottom again," the doll says, and the
doll needs another kiss.
"Okay," the woman says, "But this might be the last kiss for
awhile. I might need to save some kisses up for later." She
lifts the doll's party dress and plants a quick kiss.
"I feel much bedder now," the doll says. Maybe she has a
little cold, a stuffy nose. The man and the woman exchange
glances, a conspiracy of parenthood? The glances end with
small shy smiles and a friendly lowering of eyes.
For a time the doll sleeps cradled on the woman's shoe while
the woman reads a paperback novel by a popular modern
author.
The man can't help but notice that it is the same novel he
is reading. He wonders if he's further into it than she is.
He wonders if she has noticed that they have the same
book. The passage the man is reading, about a middle-aged
college professor meeting one of his freshman students in
his private office, has given him a mild erection. In the
novel the professor puts his hand under the girl's skirt
and rubs and pinches the girl's clitoris through her plain
cotton panties until she gasps in breathless climax.
"Do you love me?" the girl of the novel asks, mindlessly
straightening her skirt.
"I love your tight little cunt," the college professor replies.
The man in the airport closes the paperback.
"How much longer, Mommy?" he hears the child ask.
The woman looks at her watch, and in doing so, she uncrosses
her legs and the doll falls to the carpet.
"Oh oh," the woman says. "Does she need another kiss?"
"She's okay," the child says. "But you woke her up."
The woman crosses her legs in the other direction. Up climbs
the doll, all the way to the knee. Now, when the doll slides
down, she tumbles head over heels into the main corridor.
The child stands up, steps quickly into the central corridor
after the doll. The woman can't see it--she faces the wrong
way--but she hears the electronic warning beeps of the
speeding passenger cart.
"No," she says.
The man has already sprung to his feet, taken two quick
steps, snatched the child from behind.
Hoisted so abruptly into the air, the child has her breath
catch; there is an icy moment of precarious silence, and then,
in the high safe hold of the man, the child screams.
It may be that the scream is a result of the surprise
and startle at being so suddenly jerked off the ground. It
may be because the child has just seen the passenger
transport cart roll its front tire directly over the doll's
limp body. The child continues to whimper even after having
been placed in the mother's arms.
"Oh honey," the woman croons. "Oh honey, you're okay, you're
okay, you're okay." She hugs the child to her and strokes
her.
The man retrieves the doll. He brings the doll to the child,
who now sits sniffling on the woman's lap. "Not too much the
worse for wear," the man tells her. But there is a rubbery
black smudge staining the doll's legs and middle.
"How can I thank you?" the woman says. "You were so quick.
Oh, God, thank you so much!" She hugs the child, buries her
face in the child's curly hair. The man may have detected
the beginnings of tears in the woman's eyes in the moment
before she lowered her face.
"I know," the man says. "You can't give them enough kisses."
He smiles, but the woman is not looking at him. The child
is.
"I think your doll will be all right," the man says to her,
"But you should tell her to be very careful about running
into traffic that way. Okay?"
"Okay," the child says in a small voice. Then she adds,
"She's going to get a big spanking when she gets home."
"Oh?" the man says. "I wouldn't be too hard on her. But she
should rest quietly for a time. No rough stuff, you know?
She's probably a little stiff and scared. I think I have
something to make her feel better."
The man goes to his side of the aisle and unsnaps a small
chain from his camera bag. "This is a kind of magic
necklace," he tells the child. "Your doll will be safe as
long as she wears this." He fastens the chain around the
doll's neck, tucks it in.
"Thank you, man," the girl says.
Just then the woman's flight is called. "Passengers with
small children."
"I guess that's us," the woman says. "Thank you so much... I
just can't..."
"That's okay," the man says.
The woman carries the child towards the gangway. The child
peers over the mother's shoulder at the man. The man waves.
The child waves back.
Years later, going through the child's things, the woman
comes upon the little cloth doll. The magic necklace is
still snug around the doll's neck. The woman remembers the
airport incident vividly. Her fingers slide along the
fragile chain. Tears begin to flow. Her fingers find a small
flap of leather attached to the chain, a name tag. She
pinches it between her fingers as she weeps.
=========
Cloth Doll
copyright 1998 by Mat Twassel
***********************************************************
***********************************************************
Let me know what you think. I'd love to hear from you.
Mat Twassel: mmtwassel@aol.com
Other Mat Twassel stories may be found on the web at:
http://members.aol.com/Mmtwassel/index.html
One of my own first important playthings was a small cloth
doll named Ditty. I think I had her when I was one. She
was my earliest playmate, and perhaps the first thing I
actually thought of as mine. But that only happened once I
understood that Ditty didn't really have a life of her own.
She depended upon me. I had mixed feelings about that. I
was a little disappointed. Part of me probably figured that
I owed Ditty a good time, a good life, some excitement and
adventure and safety. Originally she was called Blondifuss,
probably because of the snug tuft of bushy yellow fur which
peeked out the front of her red and white polka dot
babushka. She had real button eyes in those days, and a red
and white polka dot dress to match her headgear. I loved
her hard and well, and by the time she and I were three or
four she was bald and bare (but still cuddly soft and oh-so
cute). My mom, an artist, painted her eyes back on, big
bright blue ones, and she sewed a short dress from some
scrap of curtain material--spring green swirled with
violets, and a matching bonnet to go with. "There," she
said, "Your little ditty is all fixed!" For some reason I
thought Ditty was the little girl's new name, and I liked
what it did to my tongue. Both bonnet and frock, by the way,
had a nifty little snap, just the size for my small fingers.
Undressing Ditty was a simple pleasure.
I doubt that the little girl's doll is named Ditty in this
story. If I had to guess I'd say the doll's name is Manda.
In case anyone is interested, the novel the two characters
are reading did not come from any particular popular novel I
may have read. But I wouldn't mind reading a novel about the
things going through the freshman girl's mind in the instant
she asks the professor if he loves her. Maybe one chapter
would be about her wondering how many other students the
professor has made love to on this very chair. Another
chapter would be her wondering about the professor's
relations with his wife and with his own children. Another
chapter would be about her thoughts about her father, and
her father and her mother. Another chapter would be about
what she's going to do now. Another chapter would be about
the professor's shoes and his eyes and the way he sniffs his
finger. Another chapter would be about what she thinks,
fears, hopes the professor is going to say.
***********************************************************
***********************************************************
--
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>