Message-ID: <15271eli$9809130535@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15271.txt>
From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: {Twassel}JDR"Re: Proof Reading Sex Stories 2"()[2/3]
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Note: This message was posted by a secure email service. Please report MISUSE OR ABUSE of this automated secure email service to <abuse@anon.nymserver.com>.
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <6te066$bpq$1@sparky.wolfe.net>
JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked
the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a
comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories
itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way
to encourage them to continue entertaining you.
The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in
any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright
below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as
well.
=====================
Mat Twassel has given John Dark permission to repost this story.
This story is copyright by the author.
=====================
Re: Proof Reading Sex Stories
by Mat Twassel
mmtwassel@aol.com
Part 2
==========================================================
I should have sent this to you. I know I should have. I
wanted to include at least the idea of a sex story, at least
a sketch, a scene, something. Maybe you would have put me
on the right track. Instead, all weekend I thought about
sex stories. About the kind of sex story which might please
Laura. I wrote a few lines--an attempt to describe Laura,
but they didn't look right. My poor words weren't what she
was. How do you say about someone's lips that they're soft
and firm and hot and icy and that just the idea of them
touching... touching each other makes you tremble? And when
you add the air of her kiss, the breath which comes out of
her, well, my imagination failed me. I thought about Laura
putting on her lipstick. What would it feel like, that slim
stick of slick colored grease sliding over the skin of her
lips? Is it anything like a kiss? When you're wearing
lipstick does it feel like you're walking into a warm wind?
I wondered if next Monday at the coffee-house I'd be brave
enough to ask Laura more about lipstick. Lipstick and
kissing. Then I figured maybe I'd better not, or she'd get
the idea that I was hung-up on lipstick. Sex and lipstick.
Still, it'd be nice to watch her putting it on. And for
awhile I tried to imagine the specifics of Laura touching
the lipstick to her lips while getting ready for her date.
Those thoughts made me nervous. Well, sure she goes out on
dates. She'd hardly be one to stay at home all weekend
studying chemistry and reading philosophy and thinking about
girls, I mean boys. I stopped. It's a funny thing about
imagination--it doesn't go into reverse very well. I found
I couldn't make Laura rid herself of the lipstick: scrub it,
or blot it, or rub it, or whatever one does to get it off.
Ah, well... one thing for sure, Laura's date wasn't with me.
While my roommate was at the football game with his
girlfriend, I risked logging on to the Internet. I read a
few sex stories, hoping to get some ideas. I didn't really
get any ideas. I got hard a few times, but that wasn't what
I was looking for.
Monday morning I walked into the philosophy lecture room
once again vowing to sit next to Laura. Perhaps, side by
side in those small amphitheater-style seats our legs would
touch. And afterwards as we walked to the coffee-house,
she'd let me take her hand. Her fingers would touch mine.
We'd hold hands. Our arms would swing easily, happily. At
the coffee-house we'd order our cocoa, and I'd tell her--I'd
tell her that I didn't really write sex stories. And she'd
smile happily and say "I knew that!" and then she'd lean
over and give me another kiss. Maybe a little kiss followed
by a longer one. I was resolved.
She wasn't there.
I felt peculiar. Almost sick. Empty. How could this be?
I was worried. Was she ok? Was she ill? Had something
horrible happened? I scanned every face in the lecture room.
I thought of a million things. What was wrong? Where was
she? Why? Did it have something to do with me? With what
happened last Friday?
A minute before the hour was to begin, certain she wasn't
going to show up, on some strange impulse I got up and
scooted down the aisle and sat in Laura's seat. A couple of
kids probably thought I was queer, but I didn't care.
I had a hard time concentrating on the lecture, though. I
kept thinking maybe Laura would walk in late. She'd be so
happy to see me, she would slip into the empty seat by my
side and put her hand on top of mine, just for a moment, and
the world would be wonderful. After about ten minutes, when
this hadn't happened yet, I thought maybe she'd taken my
seat way in the back. Maybe she didn't want to disturb the
lecture. I didn't dare turn around to look for fear I'd
break the spell. The hell with rational thought, I said to
myself: Intuition is more vital. Then I promised God that
if only Laura were there I wouldn't masturbate for a week.
That should clinch it!
As I stood up after class and casually turned around, I knew
she'd be there, smiling at me, a bright wide grin, so
teasingly happy, so obviously pleased. "You silly boy," her
smile would say, "Did sitting in my seat let you feel what
it's like to be me? Feel the essence of my inner being, my
secret thoughts, my fears and hopes, my history and habits
and etcetera? You silly boy." I knew she'd be there; I knew
it in my bones and in my heart. But of course both my bones
and my heart were wrong.
I hurried to the coffee-house. For another giddy moment I
convinced myself I'd find her sitting at our usual table,
waiting for me, that big silly smile on her face, and I felt
weak and wonderful at the prospect. "Did you miss me?" she'd
ask. And I'd grin at her, and take her hand, and she'd
stand up, she'd just sort of float into my arms, into a
sweet hard hug, and then we'd kiss, and her lips would be
hotter than hot cocoa. We'd melt against one another, and
her tongue would taste of warm chocolate, and lightly
lightly we'd feel the want of each other. We'd... Well, why
go on--she wasn't there. I didn't really think she would be.
That would have been a miracle. Or something.
I ordered a cup of hot chocolate anyway. The waitress had
forgotten the lump of cream. I put my finger in the cup. It
felt familiar and at the same time unlike anything in my
experience. I sat there. All through chemistry class I sat
in the coffee-house letting the cocoa go cold.
In the afternoon I decided I'd better find out. There was
no way I could wait until Wednesday, our next class. Not
that I thought Laura was in danger... but still.... I
started going through the University phone book circling all
the Laura's. It might have taken forever, but I remembered
that our University phone directory is on-line. I found
eleven Laura's, seven of them undergrads, and I was pretty
sure, don't ask me why, that Laura Eden was the one. I was
prepared to call them all, really I was. After dinner.
***
Celeste, you probably think I didn't call.
It was about the bravest thing I've ever done. "I'll
recognize her voice," I told myself. I can always hang up.
I'll just say. I'll just....
A guy answered.
"Um, is Laura there?" I said, trying not to squeak.
"Just a sec," he said.
I heard the phone clunk against some furniture. Then he
came back on. "Who's calling?" he said.
"Adam Renner," I said, swallowing.
"Adam Renner!" I heard him echo. His voice made me feel
small and hollow. Like a little bird.
I waited. My heart hammered.
"Hello?" someone said. It was her.
"It's uh, Adam, from your philosophy class?"
She didn't say anything.
"I was wondering why you were, um, that is, when you weren't
in class this morning, I thought..." This wasn't going
well.
"I just wondered if you were ok," I said.
"Yeah, pretty ok."
"You sound a little sad."
"Do I? No, I'm not."
"That's good," I said.
I waited, hoping she would say something. She didn't.
"Will you be... I mean, would you like my class notes. From
today? I could type them up and e-mail them to you or
something."
"Type them up?" she said.
"Should I do that?" I said.
"You would do that?"
"Sure."
"You are so sweet," she said. "Why don't you just come
over."
"Come over?"
"Come over."
I set right off, philosophy notebook tight in my hand.
Laura lived more than a mile beyond the other side of
campus. I walked fast. Sometimes I trotted. Sometimes I
ran. I switched the notebook from hand to hand so the cover
would stay dry. I tried not to think about too many things,
just to get there, but I couldn't help wondering whether I
was dressed ok. Whether I had I written something stupid in
my notes. I tried not to think too much about the man's
voice. About how I was dressed. About how sad Laura's
hello had sounded.
An exposed outside stairway climbed Laura's two story
building. I stood on the landing in front of her door, 2B,
looking for a doorbell. Eventually I knocked. I feared the
sound wouldn't carry through what looked like heavy wood,
but soon enough I heard someone shout, "It's open, come on
in." It was a girl's voice, not Laura's. I hesitated--
suddenly almost certain I was in the wrong place. The
doorknob was slippery. I tried to firm my grip. "Push hard
if it's stuck," the girl's voice said. I pushed hard. The
door popped open.
It was strange. A big bright living room empty of all of
furniture. No drapes nor blinds. Just a big bare window to
the left looking out over Twilight Park, and inside bright
bare walls and a gleaming bright hardwood floor and on the
ceiling a sizable chandelier with dozens of flame-shaped
bulbs grinning with glittery light.
A guy sat semi-sprawled against the facing wall. A girl sort
of lay in his lap. The girl was not Laura. The guy was
enormous. The girl was long and lovely. She was sipping
from an old-fashioned Coke bottle and feeding the guy
popcorn, and he was apparently reading a book. I stood in
the doorway not knowing what to do, not knowing what might
be expected of me. The girl plucked one piece of popcorn
from the big ceramic bowl and poked it into the boy's mouth.
It was almost as if she were feeding a baby bird, except
this baby bird weighed close to 300 pounds.
"Shut the door and come on in," the girl said. She had red
hair, fiery ringlets cascading all over the boy's lap. "I'm
Rikka," she said, "and this oversized galoot is Bob."
"Hiya," said Bob.
I recognized him. Bob (Big-Guy) Guy, all-conference nose-
guard from our football team. Even slumped against the wall
he was immense, like a corn-crib or missile-silo or
mountain-peak rising up over everything.
"You want Laura, right?" Rikka said.
I nodded.
"She's on the phone," Rikka said, "Want some popcorn while
you wait?" Even across the room, her green eyes glittered
with something I couldn't name, and it made me tremble.
"I'm Adam," I ventured.
"We know," Rikka said. And then to Bob she added, "Adam
writes sex stories on the Internet."
"Cool," Bob said, looking up from his book.
"Say," Bob continued, "You aren't that Madam Adam, are you?
I really dig her stuff."
"He's a guy, you boner-brain," Rikka said. "How could he be
Madam Adam?"
"What do you mean?" Bob said.
Rikka pinched his nose.
"You think Madam Adam's not a guy?" Bob said.
Rikka didn't say anything. She just pinched Bob's nose
again. Harder.
"Ow," Bob said. He caught Rikka's wrist. She put the
little Coke bottle on the floor and used her free hand to
pinch Bob's nose. She held on. "Take that Mr. Smarty
Pants."
"Leggo," Bob said. She didn't. "Leggo," Bob said again.
Rikka giggled and hung on. Bob moved his huge hand, took
hold of one of Rikka's breasts, and squeezed. "Miss Smarty
Tits," Bob said and soon Rikka let go of his nose.
"That hurt," Rikka said.
"You liked it," Bob said.
"Shows what you know," Rikka said. She sat up slightly,
untucked the pale yellow work-out blouse from the matching
sweat-pants, and pulled the bottom of her shirt-front all
the way up. Her little breasts bobbled wonderfully in the
empty air. I could see some red marks around the one Bob
had pawed, and the small nipple, pale and plump.
"Want me to kiss it and make it better?" Bob offered.
"Ha!" Rikka said. She took hold of her Coke bottle, and for
a moment I thought she might bash him. Instead she did the
most wonderful thing. I don't know if I can describe it.
She scooted herself forward on her bottom until she was a
few feet from Bob. Her knees were up and she almost looked
like she was kissing the top her knee. And then, in slow-
motion, she let her legs stretch out along the bare floor
without taking her mouth from her knee--the far forward
position of an especially supple sit-up. She stayed that
way for a moment, stretched out soft and tight, as graceful
a line as I've ever seen, and then she lay back, letting her
head rest on the floor next to Bob's hip.
"Rikka?" Bob said.
Rikka brushed Bob's hand away from her face, and again in
exquisitely slow motion, she brought her legs over her
head, so now she was in the same position as before except
upside-down, her back flat on the floor, her body folded
over itself, at once elegant and exact, soft and smooth as
cake batter, jack-knife slim and sleek.
Bob reached over, began to put his hand upon the pale yellow
curve of her firm little haunch, but before he could touch
her bottom, his fingers still an inch above the precision of
her butt, Rikka simply snapped into standing. Her spring was
unexpected and perfect and over in an instant, like a snake
striking. I had never been this close to something at once so
athletic and graceful.
"Sorry there's nowhere to sit," she said to me, brushing a
waterfall of red hair away from her eyes. "We're thinking
of painting."
"Oh," I said.
I tried to avert my eyes, but it was impossible to
do anything other than fasten them upon Rikka's bold
little breasts as she walked towards me. The right one had
remained uncovered, its nipple tilted towards the light. The
other nipple, still covered, poked hard against the cloth.
Rikka, apparently unconcerned, handed me the Coke bottle.
The glass was vaguely warm, half-empty, nowhere near as
green as Rikka's eyes. I stood there, holding my philosophy
notebook in one hand, Rikka's Coke bottle in the other.
"I'm not all that thirsty," I mumbled.
Rikka chuckled. "So you write sex stories, huh?" she said.
I nodded, a single guilty nod. She stood only inches away,
and her eyes blazed. Her exposed nipple seemed to twitch,
to lift itself almost imperceptibly, and I remembered Rikka
a moment ago kicking herself into the air. I shivered.
"I make you hard, don't I?" she said. Her voice had the
barest hint of a laugh in it.
I nodded again.
"There is one thing I've always wondered," she said. Her
green eyes were wide and gleaming. Her hands were doing
something at my front, nimbly working the buckle, the snap,
the zip.
"What I wonder is..." She paused, and her eyes smiled a
little, and I could feel air on my penis just before her
top teeth caught the plump bottom of her lower lip. Her
fingers gripped me, her touch was soft and hard, icy cool
and wickedly hot at once, and her thumb brushed the top
solemnly, smearing the skin of wet around and around.
"What I wonder is..." Rikka repeated. Her fingers held a
moment, then tightened and moved slowly, almost
imperceptibly: the slimmest fraction of movement,
excruciatingly intense.
She paused, offered the flicker of impish grin before her
face turned serious. "What I wonder is... does pre-cum have
a hyphen?"
Then, grip full and firm, she whisked her fingers up and
down, three or four brisk strokes, thumb still on top,
trembling across my slit, and in no time I splattered hard
and full and practically forever.
"There," Rikka said, and her grin grew wide again, and she
freed her hand, letting my underwear snap hard against the
head of my penis just as Laura came around the corner.
I ran.
Well, not ran exactly. First I twisted away from Laura's
eyes, and then I tried to buckle myself up and open the
door. I have no idea how I managed to do this without
letting go of my notebook or the Coke bottle, but I did.
I'm sure Laura saw me. Of course she saw me... in all my
gloriously hopeless shame. What can she think of me now? I
couldn't imagine. Maybe she laughed. Maybe she cried.
Maybe she thought nothing at all. I did not know. I did
not know which would be the worst.
I stood outside at the edge of Twilight Park and watched
Laura's window. I waited for something to happen. The
window remained bright and golden, filled with the light of
that flaming chandelier. I thought maybe someone would come
to the window, or maybe the light would go off, but no one
came to the window, and the light did not go off, and eventually
I left.
=====================================================
end of part 2 of 3
=====================
Re: Proof Reading Sex Stories
by Mat Twassel
Part 2
-30-
--
+----------------' 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>