Message-ID: <58585asstr$1234667406@assm.asstr.org>
From: Mat <mmtwassel@gmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 14 Feb 2009 22:58:25 +0000 (UTC)
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: z28g2000prd.googlegroups.com; posting-host=99.145.24.29; 
	posting-account=bcVymwoAAAD80dhqsCNZDsJXoAGtTY3N
User-Agent: G2/1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Valentine's Day Cliche by Mat Twassel
Lines: 67
Date: Sat, 14 Feb 2009 22:10:06 -0500
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

If you rush over to Ruthie's Club -  http://www.ruthiesclub.com/ -
you can find more than forty-five little Valentine's Day stories
this week, several of them by yours truly.  This Valentine's Day
story is not among them, but I thought some of you might
like it.




Valentine's Day Cliche
by Mat Twassel
============================================


She was the girl next door, petite and pretty, with
blue eyes and a golden pony tail that swayed
gracefully against her gracefully swaying hips. Even
her knees were lovely. When she smiled, everyone was
happy. When she cried, everyone was sad. Wherever she
was, people wanted to be.

He was brutally big, an old-fashioned steam
locomotive, and black as molten sin, but he didn't
have an unkind bone in his body. He didn't have the
IQ of burnt toast or the morals of a fence post, and
when he danced, steel turned to sunbeams. When he
spoke, people listened. When he was silent, people
prayed. Wherever he was, people wanted to be.

"Now that a black man is president, we can give this
nigger what he deserves," one of the judges said to
himself.

Perfect ten.

They were together. They were in love. They held
hands and everyone sighed. They kissed and everyone
melted.

Nothing could keep them apart. Not accident or
disease. Not too much of this or too little of that.
Everything was fine. Everything would always be fine.

Valentine's Day would be their first time. Our
breathing stopped in anticipation.

The fuckers closed the door.

So tight was the seal, we couldn't even tell if the
lights were on. We hadn't a clue whether they were
under the bedcovers or on the floor or floating in
each other's arms. The swell of her nipples, the
dance of her clitoris, the profound push of his him
into her her might as well have happened in heaven.
Oh, how hard we listened, but all we could hear was
the beating of our own hearts.

Until we heard a decidedly masculine grunt, a
deliciously long, low oh.  And then enough ohs for
everyone.

Once again the world was okay.


===========================================
Valentine's Day Cliche
by Mat Twassel

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <story-submit@asstr.org>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+