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From: dez187lm@hotmail.com (H.D. Meister)
Subject: {ASSM} Story: Shit Happens - shit happens.txt [1/1]
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Greetings from the edge dear reader. Again... if you are not at least
18 or live in a community where adult material is not wanted, DO NOT
READ THIS! Post freely and archive if you desire. Critique as you see
fit. All I ask is that you do not make a profit from my work and give
the author all due credit.
--
Know you this:
I am all I am.
Nothing more...
never less.
Live or die, i do not
care.
So long as another
sees and knows
and learns,
then I am at peace.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shit Happens
By: H.D. Meister
(dez187lm@hotmail.com)
I have not seen her many times. I have not known her for long. So
why do I see us together? Why, when I can clearly picture the face of
a passably cute brunette when I jack off, am I unable to see her face?
What does she mean to me?
It has been some time since a woman has possessed this power over me.
Long have I worked to avoid this from happening again. Yet with one
look, I knew that all of the years spent running, hiding, planning,
had been useless. I was unprepared for "Shit Happens," and have paid
the price for my lack of attention.
That she is quite possibly gay and will more than likely remain so
does not matter to me. I would slaughter crying babes just to get a
warm smile from her. Not that patterned smile of those who know of
each other... a real smile with real, heart felt emotion behind it.
Even the sly smile of a man-hater is something. But I have gotten
nothing, and do not foresee any change in this.
What would it be like to kiss her lips? I have my imagination, but
that does not offer me solace. What would it be like to walk in the
night air of Summer with her at my side? What would it be like to
say, "I love you?" What would it all be like?
I can deal with the pain of rejection. Lord knows I have heard the
word "No." enough times. I do not represent what is commonly accepted
as handsome. I am me. I have wanted more, but have always been me.
I do not think I can change this, nor do I really want to. I have no
need to become another member of the hordes I see. Yet I wonder if
she will reject me for what I am, what she is, or what she believes I
am or she is. I don't know.
Maybe I'm afraid to try. Perhaps I am the coward afraid to try just
once. Maybe I'm afraid of the lesson I will learn if I do fail. If
so, then so be it. I cannot risk the pain. I have been tormented by
the sting one time too many. I am the jaded eye watching a sports
event. I know the behind-the-scenes action. The game itself has lost
its flavor. I know too much. I know the pain will come.
So then... why do I still hope? Do I want to bed her so bad that I
still cling to a feeble strand of bright hope that I will be the one
she chooses? Am I so foolish as to believe I can turn her from her
lesbian ways? Why? Am I so arrogant? Am I so vain? If not... then
why hope? Why bother wasting the energy to wonder what she thinks of
how I am dressed? Why try to make the proper impression every time I
am in her presence? Why do I continue to behave like a gentleman when
such behavior may well keep me from her? Why not simply give in and
do what the others do? Why not find a willing body who will spread
her legs and let me pleasure myself? If all I want is a quick nut,
why continue holding on to honor?
Do I actually believe that honor will win the day? Will the good guy
finally finish first? I am too old to believe in good guys and bad
guys, so why do I do it? What is she to me? Even by my own standards
we are not friends. In fact, we barely pass as associates. I have
spent a grand total of less than a full day in her presence, and that
is over close to six months! So why do I do it? Is my longing for
the chance to feast on her Mound of Venus that great? What is it that
drives me to smile warmly and speak with much care whenever she is
near?
How many days have I spent with a picture of her face in my mind? I
can see every inch of her features clearly, yet that is all I can see.
I will my inner sight to see her body, and always it is clothed as she
herself would clothe it. Simply. Casual. Perfect. Why do I not see
her naked? Surely my mind, twisted as it is, can remove her garments.
Why do I see her as everyone else sees her? Why do I crave the
forbidden knowledge of her touch? Could it be that I, like so many
other males, believe that I can change her mind? Is my dick really
that big?
When I see her on the streets, walking to whatever destination she
intends, I smile. I smile because I know that, even without knowing
much of her life... I care. Why care if all that it will get me is
more pain to heap upon that which I have already felt? I still have
years of pain to sort through and place properly... why add this? Why
do I chase a dream which is not even a dream... more like wisps of
forgotten dreams of dreams? When I am in the same room with her, I
want desperately to find that one opening. Yet I do not seek to sneak
my way in, nor do I force my way in. Why do I behave like a gentleman
when the blood of black magi and thieves pulses through these arteries
and veins? I know the ways... I know the routines... why then do I
refuse to use them? Are they not tools?
I have known Love. There was another whose heart I believed was mine.
Yet that was not the case. While I tried, I was not a man in all
aspects. Am I afraid that I will repeat my mistakes? it cannot be
sex, can it? I have been told by those who have shared my body that I
was better by far than the ones before me, but were those words just
for my ears? Am I so shallow as to assume that I will fail to please
her sexually? Is that the only link in this chain which binds me to
the tree of woe I planted? Can I honestly be afraid that my manhood
will be unable to rise to the challenge? Foolish, but still... how
many husbands have lost their wives to a limp manhood? Or an
inadequate one? And I am not even considering marriage!
I ask and ask and ask again. Never once do I get an answer. So I sit
where I find a seat and think. I think of her. I think of what could
be. I ponder how to make the impossible possible. I wait for the
sign which will show me the way. Yet I never once stop being what and
who I am. I am me, and that is truth. It is fact. It is. But the
questions will continue. I will die... and they may still be with me.
They will keep my soul tied to this Earth instead of getting what it
has earned. Heaven or hell, they will bind me here. I will be that
whisper in the ear of the man who is uncertain of his relationship.
Women will hear me in the undertones of their friends as they discuss
their partner.
And maybe.... just maybe... shit will happen.
(dez187lm@hotmail.com)
--
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