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From: "Jane Urquhart" <janey98@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP: (Jane Urquhart) Y2K (fm rom, strange)
Date: Sun, 26 Dec 1999 23:10:01 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Y2Kpost.txt" begin>
WARNINGS: This story includes explicit descriptions of sexual acts. If
reading this might involve you or another person in an illegal act, or you
are offended by the exploration of adult themes in literature or on the
Internet, do not read further.
Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart.
The author is a member of the Net Authors and Creators Union (NACU),
which defends the rights of Internet authors and creators. NACU intends to
bring suit against any person or corporation infringing copyright.
Specific permission is granted for publication in the newsgroups
Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for archiving by the
Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and Deja. All other rights are reserved.
Donot repost or distribute by any other means without express permission
from the author.
NOTE: In olden times, a little story like this was called a "fancy,"
which meant a tale not subject to all the strictures of reality. I am
aware of the controversy over the starting date of the new millennium, and
I know that it will begin somewhere in the Pacific and not in Times Square.
But this is a fancy.
Y2K (FM rom, strange)
by Jane Urquhart
"Martha, what's bugging you?"
Should I tell him? I thought not, but I knew I would. I've never liked
New Year's Eve much. It's like a birthday. What's to celebrate? You're
glad you're getting older? That's when you're a kid, not when you can feel
the bad back and the sore knees and have to wear reading glasses. But even
when I was a kid I thought New Year's was scary. All these people
partying, drinking, having fun. What are they celebrating? That they've
survived another year? They certainly can't be celebrating what's coming,
because they don't know.
"I'm scared, that's all," I said. "Haven't you noticed? I'm always
that way on New Year's Eve. And Y2K is worse. I don't know why, but
it's worse this year."
I smiled at him. He certainly wasn't one of my problems. Well, maybe
he was, because he's getting older, too, and he's older than I am. I'm
forty-two. He's fifty. Or will be next month. So, yes, he was a problem.
Works too hard, plays too little, getting around to heart attack time. But
he's cheerful, and fun, and he still says I'm beautiful. I love him.
"Dear old Martha," he said, smiling that "I care about you" smile he
has. I know that one, just as I know all the others. That one is the best,
I think. "I wish I could kiss it and make it better."
"You could," I said. I smiled again.
So he did. It wasn't time, yet, for the regulation New Year's kiss, but
he set his champagne glass down on a lamp table, took mine out of my hand
and put it down, too, and put his arms around me.
"It's early," he said, looking into my eyes, still smiling."Fifteen
minutes to go. But I believe in starting early."
He pulled me hard up against him. My breasts pushed against his chest.
I could feel his thighs against mine. He leaned down and put his lips on
mine, gently, at first, then harder. I could feel his heartbeat. He
tasted sweet, of champagne. I opened my mouth and took his tongue inside,
and he squeezed me harder. I didn't know it would be like that, there at
our own party, with all those people around. But he was in charge, not me,
and I was more than willing to go along.
He didn't pull away, he kept on fondling me with his tongue. I was
smiling to myself. "Hoo-Ha!" I thought. "This is getting interesting!"
And the kiss went on and on. He pulled back just a little and brought a
hand around to put it between us on my breast. Right there in front of all
those people! It did feel good! And the kiss went on and on. And then he
pulled away, bowed, and kissed my hand. My goodness! I was smiling, then,
I'll tell you! People were looking at us and they smiled, too. Floor
show!
"We could just leave and go to the bedroom," he said, quietly.
"And miss seeing the ball come down and all the people yelling?" I was
still smiling, and my pulse was getting stronger and faster. "And leave
them all to wonder why the hostess wasn't there?"
"We could do that, yes," he said, smiling the way he does when he's
daring me to do something. I know that one,too.
He was still holding my hand, so I gave him a little tug and turned
toward the door. I looked over my shoulder at him, smiling. He came
willingly, and we almost ran up the stairs.
In the bedroom somebody had left the TV on. As I entered I could see it
showing a small crowd of people in what looked like a park. They were
carrying signs that said, "Repent!" and "This is the End!" and things like
that. Poor things. Then it was back to Times Square and people yelling
and milling around and a man going on and on about the NewYear. I went
over and pushed the mute button.
We didn't have to talk. I had only to glance at him to see this wasn't
one of those nights when he'd tease me by taking my clothes off one thing
at a time and kissing me all over and saying dumb things about how
beautiful I was. This was one of those times we just stood on opposite
sides of the bed and zipped and pulled and got undressed as fastas we
could. This time he had that little smile that said, "Get ready! I'm going
to squeeze you and push you around and kiss you and make you scream with
joy!" I was ready, oh, yes! So was he.
Then we were in the bed and I was holding him tight and he pushed his
leg between mine and pushed me over on my back and that was fine because I
wanted him and he wanted me and what could be better? So I reached down
and put his penis right where it belonged and he began to suck at a nipple
and I put a hand on his head and he pushed and pulled and I met his every
thrust with one of my own and he put his mouth on mine and yes, I screamed
with joy, but not very loud. I was feeling so intoxicated by all this that
I didn't think about anything at all and then I began to feel the great
shock wave building and it hit the top and crashed, leaving me ready for
more, and he kept right on going and then he stiffened and started moaning
and I could feel his warmth filling me and then he collapsed on top of me
and I held him gently for a moment or two until he raised his head and
kissed me, sweetly, and I held him tight and then I let him go.
He lay next to me so our hips could press together and he looked at me
and smiled the one that only comes at times like that and tells me he feels
so good because he loves me and he can give me pleasure and I can do the
same for him and of course it's a miracle. And I smiled, too, of course,
because it *is* a miracle and I love him.
Then he propped himself up on an elbow and looked across me at the
TV and I looked at it, too.
"The ball is coming down, " he said, which made it official even
though I could see it, too, and I smiled.
"Happy New Year!" I said.
"New century!" he said.
"New millennium!" I said.
"And then the ball hit the bottom.
The TV blanked out; the lights went off.
"I guess they missed a chip somewhere," I said. But I was scared again.
He'd taken that away for a while and I was grateful.
We couldn't hear any traffic. It was deathly quiet. I rose and went to
the window. There was a little ice in one corner of it, but I could see
outside. It was a clear night. Then I saw a star go out. And another.
"The stars are going out," I said. I was scared.
He came over behind me and put both arms around me and looked out the
window himself.
"I didn't believe you," he said. "But they are."
Then the big tree out by the road disappeared. Just like that. Then
the house across the way. Just gone. Nothing. Oh, my! Those people on
the TV, they were right. But he was holding me. I trembled, but I wasn't
really scared. He was holding me.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you," I replied.
Then the walls of the room began somehow to shimmer. They gave off a
low, strange light. Then they disappeared, too.
-----THE END----
NOTE: My thanks to Miles Naismith, who always helps me; and to Spline
Duck and Old Rotorhead, who are very good critics. Faults are all mine.
Please write to Jane Urquhart at janey98@hotmail.com
The author is a member of the Net Authors and Creators Union (NACU),
which defends the rights of Internet authors and creators. NACU intends to
bring suit against any person or corporation infringing copyright.
Specific permission is granted for publication in the newsgroups
Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for archiving by the
Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and Deja. All other rights are reserved.
Do not repost or distribute by any other means without express permission
from the author.
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