Jane Urquhart

 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.Moder-
 ated and for archiving by the Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated
 archive, DejaNews, and RemarQ.  Permission is also
 granted for archiving on the ASSTR Y2K web site.  All
 other rights are reserved.  Do not 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 heart-
 beat.  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 New Year.  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 fast as 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.
  
 Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart.
 Janey98@hotmail.com