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From: Delta <delta@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} PC (late) "You Can't Get There From Here" by Delta (MF)
Date: Thu, 29 Jun 2000 14:10:13 -0400
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RE
Should you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by
E-mail at:
delta @ nym . alias . net
Comments and critizisms are welcome.
Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character
within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead. No
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's
imagination. Copyright retained by the author and this post
is for private use of the reader only. It is not to be published
in any form whatsoever, including being made available on BBSs,
or on Web Pages, without the express prior consent of author.
Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which
they reside are asked to please pass by.
Delta.
YOU CAN'T GET THERE FROM HERE
by Delta (c) 2000
Four o'clock in the afternoon and the clouds were scudding
across the sky. It was going to storm. I looked at my watch,
which was a pretty pathetic thing to do, seeing as I'd just
noted the time on the dashboard clock. Time. Sometimes we
are obsessed with it.
Funny thing about looking at a watch though. Observe people.
After one looks at his watch go up to him. Ask him what time it
is. Most often he'll look at his wrist once more before being able
to tell you the time. Thing is, first time he wasn't looking to
see what time it was. He was probably looking to see how long he
had to be somewhere, whether he was running late or was too early.
Something like that. Never really noticed the time.
I smiled to myself. At least that was true when most people
had real watches, not these new digital gadgets. Four o'clock.
I had time. If, that was, I was on the right track. These damned
country roads. So confusing. No use even looking at the map.
Damn. There was a bridge ahead. Nowhere on my map had there
been any indication that there would be a bridge. I sighed. Did
it really matter? Really? Tell the truth, I had until noon
tomorrow. I was early, wanting to look over the country, to
enjoy things before life became really hectic.
It was one of those old wooden affairs, trellised. Something
moved. A woman with long blonde hair. She was standing at the
edge of the bridge looking down. Her hair was moving, blowing in
the rising wind.
They can say what they want about men, but I wasn't about
to live up to the stereotype. I stopped halfway across and rolled
down the window. The fresh air hit me in the face, cooler than
I would have thought. I'd been driving with the air conditioning
on and had never given a thought to the real weather outside.
"Excuse me, Miss," I called out. She didn't move. "Excuse
me," I called a little louder. She had a nice figure, from the
back. She was wearing a loose dress, but when the wind gusted
from different directions it molded itself to her. The dress
came down to about mid-calf and was one of those old flower
print designs--buttoned up the front, for there were no buttons
on the back. She heard me the second time.
Very slowly she straightened and turned around. The grey
eyes which caught and held my gaze had me almost gasping. There
was something in them. Something I badly wanted, yet didn't want
to see.
"Yes?" Funny how a single word can speak volumes. Funny
how a voice saying a single word can trap you.
"I'm looking for Sesrun Crossing. Seem to have gotten a
little turned around." Damn. My voice wasn't usually that husky.
She held my gaze for an interminably long time. It was as
if her eyes were peering into my very soul. It shook me and for
some strange reason I was hoping against hope that she would like
what she found there.
"Sesrun Crossing?"
"Yes."
She contemplated me for a while longer. This was fine by
me. It gave me the opportunity to look at her as well. The wind
gusted and molded that loose dress against her bosom. She wasn't
big, but the outline of what lay beneath seemed just fine to me.
Judging by the small bumps I saw in the thin dress, she wasn't
wearing anything under it, at least not on top. So, I looked my
fill while pretending not to look.
That did me no good. It was as if my thoughts were open
to her. Her lips moved a minute amount as if at the very beginning
of a shy smile, then stopped. Her head tilted slightly and she
considered me once more. Finally she pursed her lips, a decision
made.
"You can't get there from here."
You can't get there from here? What kind of an answer was
that? You can't get there from here. You can get to anywhere
from anywhere else. What did that mean, 'you can't get there
from here'. I had the sudden, almost sick, feeling that she knew
something, something I was afraid I didn't want to know.
It was my turn to look into her eyes. Grey, as I had noted,
but something else, fearless. I wasn't a small man and I was
looking a little rough, but that made no difference. Knowing eyes.
Sad, kind of. Now, where did I get that from? Certainly no
expression which she'd made would give me any such clue and I
doubt that one in a hundred people would use that term to describe
them.
One in a hundred. Did that make me special? My eyes had
unfocused and I found I was looking off into the distance. I
started and shook my head slightly, returning again to her eyes.
Yes, I could see it in them now. To her, to this strange woman,
I was something special.
She brushed the hair away from her face as the wind blew
it in front of her eyes. Nice slim fingers. No rings. Almost
the first thing men are taught to notice. Her lips curved up
into a smile as she noted the direction of my gaze and my
conclusion. Her gaze dropped to my hands. No rings there
either. Of course, for both of us, that could mean anything
or nothing. But somehow we both knew. I *knew* and I knew that
she knew.
I looked down again and those little bumps on the front of
her dress had grown. I imagined undoing the buttons, sliding it
from her shoulders and gazing on what lay beneath. I thought of
taking the time needed to show her . . .
The time. I didn't have all that much time. Not if I wanted
to get to Sesrun Crossing. Not if I wanted to complete . . .
How badly did I want that? A quiet half laugh half snort escaped.
I had just been working the last five years towards it, that's all.
An eyebrow quirked. I'd never known anyone who could get
so much mileage out of so meager an expression. A smile split my
own face and I suddenly realized that my mood had lightened
considerably. Strange thing was I hadn't known it was dark at
all before.
Her lips parted. Lovely lips. They parted just that
fraction, that beautiful fraction that meant so much and the eyes
smoldered. I felt myself growing hard, and the tiniest light in
her eyes told me that she knew that, too. It was a look of
satisfaction, of womanly knowing.
She was beautiful. An embodiment of beauty, though I hadn't
seen it 'til just that moment. And I wanted her. Wanted her so
badly that I couldn't believe it.
I'm sure that bloomed around me like an aura. I'm sure that
not one in a hundred would be able to miss it. She didn't and
I heard that little gasp from her as she recognized what she was
dealing with. I heard that little gasp above the wind, above the
flapping of her dress against her legs, above the purring of the
car's engine.
Her tongue came out and touched her lips, moistening them.
A reflex action. She stood a little straighter now, shoulders
back as she now gazed confidently into my eyes. She knew her own
power and how I was reacting to it. I could see the power go
through her as she took a deep breath.
Unconsciously I had synced my breathing to hers, for as
her bosom rose and fell I suddenly noted that my chest did the
same. Let's not make any mistake here. Yes, I felt her power
grow, but at the same time mine did as well.
Five years worth of work. Five years of struggling and
yearning. Five years? Make that fifteen since the start, since
the idea had made itself known. Fifteen years and the culmination
waiting at Sesrun Crossing.
She strode up to the door and I slid across to the passenger's
seat. Opening the door she stepped in and I could feel the heat
from her, even as the cool wind whirled around the interior of the
car.
She slipped the car into gear and we slowly made our way
off the bridge. About a mile later she turned off, going down
an old dirt road . . . more a trail than a road, really. We
reached a cabin. She turned the engine off and withdrew the
keys from the ignition. I exited the passenger door and allowed
her to lead me up to the front door. The sky had grown much
darker in the time it took us to get there.
Inside we started a fire in the old wood stove. She lit
a coal-oil lantern and it's yellow flame lit the inside of the
small cabin even as a bolt of thunder echoed through the room.
It was a one room cabin, with a bed curtained off to one side.
Old cupboards, in disrepair, hung on the wall above a sink.
I shivered in the coolness, until the fire began to warm the
room.
She turned from the stove and stood tall. Tall and proud.
I reached out and cupped her face. She allowed her head to lean
into my palm and the fires within me leapt mightily. Running
my fingers through her hair was something I'll never forget.
The small moan, the slight rocking of her head as she enjoyed
the sensation was exquisite.
I was all tight inside, that good sort of tightness which
feels so incredible when it releases. I wanted that minute to
go on forever, but I was too greedy. My hands made their way
down to her shoulders and stroked along her arms until I held
her hands in mine.
Electricity passed between us. The kind of electricity
that you know will be there when the lust has been sated and
it is time for the gentle sharings. Lust, however, had not
yet been sated and both of us tensed at the connection. Again,
that good kind of tension.
She allowed me to open the buttons on the front of her
dress, allowed me to slip it from her shoulders and allowed
the dress to puddle on the floor. She took my breath away.
Such a gift, and for me only. I carefully stroked her breasts,
her sides, her stomach.
The yellow lamplight flickered in the drafty cabin, but
the stove had made it very comfortably warm in a remarkably
short time.
Lightning flashed and reflected in her eyes. It was
her turn and she took it. Taking my face in her hands, she turned
it first one way, then the other. Then she pulled it down and
placed her lips upon my own. Lightning . . . and I don't mean
outside.
One by one she undid my shirt's buttons, turned me around,
slipped it from my shoulders and allowed it to slide down my
arms, to puddle on the floor on top of her dress.
The tug on my belt opened my eyes and I saw the smile of
satisfaction as my pants joined my shirt. (I had already
disposed of my socks and shoes--it comes in handy being able to
do that without the use of hands.)
She was tall and didn't have to look up much to catch my
gaze. Have I used the word proud yet? Well, I guess I'll just
have to use it again, for there is no other word to describe
how she looked. Proud in the full strength of a woman who is
with the man she wants. She held out her hand, palm up. It took
me about five seconds. I nodded, bent over and pulled it from
my pocket. Boy Scout. Always prepared.
Her head tilted to the side and her grey eyes laughed as
she cupped her palm and blew onto the wrapper. That tongue came
out and slowly made the route around her lips. Sensuousness
personified. She looked meaningfully at my shorts and I hurried to
obey her unspoken command. There was satisfaction at my state
and she opened the wrapper, pulled out the contents and discarded
that which needed to be discarded.
Slim cool fingers stroked me up and down and my hardness
grew. My hands were not idle, either, as I caressed and stroked
my lover. I pulled her close to me, to feel her breasts against
my chest, to touch and stroke her soft skin, feel the muscles of
her back, the warmth of her front, my hardness pressed into her
belly.
The slightest pressure of her finger loosened my hold and
she made a little room in between us for her hands to work even
as her head turned up and I bent my own to take her lips.
I gasped as she teased me, lightly running her fingers over
me, tickling the hairs, causing me to want her so much more.
One hand stroked up and down my hardness, then her other palm
pushed onto my tip even as the tip of her tongue moved out to
play with mine.
I could feel the circled fingers of her left hand moving
up and down as the right slowly wrapped the length of me. All the
time I was distracted by the tongue which lightly traced my own
sensitive lips.
She was finished and I was only starting. My own hand
moved down and caressed and stroked and the energy within me
jumped with each passionate moan. So lovely, so dear.
Finally it was too much for either of us. She lay me down
on the bed and straddled me, her moist heat trapping my hardness
between us. We kissed and she rose up, positioned me and then
came down once again. We remained like that, unmoving for an
eternity. A brilliant flash followed closely by a powerful roar
ended eternity and we began moving in that age old way, slowing
and speeding as the impulse took us.
Then it was a runaway train. Us. Moving ever faster,
breath coming in gasps, heat building, senses overloading.
I don't know that we came together, her first or me first.
Actually I don't really remember coming at all. What I remember
was a feeling of being home. Something I'd never really felt
before.
We lay in each other's arms for a long time. I unwrapped
myself, tying a knot and dropping it into the garbage. We washed
each other from a basin of water which had been warmed on the
stove. We dried each other and then returned to the bed.
The thunder moved off into the distance and the rain drummed
its song on the roof, lulling us to sleep.
Morning.
The sun shone in the window and I awoke to see her watching
me. There was a little smile about her face and I wondered what
she had seen, just watching me sleep.
Then something came to her eyes. That hint of sadness I'd
noted the day before. I had about four hours to get to Sesrun
Crossing. I had been on that road for fifteen years. I looked
at the woman in bed with me. She knew what I was thinking. And
I knew what she was thinking. She was going to give me directions.
She opened her mouth to speak, but I placed a finger across
her lips. What was fifteen years weighed against the rest of my
life?
"You were right," the first words to cross my lips since
the bridge, "I can't get there from here."
The End of "You Can't Get There From Here" by Delta
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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