Message-ID: <30145asstr$989107805@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <PJcocoa@aol.com> From: PJcocoa@aol.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Original-Message-ID: <a.c71989b.28251da6@aol.com> Subject: {ASSM} "First Impressions" by Gary (ScFi no-sex) Date: Sat, 5 May 2001 20:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2001/30145> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates Disclaimer: Not 18? Go away. No sex in this one, anyway. "First Impressions" by Gary (ScFi no-sex) As I printed the order confirmation from Amazon.com, I was greatful once again for the relative silence of my old Canon ink-jet printer. The last thing I wanted right now was to disturb the two sleeping lumps nestled inside my shirt. At a few days old, they didn't do much besides eat and sleep, and feeding them kept me quite busy, while sleeping meant sharing my personal space and body heat. I'd taken leave from the plant this week and next because there was simply no way I could take them to work and no way I could leave them for more than minutes. I double checked the order. "Dragon Singer", Dragon Drums" and "Dragon Song" by Anne McCaffrey - replacements for books long since loaned out and never returned. I'd enjoyed them years ago. Now I needed them for research. One of the lumps twisted fitfully, tickling my ribs and making me smile. I couldn't help but reflect back... ------------------------------------------------------ It was the second day of May. I'd just returned from a trip I'd taken to participate in a Ceremony out of town. Quite a ceremony, and I still wore a blissful expression on my face - but that's a whole 'nother story. My daughter, just recently turned "sweet sixteen" had managed to get herself up and to school, but had left me a note welcoming me home and asking me to pick up a few things from the grocery store and to check on her egg. I checked on the egg first, even before storing my purple robes. She'd brought it home a couple of weeks before, saying it was for some kind of school project. Details were a little sketchy - I guess I assumed that it was one of those home-ec things where you pretend an egg is your baby or something. Eggzavier, as I thought of it (or him) had started off a bit soft, but had firmed up to a brittle hardness recently. I always thought they assigned regular hen's eggs for these projects, but Eggzavier must have been an ostrich egg or something - he was enormous compared to any grade A large I'd ever seen. Little did I know. Once I was unpacked, I looked over her shopping list. Most peculiar, the list was heavy on inexpensive cuts of meat, like round steaks and flank steak, hamburger and chicken. Was my daughter planning a lot of barbeques? The other part of the list was skin products, moisturizers and creams. No snacks, no diet soft drinks (an addiction we share), no side dishes made the list. As I said, most peculiar. Well, the budget could certainly afford everything she asked for, and if she were planning a little outdoor cooking, I'd discuss niceties like potato salad and chips when she got home from school. I checked Eggzavier again on the way out. When I rotated him in his bed of heated kitty litter (my personal coffee cup warmer providing the heat), I swear I felt him shiver. I positioned him a little deaper in his "bed" anyway, and gave him a little pat. I was home again in under an hour. The clock by the front door indicated 4:20, but it's set five minutes fast anyway. My daughter would be home in another ten minutes, nearly last off the bus, unless she stopped to visit with friends. I hung my car keys under the clock and headed for the kitchen to put up the nearly 20 pounds of meat I'd brought in. I never made it. Little Eggzavier was rocking around in his bed on the coffee table so hard, it looked like he'd roll out and end up on the floor. I quickly set down the plastic grocery bags and reached for him. No sooner did my fingers make contact than a crack split the shell nearly in two. More cracks appeared as I steadied the shell and I thought I was in imminent danger of having a baby ostrich or emu or some such in my hands. What *did* emerge, moments later, was nothing I'd ever dreamed possible. In place of some avian oddity, two identical green-skinned creatures with swirling eyes and tiny claws came creeling with hunger from the shell. There was no doubt about the hunger - I felt it in an overwhelming surge of sensation as though it was me and not they. With one hand, I reached into a grocery bag and extracted a round steak, used my teeth to rip off the plastic wrap, then again to rip off a strip of meat to place in their ravenous beaks. We kept this up through two steaks, until they were sated, me talking softly to my new dependents whenever my teeth weren't busy ripping meat. Their eyes went from a swirling red to green, before both fell asleep. When at last I could look away, I was startled to find my daughter standing in the open doorway, tears running down her cheeks. Having figured out what was going on (I have read all of the Pern novels), I could only look an apology into her blue eyes (my legacy). I could tell she knew as well as I that what was done could not be undone. I had impressed two green "fire lizards". They were meant for her, but once impression occurs, an irrevocable bond is formed. While we three lived, that bond would bind us together in a kind of telepathic, or at least telempathic symbiosys. I couldn't give her either of my charges, even if I wanted to. And now, while they slept, I needed information. "Honey," I asked softly, "where did you get that egg?" "I can't tell you that, Dad. We're sworn to secrecy. I gave my word of honor I wouldn't tell." She wiped her eyes and sat on the floor next to me, reaching out to stroke supple skin. "All right, I can respect that." For now, anyway, I thought. "Who's 'we'?" "Me and nine of my friends. We each got an egg. I got first choice and picked the biggest. I was sorta hoping for a queen. You know, a gold?" She didn't look at me, her gaze was only for the fire lizards. "Looks like we got twins, instead." I had to smile at my green ladies. "Who are the nine friends?" She listed them for me, all girlfriends who had been to the house for visits or sleep-overs at one time or another. That figured. I was vaguely pleased that no boys were on the list, until that thought caused the hair on my neck to stand up. Inadvertantly, there *was* one "boy" on the list, now. My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. As I was in no position to answer it (and calls between 4:30 and 10:00 P.M. were never for me, anyway), my daughter answered for us. The calls were steady for the next 20 minutes, with call waiting getting a workout. The tally was three bronzes and six blues. All males (the fire lizards, that is). My two were the only females. I don't know if any of the girls realized the implications. I wondered if all the eggs were from the same clutch, and whether fire lizards cared one whit about consanguinity. Nine nubile fifteen or sixteen year olds, each with a male fire lizard, and one old widower with twin female fire lizards. I worked at the Power Plant of a prison, outside the fence. I had no desire to visit the other side. How long until Pat and Julie rose to mate? Would my first indication be a brightening of there green hides? I needed to do some research. ------------------------------------------------------ That was days ago. I knew I had some time, but I was praying fervently that Amazon would not have any "shipping delays", as I had heard rumored. I'd been a widower for over three years, and I wasn't sure I could lock myself away when the time came. The image of nine teenagers surrounding me with dragon lizards perched on their shoulders, eyes swirling, while Pat and/or Julie blooded some poor squirrel in preparation for flight... ------------------------------------------------------ Special thanks to Denny for pointing me to alt.callahans and a particular set of posts. It's all his fault. -- 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: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+