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Message-ID: <30417asstr$990562204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Deja User" <empath69@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Never Ugly, Darling" {Empath} (MF oral rom) [2/3]
Date: Tue, 22 May 2001 16:10:04 -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


SURPRISE!  It's actually me; yes, I *finally* managed to get a story written and ready for posting.  I've been living at Witt's End these past couple of weeks - after five months of increasingly desperate jobhunting, I get not one, but TWO jobs!  I'm helping out my hairdresser with her accounting system (bringing her into the 21st century) in a 'temporary consulting' project, but I also start training with my new job of "Customer Service Associate" at a call center - tech support, not telemarketing:)

Anyway, I dunno how much time I'll be able to devote to writing, even though - as always - my mind is fizzing with ideas.  Dancer's latest Disk o' Stuff should be here in another day or two, so you will get SOMETHING to read.

Anyway, I've gabbed on long enough (someone prominent told me to cut back on the 'optional extras':), so go ahead and enjoy!

Best wishes and happy reading,
Empath

------------------------------------------------------------


<1st attachment, "NvrUgly2.txt" begin>

SUBJECT LINE:
{ASSM} "Never Ugly, Darling" {Empath} (MF oral rom) [2/3]


Admonition/Disclaimer: This story has explicit descriptions 
of people engaging in careless and unprotected sexual 
activity in it, and shouldn't be accessed by minors or by 
those who consider the aforementioned acts objectionable.  
I cannot take any responsibility if this advice is not 
taken.

Copyright notice: I, the author of this tawdry pile of 
maudlin feelings masquerading as smut, hold all rights of 
reproduction to this work of prose.  Private copies for 
personal perusal and archives for NON-commercial 
distribution are permitted, though in the latter case 
please contact the author before doing so.

Plea for attention: The only reward ASS* authors can expect 
is the joy of sharing their creation with the rest of 
humanity.  So if you like someone's work, it's only fair to 
email them to say so.  I promise that it'll make YOU feel 
good to send kudos, so give it a try!  As always you may 
contact me, and my wife Dancer, through my 'legacy' Deja 
News Email account: <empath69@my-deja.com>  

Author's Note: This is part two of a trio of 'chapters'.  
The first is actually little more than a long flashback, 
but it will be necessary for you to read it first if you 
want to understand what's going on. 

-------


Never Ugly, Darling - part two
By Empath
Copyright, 2001
===============

Okay, so that's how Dani and I met, and how we fell in 
love.  The rest of high school was more of the same; me 
going through the drama classes and productions, Dani 
keeping her place on the track team.

Yes, she's short - probably five-foot-even.  I know some of 
you are asking how someone with a small stride ever made it 
onto the team.  It's simple - she was primarily a short-
distance sprinter, where her energy more than made up for 
any lack in leg length.

Anyway, Senior Prom came along and technically neither of 
us asked the other to go; it was just assumed we'd go 
together.  I was with her when she picked out her dress - 
had to know so I could get a corsage that complimented it, 
after all.  No, we weren't nominated King and Queen, but we 
enjoyed ourselves with our friends and had a great time.

After graduation we got into the local college; I went for 
a 'you want fries with that?' English degree, while Dani 
got accepted into the Physical Education program - her 
dream has been - and still is - to coach kids.

While studying, she took English courses for electives - 
originally to be with me for at least part of her day - and 
found she liked it; she's still working on a double-major 
program of Phys. Ed. and English!  I got my sheepskin just 
last spring, and was in a total of ONE production before 
Fate stepped in.

I was working in an anonymous clerical job to cover our 
living expenses.  Dani was lucky enough to get a sports 
scholarship that allowed Mr. and Mrs. Green to lavish us 
with a nice apartment while my folks worried about my 
tuition, but when my lovely girl extended her education by 
several years, the scholarship wouldn't cover the whole 
term.  Her parents were now paying for her schooling, while 
my job paid rent, utilities, food, and little else.

I still had time to take part in a production of "Twelve 
Angry Men" that spring.  It was okay, but I think I was 
miscast as the 'guilty holdout' - I can't convey hate and 
anger so well.  Since the other important roles were more 
than adequately filled, I acquiesced and took the part for 
experience.

It was the Saturday morning after our opening performance, 
and I was lying in bed with Dani reading the reviews - she 
was 'lost' in Milton, poor girl.  Most of them were honest 
and accurate; nothing was exceptional, and I was the weak 
link.  One critic said he couldn't HATE me enough to follow 
the plot; is that a BAD thing?

But it was review in the 'Gazette' that piqued my ire.  It 
was confused, muddled and sounded like the critic had been 
watching a DIFFERENT PLAY.  I made grunting noises and 
exasperated sighs as I waded through the article.  Dani 
didn't take the bait - she was flipping between 'Paradise 
Lost' and the Cliff's Notes for the former.

I thought over the choice before me, and decided that me 
griping about this p-o-s review was more important than 
Dani making doubtful progress in one of the most difficult 
works in English literature.

"Look at this - this guy is an absolute idiot!"

"Hmmm?"  Danielle looked up, her eyes unfocused, as if she 
was still reading Milton's cryptic prose.

"This review in the Gazette - the guy sounds like he never 
actually saw our play!"

"Well, not everyone can be Roger Ebert, hon."

"Thank God for that.  But look here - he compares my 
performance to Henry Fonda's in the movie!"

"Yeah?  That's good, isn't it?"

"Dani, darling - Henry Fonda played a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT 
character; Drew had his role - the one who was the only 
'innocent' vote at the start."

She put her books down with a surprising relieved 
expression on her face.  "Oh.  Yeah, which juror was he - 
number four?"

I looked sheepish - we'd been down this road before.  "Er, 
seven...I think."

The little imp next to me smiled maliciously.  "What's this 
- Mr. 'A good actor commits the script to memory' can't 
remember the title of the protagonist?"  The little devil 
knew EXACTLY what I was talking about, but wanted to pop my 
balloon.

"Come on - the twelve characters have NO NAMES; no dialogue 
ever uses a proper noun.  And you know what I'm like with 
numbers; I still have trouble with our own phone number!"

"Oh, all right - gimme that."  She took the paper from me 
and read through the review.  When she was done, Dani had a 
puzzled expression on her face.  "Okay, you have a point - 
did this guy even SEE your play?"

"That's what I'm wondering!  I mean he praises my 'evoking 
sympathy from the audience' - I'm the VILLIAN!"

My lover thought for a second, apparently recalling the 
play from the night before.  "Well, at the end, when you 
buckle under and we learn WHY you've been so prejudiced 
against the accused; maybe he was talking about how you 
made the audience feel sorry for you?  I know I did."

"Bah - you *always* feel sorry for me!" I joked.  "But you 
may have a point.  Okay, maybe he was in the audience."

"It'd also explain the Fonda comparison - he's always 
played likeable characters, hasn't he?"  We paused to scour 
our memories of old movies.  

"Yeah...yeah, I *think* so..."

"There you go - you're such a likeable guy yourself," she 
emphasized this by hugging me, "that you can't help looking 
like Henry Fonda!"

"Flatterer!  I still think this hack couldn't tell the 
difference between Adam Sandler and Laurence Olivier!"

"Al - please; one of them's dead!"

"And the other can't act."

She shoved me playfully.  "Hey - I like Sandler.  You liked 
'The Wedding Singer,' didn't you?"

"And nothing else he's done - the guy has serious anger-
management problems which he relies on instead of acting."

"I heard some distinct laughter from your side of the couch 
when we rented 'Happy Gilmore.'"

"Only because the shmuck was getting hoisted by his own 
petard."

"English - scratch that - Modern English, please."

"Okay, when Gilmore's getting into a fight with Bob Barker 
- he loses his characteristically short temper and resorts 
to slugging it out with an elderly celebrity, right?"  My 
audience nodded.  "As usual, the character relies on 
violence to solve his problems.  The funny part is that it 
backfires totally - Barker hands him his ass on a silver 
platter.  He got shown that violent confrontation - even 
just screaming at people, which he usually falls back on - 
doesn't always work."

"I thought so," Dani commented cryptically.  "Anyway, I 
like him as an actor, regardless of your snooty opinions."

I smiled back at my grinning girl and retorted "You're a 
sad, strange young woman, but I love you anyway."

She pushed me with a shoulder and teased right back.  
"Snob."

I pushed back.  "Easily-amused trollop."

I'd guessed right - Dani rolled on top of me.  "Elitist 
prick!"  She accentuated that remark by reaching between us 
and squeezing my hardening cock.

I stretched up and kissed her with more passion than 
playfulness.  "Common WHORE."

She growled and started gnawing at my chest.  Danielle kept 
moving down my body until she was sitting on the floor just 
at the foot of the bed.  "C'mere, lover," she said, licking 
her lips.  I schooched down the bed to let my legs dangle.

Dani moved between my knees and looked at my crotch with an 
eager expression.  "Gee, somebody looks excited; did *I* do 
that?"  She craned her neck and kissed the tip of my cock, 
then suddenly engulfed the head with her mouth.  

As my mind returned its attention to the rest of the world, 
I raised my head and looked at my girlfriend while she 
sucked lightly on my prick.  Her eyes met mine and they had 
a laughing twinkle in them that pleased me even more than 
what she was doing.

I stroked her fiery tresses, moving my fingers forward to 
caress her cheek.  Dani stopped and looked at me puckishly.  
"Oh, Al - you're so big; I don't know if I can take much 
more than that!"  I rolled my eyes at her over-the-top ego 
stroking; it barely worked the first time, and now?  It was 
nice that she tried, anyway.  I sat up, hunched down to 
kiss this darling woman and said, "I'm sure you'll do all 
you can, won't you?"  She grinned back in reply and moved a 
hand to stroke me.

When she began to lick all over the head, I flopped back 
onto the bed and panted at the stimulation.  Soon Dani was 
running her tongue up and down my shaft, coating my cock 
with her spittle.  

When she'd finished that tongue moved to play with the 
wrinkled skin of my scrotum.  Once or twice she had to stop 
to pluck a wiry hair from her mouth, but she persisted in 
orally playing with my balls, taking first one then the 
other into her mouth and sucking gently, her magic tongue 
dancing all over.

When she returned to my dick, she wondered out loud whether 
it was larger than before.  I whimpered non-committally, 
turning that noise into a loud moan as my cock reentered 
her hot, wet mouth.

Here she began to bob her head, relaxing her lips on the 
downstroke and sucking them tight against my shaft as she 
drew her mouth back up.  It was as if Dani was trying to 
coax more and more blood into my penis.  I could feel sweat 
beading on my forehead.

After an interminable amount of this passionate pleasure, I 
felt my stomach tighten.  I placed a hand on her shoulder 
in warning.  "Okay, honey," I croaked, "I'm almost there."  
No answer.  "Dani?  I'm going to cum now."  She kept 
sucking away.  Fine then, she couldn't say I didn't try to 
warn her.

She must've heard me sigh or something, because she chose 
that moment to look up at me, another impish fire dancing 
in those lovely orbs.  And she worked her tongue against 
the edge of my cock-head on the sensitive underside.

That did it, I groaned, bunched the sheets in my hands and 
poured myself into Danielle's mouth.  The suction she 
imposed on me drew me away from the real world into this 
momentary existence of only pleasure.  I vaguely registered 
Dani sucking at my cock while I came and swallowing the 
fruit of her labors.  

When it was all over, she sat back, gave my slowly wilting 
cock a tender kiss, and wiped her mouth.  I looked at her 
with a touch of awe and a lot of appreciation.  

"How...how many times do I have to tell you," I panted, 
"you don't have to do that."  In the years we've been 
together, I've managed to taste my own semen; despite my 
preconceived notions, the *taste* wasn't that bad - a touch 
salty.  However, the TEXTURE of the stuff was nauseating - 
this slippery yet sticky substance on my tongue - SLIMY 
summed it up pretty good.  Of course, I hate oysters for 
the same reason, so maybe it's an acquired taste - not that 
I intend on getting used to it!

"Aw, honey - I wanted to do this for me as much as for 
you."  She grabbed the glass of water on her nightstand and 
took a long draw, swishing some in her mouth before 
swallowing.  I suppressed a queasy twinge and patted the 
empty side of the bed.  

She plopped down next to me and said, "I just didn't want 
to fuck around with a condom - now you can do me."  With 
that hugged me momentarily, and then pushed at my 
shoulders.  I smiled and moved down her body, stopping to 
suckle at her breasts for a few moments.

Once my head was level with Dani's hips, she spread her 
legs to allow me access.  I nestled myself between her 
thighs, breathing heavily on her groin.  My hands began to 
roam over her thighs and pelvis, caressing everywhere they 
went.  Soon I was cupping her ass cheeks and her feet were 
planted on my shoulder blades.  I brushed my lips over the 
thin pelt of red hair over her mound.  Reaching the upper 
fringe, I began 'hemming' it with soft little kisses.  I 
traced my way along Dani's belly, entering the crease 
between her torso and leg.  

Here I was especially careful, as I knew she was very 
ticklish at this spot.  I managed to cross the border 
without giggles from my woman, and rewarded myself by 
luxuriating in the feel of the soft, soft skin of her inner 
thigh.  I slid my lips up and down, making them tingle from 
the barely present friction.  Then I began to kiss and suck 
the tender flesh, eliciting groans of pleasure.

I switched and began lavishing Dani's other thigh with 
attention, stopping only when her moans began to take a 
whiny quality and she plucked at my short hair, unable to 
grasp it properly to pull me up, towards *something*...

Shifting my hands to support myself, I raised up to look my 
girlfriend's face.  She was panting heavily, her hands busy 
with her breasts.  When she had the presence of mind to 
look me in the eye, I saw a hunger burning fiercely in 
hers.

"Aw, poor Dani - so consumed with passion she can't speak.  
I guess she wanted me to stop..."  

Danielle found her voice soon enough at that.  "Nuh-NOOO!" 

I winked to ease her concern and frustration, then blew her 
a kiss before sinking down to attend to her hungry pussy.  
My cock was jutting against the bed, but I dismissed the 
idea of plowing into my girlfriend - as she said, we'd have 
to stop to find some protection, and that'd shake the mood.  
She was really close, and besides - I'd had my turn.

And she *was* ready to cum.  Firstly, her lips were soaking 
and swollen, her hot nether hole plainly on display.  
Secondly, her musk was present in the air, enticing but not 
overpowering.  And lastly, her thighs slipped over my 
shoulders, preventing me from getting up again.

I teased her further, exhaling heavily on her quivering 
snatch, my hot, damp breath pushing her passion higher and 
higher.  Soon I switched to blowing sharply and randomly at 
her sex; Dani bucked every time.

Now, I deemed her ready for the climax.  Snorting hot air 
onto the apex of her cleft, I lowered my face to merely 
millimeters from her hot, wet and quivering flesh.  Then my 
tongue shot out and slipped between her glistening lips.  
She screamed as she crested and started the long downslide 
into her orgasm.  And I helped her, working busily at her 
pussy with my face.

My nose nudged against her clit - I could feel the hard yet 
yielding nubbin against my bridge.  My lips worked up and 
down, stroking her nether ones.  And my tongue?  That 
battered away at anything it could find.  Sam Kinneson once 
said the secret to good cunnilingus was to 'write the 
alphabet' with your tongue.  Well, forget the alphabet - I 
probably wrote the entire keyboard!  Every unusual shape, 
motion or action I could think of - and some I probably 
never did conceive of properly, but were merely invented 
somewhere between my brain and my muscles. 

It helped - Dani rode the wave of her first orgasm for a 
subjectively long time, crying out fairly often.  During 
the workout, I felt her thighs clench against my head and 
her pussy spasm on my tongue twice more, and I figured she 
would be more than happy with a hat trick.  I certainly 
was.

It only took a light tug at my shoulder to get me to climb 
up alongside her.  We wiped my mouth and cheeks clean of 
her juices, and then I wrapped my darling Danielle in my 
embrace.

We lay resting and delighting in each other's closeness for 
a time.  Then Dani nudged me.  "Hey, you need to wash up."

"Why?  We still have that weekend jog of yours to do - it'd 
be a waste of perfectly good soap and water."

"At least your face; I can smell me on you."

I grinned.  "I'm *proud* of it, to be honest."

"Well, I'm not - it embarrasses me a little.  Just wash 
your face before we get dressed?  Pleeeease?"  

I bent to her will, and sat up.  "So I take it I shouldn't 
give you a parting kiss before heading off for the 
bathroom?"  She laughed and pushed at my back lightly.  I 
grinned evilly and added "Of course, I never said *where* 
I'd kiss you!" and dove to press my lips to Dani's fiery 
bush.  She yelped and kicked at me, laughing.

It wasn't too much work to scrub my face clean, and after I 
was done, I had to agree with her - the scent was rather 
conspicuous.  I took special care to make sure my new 
moustache was clear of Dani's particularly passionate smell 
- I thought of having to inhale that scent all the time we 
went on our long run, and made a note to thank her for her 
thoughtfulness.  'But not until long after the dispute is 
forgotten so it won't look like I'm buckling under to her,' 
I told the mirror with a grin.

When I returned to the bedroom, Dani was already partially 
dressed in white cotton panties and a sports bra.  She was 
pulling up a pair of sweatpants, and I grabbed a clean pair 
of boxers along with a T-shirt from my drawers. (I get one 
for shirts and one socks and shorts; she gets the other 
FOUR <grumble>)  Once I was only slightly behind her in 
attire, I grabbed an elastic thingy from the vanity and 
asked "Do your ponytail for you?"  She smiled and sat in 
the chair.

I stretched the tie over the palm of my hand as I'd seen 
her do enough times, and stood behind her.  I gathered her 
coppery tresses up with both hands and shifted to my un-
'tied' hand. 

"Uh-uh; do it up on my head, not down there."  She pointed 
to a point a little above her ears.

"Oh.  Okay."  And I started over.

"It keeps the hair out and away from my neck - really 
important if I'm going jogging."

"Burke's Law #46: 'Always do it the director's 
way...first.'"  I stuck my tongue out the corner of my 
mouth as I worked on keeping her hair together as I fed it 
through the tie. 

"Even if he's wrong?"

"That's why I said do it his way FIRST.  Then if you still 
have doubts, respectfully ask to do it your way and let him 
choose."

"Leaving the choice up to him?"  I was done - the tie 
triple-looped around her ponytail the way she liked it, and 
I stood back to let her adjust it for comfort.

"Of course - it's his job and his responsibility to make 
the decisions.  Besides, things look different on the other 
side of the footlights."

Dani had pulled on a zippered sweatshirt during this 
exchange and was starting to fasten it as I pulled her pony 
clear of the collar.  Impishly, I coiled it into the hood, 
and got a slapped hand for my troubles.  I pulled her hair 
free, and stuck my tongue out at my girlfriend's image in 
the mirror.

While she pulled on socks and shoes, I caught up by donning 
a sweatsuit and footwear of my own.  I stepped back to my 
nightstand to put my watch on, and stuck my wallet in the 
'kangaroo' pocket in the front of my sweatshirt.  Dani 
grabbed her keys and thus prepared, we left the apartment.

           *           *           *           *

The day was magical - it had been raining up to about an 
hour before we left the apartment, and the wet streets were 
drying in the sunlight.  The impressive thing was the mist 
that had risen from the pavement - wisps of thin fog 
hanging around the roads that whirled about as a car cut 
through them.  

We set off on Dani's usual route - she would take an hour 
to get her exercise every Saturday morning, and for the 
foreseeable future I was to join her.  Not merely out of 
interest in my own health, or a desire for her 
companionship, but to help her in her studies.

In one of her Physical Education courses, Dani was required 
to take a person and train them for the course of the 
semester.  When she approached me with the idea, I was 
offended - she'd been tactless enough to mention WHY she 
chose her boyfriend as a 'subject'; he was out-of-shape to 
begin with, and would quickly give noticeable signs of 
improvement.

Yes, I know I wasn't physically active at that time - at 
ALL - and that I was getting a bit of a 'spare tire', but 
to be told that you were chosen *because* you were in such 
bad shape...

I let her feel like shit for a day, then approached her 
with acceptance.  I had been meaning to do something about 
my condition, and I could never turn down any request of 
hers for help.  We took my weight, pinched the skin on the 
back of my arm with some calipers (I'm told it's a good 
indication of a person's body-fat ratio, or something) 
worked out a schedule for the two of us to exercise 
together.

Today was the first day, and I could tell Dani was setting 
a slow pace for me - ease me into this rather than have me 
sweating buckets and gasping like a landed fish by the end 
of our first jog.  I let her choose the path, assuming she 
would take the same route she normally took.

I kept up nicely for about twenty minutes, then I just ran 
out of gas - my shins began to burn, my arms got heavy, and 
my mouth and throat dried as my breath roared in and out.  
I noticed my pace was slowing and managed to get enough 
breath together to ask for a break.

Dani started coaching me, urging me on just a little 
further, coaxing me with "just a little longer; we'll take 
a break after another block" and "c'mon - I think there's a 
good diner just down the street; I'll get you as much water 
as you can drink, honey."  Jogging circles around me as she 
gave her little pep talks drove me harder than her 
comments; having her jog BACKWARDS alongside me was 
embarrassing.

Just when I was wondering how my parents would organize my 
funeral, Dani stopped me and said "Okay, slugger - we're 
here."

"Wh...huh...where?"

"That take-out place I mentioned; give me some money to get 
you some bottled water."  We entered through the outer door 
as I handed Dani my wallet.  She nudged me in the direction 
of the two tables arrayed in front of the plate glass 
window.  As my girlfriend got some drinks from the cooler 
and paid for them, I gasped like a landed fish and looked 
the place over.

It was a small 'store front' kind of place; it just had the 
two tables, the drink cooler and the counter where the guy 
had sandwiches and snacks on display.  Another door opening 
into the building's lobby told me it usually served some of 
the offices' staff at lunchtime.

Danielle came over and plunked a bottle of Evian in front 
of me, admonishing me "Remember, don't gulp it; small 
sips."

"Yes, MOM."  I cracked the cap off and poured a tiny amount 
of water into my mouth, swishing it around to cover every 
dry spot before swallowing.  After two more treatments like 
this, I felt more able to talk coherently.  "So, come here 
often?"

Dani smiled.  "Often enough.  I've built up enough 
endurance to not need a stop during my jog, but I used to 
take a break here at my half-way point."

"Oh, I actually made it half-way through your routine?"  I 
was impressed with myself.

"Er, I should have said 'our half-way point' - I'm going to 
start you with a shorter run that what I'm doing; no 
offense, love."

I sighed and shrugged.  "None taken, darling.  Not all of 
us can be little red-headed dynamos."

She smiled as I kissed her hand, then frowned at me.  "Al, 
which newspaper had that weird review of your play?"

"The Gazette.  Why?"

"This is their building!  What a coincidence, huh?"

"I guess."
 
She got an expression I've tagged as her 'Puck grin' - a 
shifty and impish smile that only vaguely warns of the 
devilish ideas now going through her head.  "You wanna go 
up and let the drama critic have it?"

"Huh?"

"I mean go up to their offices, ask to see the person who 
wrote the review, and speak with him about what - instead 
of your play - was going through his head.  Give him a 
piece of your mind!"

I raised an eyebrow at this.  "Why?  What would that 
accomplish?  Get him to write another review?"

Dani's playful expression faded some as she shrugged and 
murmured without meeting my gaze.  "Well, if you don't get 
this off your chest you'll bitching about it for something 
like a week until you forget about the piss-poor review."

I was startled.  "Oh."

"Al, I'm sorry - I don't mean to criticize you, but you DO 
tend to act like this."

"Oh, yeah - I can't deny it."

"Do it for me?  I'll need your help with Milton later."

I could feel the chicken feathers growing on me.  "I...I 
don't know, honey.  I mean - it's one thing to gripe about 
the guy, but to tell him to his face..."

Dani looked at my sympathetically.  "Okay, don't go barging 
in with a fire axe, yelling 'Where's the hack who panned my 
play?!?' - it's not like you."  We both laughed. "Maybe ask 
to see the critic and speak your mind politely?  I do need 
you to get it off your chest or you'll be useless to me."

I cocked an eyebrow at that.  "Useless?  What for, lover?"

She smiled.  "Why tutoring me on 'Paradise Lost,' Al - what 
else *could* I want you for?"

I chuckled and calmed down to find her looking expectantly 
at me.  I waited, and so did she.

I cracked first - I always do, damn it.  "Oh, all right - 
if it'll make you feel better-"

"Because it'll make YOU feel better; when you're in a 
ranting mood you make me upset.  I worry about your stomach 
lining.  After all, 'you aren't getting any younger, 
dear.'"

I stood hurriedly.  "Okay, okay - I'm going!  Stop 
imitating my mother - unless you never want to share my bed 
again!"

Dani looked hurt.  "What?"

I bent down and gave her a quick kiss.  "You make me think 
of you and my mother at the same time, and soon enough I'll 
end up in therapy, darling.  Let's go - I want to get back 
to jogging.  Oh my god; I never thought I'd say that!"

           *           *           *           *   

It took a while to find our way to the right office; there 
were fewer people around on the weekend and we didn't have 
a clue who we were looking for - I forgot the critic's name 
by the time we started asking around.

Soon enough we were standing just outside the office of the 
"Arts Editor" - apparently the Gazette was in between drama 
critics and the editor had to fill in.  I felt less like 
bashing his work given the circumstances.

At Danielle's urging, I tapped on the open door.  "Hello?"

"Come in - come in!"

We did so and were confronted by the back of a man that 
could be summed up in one word: rumpled.  His dress shirt 
was wrinkled and creased, as if he'd slept in his clothes.  
A pillow and blanket on the couch leant credence to that 
idea.  His hair was sticking up at the back slightly, too.

He turned on me, asking "What do *you* think of it?  What's 
the first thing that comes to your mind when you look at 
it?"

"It" was apparently the large print perched in a chair.  I 
shrugged and examined the copy of a painting.

It was a collage; primarily a hand-painted background of a 
garish purple and green 'vortex' - splashes of each color 
were added, breaking the regularity of the swirling of 
paint.  

On top of this were pasted paper cutouts; popular logos 
like the Nike swoosh, Microsoft Windows 'flag', the 
McDonalds' 'Golden Arches' along with elements of famous 
artworks like "Whistler's Mother," Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" 
and De Vinci's "Mona Lisa".  The interesting thing was that 
all these images had been distorted before being reproduced 
- they were stretched and narrowed on one 'end' as if they 
were being pulled off in the direction of a distant 
'vanishing point'.  Their placement hinted that point was 
the center of the vortex.

The bottom center of the picture was taken up by a large 
reproduction of the central figure from Munch's "The 
Scream".  This cutout was also stretched, as if being 
sucked into the core of the dizzying swirl.

"Come on."  My host was waiting expectantly for my opinion.

"Well...um.  The screamer there looks like it's getting 
sucked into a whirlwind...or maybe some kind of black hole.  
That makes me think of being overcome by events - getting 
pulled into something you're not able to handle.  Life's 
stresses pushing you beyond the breaking point and you get 
sucked into oblivion."  The man chuckled.

"But the other items - the logos, art references and stuff 
- all that implies more of a universal effect; not the 
individual being unfairly focused on, but simply 
encountering what everyone and everything does sooner or 
later."

"Which is?"  He was eyeing me with a faint smile.

"Um, death?  Oblivion - cessation of existence?  The 
ultimate end of all things?"

"Huh - interesting; I hadn't picked up on that, but when 
you mentioned it, it came to me.  Thanks for the insight."  
He stepped closer the door, raising his voice as he did so.  
"Sorry to pounce on you like that but EVERYONE SEEMS TO BE 
AVOIDING MY OFFICE and I've got to get a review of this 
guy's show ready for the Sunday edition.  The second 
opinion will help.  Come, have a seat; sorry for the mess."  

Our host moved the print behind the couch and gathered up 
the bedclothes.  I took the chair at Dani's urging while 
she sat back on the sofa.

"So what's your name?" 

"Al Burke."  

"Burke...Burke..." The editor was standing behind his desk, 
rifling through a stack of papers.  "I can't find you - did 
you fax me a resume or mail it?" 

"Sorry?  Resume?"

"Yes, my secretary said you were here about the drama 
critic position?"

"Um, not really - I came to talk to the drama critic, but 
you appear to be lacking one."

"Oh."  He looked disappointed.  "Oh, sorry - I must've 
jumped the gun there - Rita said something about 'drama 
critic' and my hope filled in the gaps.

"Anyway, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding.  My name's 
Bill Roth - the Arts Editor for this dump.  And temporary 
drama critic ever since our usual one decided she was going 
to start a family."  His last comment was given with a 
little frustration in his voice.

"Sorry to hear it."  We shook hands and then Mr. Roth 
looked on my companion.  "*You* wouldn't be here to apply 
for the job, maybe?"  His woebegone expression made started 
us off laughing, and the man joined us.

When we calmed down, Roth spoke "Anyway, you came here to 
speak about the critic - complaining about missing Jane's 
stuff?"

"Er, not exactly - we're not regular readers.  But I was 
part of the cast in last night's showing of 'Twelve Angry 
Men,' and I kinda stopped in on a whim to complain about 
the confused review...but now that I see why it turned out 
like that, I have no wish to rant about it."

"'Twelve Angry Men'?  I saw that last night?"  Roth looked 
puzzled.

"Heh - we had our doubts when we first read your review!" 
Dani added meekly.

"Yeah, I remember writing the article, and rushing to get 
it to press, but...well, I remember sitting in a 
theatre...sorry about that, Mr. Burke.  It's been a little 
hectic these past couple of weeks."

"Oh, yes - I understand.  Having to take on these extra 
duties must have you stretched a little thin."

"Stretched!  YES!  Oh, good one." The newspaper looked in 
the painting's direction and laughed.  I smiled.

"So...you're SURE you're not interested in a career in 
journalism?" Mr. Roth joked with a comically desperate 
expression.

I was smiling, shaking my head and about to say 'no' when 
Dani caught my eye.  She looked pointedly at me and 
shrugged with a "Why not?" expression.  I responded non-
verbally, 'saying,' "You think I should?"  My girlfriend 
cocked her head in reply as if to say "G'wan - what's the 
worst that could happen?"

"Actually, Mr. Roth, you've piqued my interest."  His eyes 
lit up.  "What would be involved in the position?"

"Well...you'd have to come up with at least one article a 
week, though more are allowed if there's several 
productions opening up.  Now don't think you've got to 
review EVERY play that's put on - it'll probably be a good 
idea to attend most of promising-sounding ones, but you 
don't have to be running around from theatre to theatre 
trying to see every opening night."

"Okay.  That sounds tolerable."

"Mind you if you want to help with *other* arts-related 
stuff, remember that I'm the Mayor of Wit's End here!"  We 
laughed.  "So what's your credentials?"

"Ah, well...I've got a Bachelor of Arts in English.  I had 
an interest in drama in high school and college."

"Any journalism experience?"

I moved my head in a non-committal way.  "Kinda - I had 
some friends in the college paper, and hung around the 
offices a bit.  I did write a couple of short pieces, but I 
wouldn't say I'm *experienced*."

Dani spoke up.  "Um, hi.  I don't want to sound crass here, 
but what does the job pay?"

Mr. Roth looked a little worried.  "Well, I can't promise 
lavish wages..."

I took a chance and told him what I was earning.  "The two 
of us are surviving on that from my clerical job."

"Oh, HELL; I can top that!  You'll have a meager expense 
account so you don't have to plump up for tickets out of 
your own pocket - just don't go and buy the cast a few 
rounds!  We've got fairly full benefits; dental, pay-in 
medical, 401(K) - spouses and family are covered, too."

Dani and I blushed.  "Well, we're just living together for 
now..."

"But I can fix that soon enough!" Dani blurted out and we 
all laughed.

"So, what do you say?  If you can, I'll name my next kid 
after you!"

I smiled and thought carefully.  Looking at Danielle got me 
a 'sounds good, but it's up to you' expression.  "Okay.  
I'm in."

"THANK YOU!"  My new boss shook my hand enthusiastically.  
"Can you come in sometime on Monday?  I'll have a contract 
ready for you to sign by then.  It doesn't have to be 
during nine-to-five; you probably have to give notice with 
your current job?"

"Oh, right.  Thanks, yeah - I'll stop by then after work, 
probably.  Do you want some sample work or anything?"

"Well, your take on that picture earlier speaks well of you 
- we'll consider that a passing grade!  Actually, I've got 
two tickets to 'The Iceman Cometh' and I've been trying to 
juggle my home schedule - want to have a 'trial run?'"

"Okay - get something done for you the next day?"  I took 
the tickets and looked at them before sticking them in my 
jacket pocket.

"Oh, no - not yet.  I know the producer and he's not 
expecting full coverage or anything.  We'll take a couple 
of days; I'll probably have to go over your review with you 
a bit - no offense!" he added hurriedly.

I smiled.  "Nah - none taken; it's been almost a year since 
I wrote anything longer than a memo!  I'll be rusty."

"Well, congratulations, and thanks again!" 

I wandered out of the office, feeling slightly bewildered 
and overwhelmed.  "Honey," I asked when we reached the 
stairwell, "did I just get a job, without even *trying*?"

She stifled a laugh as I opened the door for her.  "Yes, 
Al.  You just got what may be the perfect job for you."

"Which you set up, huh?"

"What?  No."

I stopped her on the stairs, cornering her on a landing.  I 
gave her a loving kiss on the forehead.  "Come on - admit 
it.  I must've been complaining about my shitty job, and 
one weekend when you went for a jog, you stopped in the 
diner downstairs and Mr. - what's his name?"

"Uh...I forget."

"Anyway, he's there eating some lunch, and complaining 
about the fix he's in to a co-worker or the vendor or 
something.  You overhear this, and think 'Al would be the 
answer he needs, and this job would be less aggravating for 
him.'  So you steered me here..."

The darling woman shook her head.  "Sorry, Mulder - no 
conspiracy here.  I just listened to you rant about the 
review, and when we stopped here, I figured you might get 
it out of your system and stop bothering me.  I really 
didn't expect anything like THIS!  Honest."

I watched her face closely - nothing indicated 
prevarication on her part.  I relented, letting Dani loose.  
"Okay, I trust you.  Let's get back to the pavement."

"You still want to finish off?"  Her expression was one of 
pleasant surprise.

"Of course - this for your studies.  I'd hate for you to 
get a bad grade because of me."

As we reached the bottom of the stairwell, I stopped Dani 
from opening the door.  Standing behind her, I whispered in 
her ear "And I want to burn off this extra energy I have - 
I'd hate myself if I hurt you tonight when we *celebrate* 
my good fortune."  I clarified my intentions by giving her 
a sloppy, wet kiss on her neck that elicited a squeal from 
my darling lover.


Fin de deuxieme

=============

Author's Postscript: Dang it ta heck; I'm *still* not done 
with this puppy!  I'm also getting further and further from 
the title than I ever intended.  There are times when these 
'evolving' stories try my patience!  (Obviously not *that* 
much, though - look at the 'expletives' I use after writing 
an explicit SEX story, eh? :)

<1st attachment end>


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