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Message-ID: <30621asstr$991735803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com (Father Ignatius)
Reply-To: FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com
Subject: {ASSM} <Dulcinea> Note to Self: (MF rom) by Father Ignatius
Date: Tue,  5 Jun 2001 06:10:03 -0400
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Note to Self:
(MF rom)
(c)Father Ignatius, 2001
An entry in the Dulcinea Memorial Writing Festival, 
2001

-----

"Honey, don't go," she said when he rose at the 
barbarous hour of seven on Sunday morning to go hiking.  
"The weather's terrible.  No-one will expect you to 
turn out in weather like this."

She scrabbled away from the chill of his leaving and 
nosed into the warm pillow.

"Come along, lazy-bones," he said, slapping the rump 
she incautiously revealed.  "A brisk hike will do you a 
power of good."

"No," she said firmly, rolling back to protect herself.  
"I don't have to prove my manhood in various stupid 
ways. Stay and do me a power of good right here."

She raised one knee and stirred her pelvis suggestively 
at him.  "Do me a power of good, kid.  C'mon, you can 
do it."

That worked.  Sort of.  To a point.

"Honey, don't go," she repeated when he got up again.  
He did go, jeering at her 'womanly whining'.  Note to 
Self: There's no point in talking sense to men.

He left her lonely until evening and returned exhausted 
and irritatingly good-humored to let cold air into 
where she sat by the fire.

"You should have come, honey," he said, his cold face 
chilling her as they kissed, "Great views although no 
bird-life."  She left unspoken her views on the 
relative brain-power of birds and men when it came to 
coming in out of the rain.

"I'm quite cold, though," he said into the quiet this 
left. "What have you got for the troops, then, honey?"

In a dangerous silence, she braved the chill of the 
tiled kitchen to wield red wine, spices and double-
boiler. Emerging with two steaming mugs of gluhwein, 
she found him sleeping the sleep of an innocent babe on 
the hearth-rug and swept off to bed with both mugs.  
She wore his pyjamas, tying the lace at the waist-band
snugly with a pointed double granny-knot.

"Let's see if he picks up on that," she thought, 
reaching for the first mug and snuggling down under the 
covers. Some chapters later, as she finished the second 
mug, her good book thudded gently to the carpet, her 
hand withdrew into the enfolding warmth and she, too, 
slept the sleep of an innocent babe.

He awoke hours later, frozen, in front of the cold 
ashes and stumbled to the bedroom in search of pyjamas 
and comfort.  Finding neither, he tremblingly awaited 
sleep, alone on the cold side of the bed.


* * *

Some days later, definitely feeling she had been 
punished enough, she grimly measured him out a bed-time 
double dose of over-the-counter symptom-suppressant, 
"Just so's you can sleep, honey".  And not just you, 
buster.  If somebody around here doesn't get a good 
night's rest soon...  Note To Self: Never Have
Babies.

"All my muscles are sore," he whined, reaching for her 
not as a lover but as a needy child.  "Even my butt 
hurts."

Dextrously avoiding his clutch, she skittered off to 
the couch.  "Try to get some sleep, honey."


* * *

"Oh, you poor dear," said the motherly pharmacist, "How 
you must be suffering."  Thank God -- someone who 
understood the real issue.

"What you need is Puma Balm," said the pharmacist, 
offering a jar.  "It's got all those good grandmotherly 
things. Rub well into the affected area.  
Pharmacologically, it acts as a counter-irritant.  That 
means it takes their mind off themselves.

"Hallelujah!  Give me a boxful."

She laughed.  "One is all you need, dear, trust me.  
Just keep it clear of mucous membrane and sensitive 
areas."

Note to Self: Don't ram it up his ass until provoked 
beyond endurance.


* * *

He lay face down in their bed, asleep or sunk in sick 
self-pity.  She pulled the duvet onto the floor, 
revealing his naked body. And a very nice body it was 
too, she conceded mentally.

"I've found something to rub in and make you feel 
better, honey,"she cooed insincerely, "Just relax while 
I rub your poor, sore muscles."

She dug a forefinger into the Puma Balm and started to 
rub his calves.  As her hands warmed the balm, it 
softened and spread more easily, oil-like and 
lubricating, over his skin.  Shrugging off her work 
coat, she straddled his feet to employ both hands, one 
on each leg.  She pushed up from his Achilles tendons 
to the point where her grasp could no longer encompass 
his calves and thrust her thumbs firmly into the clefts 
between his calf muscles.

"Mmmmmh," he murmured, finally showing signs of life as 
the smells of cloves, eucalyptus, camphor and menthol 
spread through the bedroom.

She took more Puma Balm and rubbed generous globs into 
his firm, thick hamstrings with her palms.  Her hands 
slid round his thigh muscles to the mattress.  
Tinglings of lust competed with her savored indignation 
at his babyishness. She felt herself moisten 
treacherously as she shuffled her straddled knees 
upwards and pressed her oiled fingertips deeply into 
his rounded, muscular buttocks.

"Mmmmmh," he murmured, a little louder.  "'Snice."

Feelings of playfulness surfaced and cracked through 
her days-old ill-humor.  As she finished doing his 
butt, she slid her lubricated fingertips down between 
his thighs and sought out his scrotum.

"Are there any muscles in this area that need rubbing?" 
she enquired, massaging gently.

"Ow!" he said, suddenly.  "That smarts!"

He rolled over hurriedly, pushing her straddled thighs 
wider apart in his haste.

"Hey!" she said, as a healthy erection sprang 
unexpectedly into view and she realised that the 
healthy grin of a randy lover had replaced the 
fractious frown of the last days.  "We have some sort
of a recuperation here?"

He didn't reply but reached out to her with his long 
arms, not as a needy child but as a lover.  His hands 
slid up under her skirt and she felt her panties being 
firmly drawn down out of his way.  They couldn't go far 
down her spraddled thighs but, with vigorous yanking, 
they went far enough.  Impelled by his firm grasp at 
her waist, she grinned and sighed with pleasure as she 
sank onto his pole.

Note to Self: Babies can get well just as fast as they 
fall sick.


-----

Thank you for reading me.  I would be pleased to hear 
from you, at FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com, about whether 
or not you liked my story, and why.

The Stories of Father Ignatius are to be found at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/FatherIgnatius/www/Stories.html

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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