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Message-ID: <31130asstr$993737403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "jewel sub" <jewel_sub@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Gazebo (No sex, not even an innuendo)
Date: Thu, 28 Jun 2001 10:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Foreward- This story has been floating around my hardrive for a while.  As
I read this now I think it was my unconscious using a mixture of wishful
hoping and an attempt at guilt,, but it failed pretty miserably.  It is
currently on a web page, but it isn't one you'd expect stories at, mostly a
message board with a web site attached to it.  I know it doesn't have sex,
but this would be the third story or final portion after "A New Toy" and "A
Simple Task".  I have always wanted to add a third story to these two, but
this wasn't what my original intention.  It just worked out that way.

   Copyrighted, February 2001.  Any reposting of this story anywhere
without my written permission with or without my name attached will get you
a lot of nasty hate emails and one or two letters from lawyers asking you
to cease and desist.

   Gazebo

   I have watched her for several years now.  Only one time did I actually
see her smile, but it dropped soon after.  She comes here once a year,
always the Saturday of Memorial day weekend and always to this one spot. 
The first time we saw her, we checked to make sure everything was ok.  She
assured us it was, well as ok as everything could be.  I only remembered
her the second time, because of the fabric she was holding.  It turns out
it was a dress, but hard to forget.  Blue and black diagonal lines
criss-crossing over white.  Why she didn't wear it, no one knows, no one
really wanted to ask.

   The third year I saw her she looked so incredibly sad.  She just sat
there, and looked at the dress until someone walked by.  She would look up
at them, her eyes would light up and when she saw who was walking by she
would look back down to her dress.  I swore I saw her wipe away a tear, but
when someone would talk to her, there was never ang evidence of crying.

   I made a wager this year.  I bet a fellow volunteer that she would be
there again.  We worked out the schedule so that we would be taking care of
the flowers by that gazebo all day.  Sure enough, when we got there she was
all ready sitting at a bench and looking through a book of some sort.  She
no longer looked up at each sound of approaching footsteps, but looked over
the side instead, keeping watch of the pathway that led to the hilltop.  I
watched her the entire day, fascinated by the mystery I created surrounding
her yearly vigil.

   I left for a moment towards closing, I needed to arrange a meeting for
the following week.  I waved goodbye to her, although I don't think she
saw. The gardens were closed when I came back.  She was gone as I had
expected.  I walked up to the structure she always sat.  I wanted to know
what she saw that no one else did.  A white rectangle of paper was laying
on the loose stone pathway.  Even as I picked it up, I knew it belonged to
her.  It was a picture, curled around the edges.  A man and the woman with
a dog sitting on a front porch.  She had a hat on and was heavier, but I
knew it was her.

   I brought the picture up to the gazebo and slipped it behind one of the
boards.on the back of the bench Only a corner was visible, and I knew that
when she came back in a year it would be there for her.

   

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

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