index


Message-ID: <36046asstr$1018444205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: nickurfe@yahoo.com (Nicholas Urfe)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: 10 Apr 2002 04:35:03 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} cuyahoga.009 [urfe] [new]
Date: Wed, 10 Apr 2002 09:10:05 -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

.
                                                  ::

                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls

                                                  ::

The photo booth is yellow and says Photos Instantly across the top in
reddish orange letters, and it has an old blue curtain half-pulled
with a dark stain steeped into a bottom corner. Running down the side
it has small photos of people grinning and mugging for the camera, or
looking half-serious. A girl whispers into a boy's ear, the boy
pretending to be shocked. IDs, it says, in the same reddish orange
letters, passports, best friends, dates. One dollar. It sits at the
back corner of an irregularly shaped hall near a Tibetan import shop
and a booth that appears to sell fudge.

Charley Vanderhook walks up to it and stops and turns in a hesitant
circle all the way about looking up and down the hall until she's face
to face with the booth once more. Blond hair tied back in a thick
ponytail. A thin sundress in a tropical print of lushly plump orchids
and birds-of-paradise sprawling over a vivid red ties behind her neck
and leaves her arms and back bare, its skirt flouncing down to maybe
the middle of her thighs. Her nervous feet in simple canvas Keds and
no socks. In one hand she holds a piece of paper, folded and folded
again.

Behind her up comes Edie Sutherland on the escalator. Who seeing
Charley smiles. Red hair held back to one side with a purple barrette.
Pinkish tank top cropped above her navel and a tiny black leather
backpack bouncing on one shoulder as off she steps, a white miniskirt
spangled with little cartoon flowers. Tucked into the waistband of the
skirt in the hollow of her back a piece of paper, folded and folded
again. Her feet in white sandals with wide straps. She isn't smiling.
Taking a deep breath she blows it out and plucks the piece of paper
from her skirt, holding it tightly in one hand before her. Charley?

Charley turns, slowly. Eyes widening as she sees Edie and she sees the
piece of paper Edie's holding. Her own hand with her own piece coming
up before her. Edie? It's you?

Edie nods. I guess so.

Oh God, says Charley.

Let's get this over with, says Edie. Reaching past Charley for the
curtain. Charley jumps at the scrape of rings on rod. After you, says
Edie.

What are you, says Charley, as she steps into the booth.

Does it matter? says Edie. Scoot in some more. In the booth there's a
blue stool that Charley edges past so Edie can slide in beside her.
Edie shuts the curtain with a jerk.

I mean, Charley's saying, they said I cheated on Hannigan's final.

Did you?

Well, yeah. Would I do this if - well, I mean -

If they didn't have something on you?

Well. Yeah.

Let's get this over with, says Edie again. You have a couple of bucks?

I, uh, says Charley, hands fluttering around the skirt of her
sundress, which has no pockets.

Shit, says Edie, unshouldering her backpack.

Well, fuck, I'm sorry.

Yeah. Setting the backpack on the stool between them and unbuckling it
open.

I'll pay you back.

Don't put yourself out. Fishing out a couple of dollar bills, and then
a third one, and a fourth.

I'm serious. Look. Charley's hand on Edie's arm then, fingernails cut
close, speckled with the flecked remains of cherry red polish by the
cuticle of her index finger, her pinkie. Edie's eyes flicking up to
meet Charley's then, Charley's face intent, eyes focussed, blinking
once, twice, Edie's face still and calm and cool. We have to stick
together, says Charley. We have to, we -

What, says Edie, quietly. Still bent over her backpack.

Stick together, says Charley. For each other.

Edie swallows.

Against them, says Charley. Lifting her hand from Edie's arm. Edie
straightens up, money in her hand. It's not, says Charley, it's not
just Hannigan's test. Cheating. I mean -

That's not all.

That's not all, says Charley. I. They made me - I. They have pictures.
They emailed me. Me, in my room. I had to buy a. This magazine. And -

You remember how Addison and me had Dean for gym last semester? says
Edie. Quietly.

I, uh. And. Yeah. Charley nods. Yeah.

We had this system rigged up to skip out and still get credit. We went
to gym maybe twice last semester.

And they know.

And they know, yeah.

What else - is there, I mean, anything else?

Well, says Edie. There'll be these pictures, I guess.

Yeah, says Charley. Yeah. She swallows.

Edie says, Are you ready?

Charley says, Sure.

And Edie feeds a dollar bill into the slot. First one, she says.
Faces. They hunker down, bent over, shoulder to shoulder, looking into
the black-eyed window of the booth's camera. A flash goes off, and
again, and again, and again. Edie straightens up, and puts her hand on
the little basket where the photo strip will drop out in a minute.
Charley looks away, putting one hand on the wall of the booth. Her
other hand plucking at her skirt.

There's a whir, and a clunk. A narrow strip of thick glossy paper
drops into the little basket. Four photos one on top of another of
their faces side by side, a handspan between them, unsmiling, washed
out by the flash. Charley's hair dark and shadowy gold, her dress a
deeply saturated red. The curve of one of her tits a shadow on her
skin within the drooping lip of neckline. Edie's hair a glossy
auburned brown, her tank top blown out pale and white with a highlit
sheen of pink. White pinpricks searing from the pupils of their
photographed eyes. Edie's face does not seem to change from shot to
shot. In the next to last, Charley's eyes are closed suddenly, her
lips parting. In the last, her eyes are open again. Looking down a
little, a little to the left. Between them.

Edie drops the strip onto the blue stool. Ready? she says, and Charley
nods.

Edie plucks up the second dollar bill, her right hand making a fist,
bunching up the material of her short skirt within it. Charley's hands
flatten themselves, her elbows bent, tucked in, on the fronts of her
thighs, brushing the skirt of her dress. Edie's eyes flick up and over
to meet Charley's, and Charley nods again, and Edie feeds the dollar
into the slot. Lifting her skirt. Charley, lifting her skirt. Both of
them, holding their skirts up, Charley swallowing, as the light
flashes again, and again, and again, and again.

A whir, and a clunk. A second strip of four photographs drops into the
little basket. Upper arms and tits cropped at the top, and Charley's
skirt lifted up, her navel a dark pool in the pale slice of belly
above an ordinary pair of yellow underwear, lacey scallops about the
waistband, bunched a little, wrinkles across the front where fabric is
pinched by her thighs pressed together. Edie's skirt lifted up and out
to the snug waistband, a tiny black triangle of lace a taut imago of
the pubic hair a shadowy darkness beneath, black strands climbing up
from it across her hips, her skin rich in warmth like butter next to
Charley's chilly blue-veined paleness. In the last photograph, Charley
has let go of her skirt with one hand, drooping down to brush her
thigh again just above the bottom of the frame.

That strip is laid on the stool next to the first, and Charley looks
down at it a long, long moment. Blinks. Looks up to see Edie looking
into her eyes.

That's sexy? says Edie.

I, says Charley.

You were supposed to wear sexy underwear. That's what my note said.

I, says Charley.

That's supposed to be sexy?

It's - I don't really have any sexy underwear.

Edie looks away.

We should do the next one, says Charley. We should do it and get it
out of the way and not think about it.

Edie nods. Takes a breath and flipping up her skirt again reaches
under it and peels off the lacey black thong, letting it fall down her
legs to the floor. Charley, her hands unmoving on the skirt of her
dress, stares down at it.

It's a thong, says Edie. I have sexy underwear.

Yes, says Charley. But.

It's perfectly comfortable. Edie grins. You'll want to buy one for
yourself. A whole bunch. You'll never wear anything else again.

Don't say that, says Charley, quietly.

Edie frowns. Well? she says. Bending down awkwardly to pluck up her
thong. Are we?

Charley is peeling off her underwear. Her elbow catches Edie's head as
Edie stands back up again. Oh! says Charley, standing up, her
underwear about her knees. Oh! Putting her hand to Edie's head where
she hit it.

It's, says Edie.

I'm sorry.

It's okay, says Edie. Come on.

I'm, says Charley, and then she stops, her hand hanging in the air
above Edie's head, and then she pulls it back to herself.

Come on, says Edie, after a moment. It'll be easier with them off.

A sudden shiver, and Charley bends down to finish what she started,
stepping one, two out of her underwear and laying them on the floor by
Edie's, who's taking her finger out of her mouth. The middle finger of
her right hand. You should lick your finger, says Edie. Trust me.
Sticking it back between her lips, swirling her tongue around it.

Charley swallows.

Go on, says Edie. Do it. For me, I mean. If nothing -

I'm, says Charley, I'm sorry, I - She looks down.

Don't flake on me, says Edie.

I can't, says Charley.

Don't flake on me. We need to do this. If we don't, they're gonna tell
everyone about it anyway, and -

I've never, says Charley.

- it's just like a slumber, says Edie, and she stops. Never?

What, says Charley. Like you go around doing that all the time or
something.

Not even at a slumber party back in middle school? says Edie.

No! says Charley. No. She shakes her head, barely.

Well, says Edie. Trust me. You're gonna want to get it wet. I'm gonna
want you to get it wet.

I, uh, says Charley.

Left hand, says Edie. Do your left hand. So you can reach across.

Oh, says Charley. Sorry. Sorry. I, uh. Her hand jerking up to her
mouth, her left hand, as her right hand falls away. Looking away from
Edie as she parts her lips, the tip of her tongue there, between her
teeth.

Ready? says Edie, after a minute.

Charley sighs.

Edie lifts her skirt. Well? Charley? You want me to go first?

Charley takes a deep breath, and sighs again, and nods.

Lift your skirt, says Edie, and Charley nods again, and takes another
deep breath, and does. Shivering. Oh, geeze, she says.

It's okay, says Edie.

Oh, oh geeze.

It's okay. It's okay. Are you? I mean, can you just -

Yeah, says Charley, I'll, uh -

Let me just -

Oh -

Like that, yeah, like that, that's it, just push - ah - oh, shit -

What?

No, don't! Don't pull it out, it's okay, it's okay, I just -

What? What?

It's okay, Charley. It's okay. The money. We have to -

Oh, the dollar bill -

Just put your finger back, I'll reach across -

I just, I'm sorry -

It's okay, just put it back, I'll use my other - hang on, no, up a
little, up - there - oh, that's it -

Oh, geeze -

It's okay, Charley. It's okay. It's okay. I've got the dollar. I'll
just - and then -

The bill slot grinds.

And then - says Edie. Okay. Okay. It's okay.

Charley nods. It's okay.

Flash, and flash, and flash, and flash.

Licking her finger Edie bends over the basket which whirrs and clunks.
Picking up the strip in her left hand licking her middle finger one
last time she straightens up to see Charley looking down at the middle
finger of her left hand, the tip of glistening damply sticky. Uh, says
Charley, I -

Edie reaches out to take her hand there in the booth. Charley's eyes
widening and looking down to see the strip in Edie's other hand. Four
shots one atop the other. Skirts lifted in suspended arcs by clenched
fists up about the middle of their bellies hips uncut unmarred
unsullied by strips or elastic swooping bare, brushing warm and cool
side by side. Forearms crossing one from the other. Edie's thumb
curled above around the sparse pale blond nest of Charley's pubic
hair, the tip of that thumb nestled in the softly fleshy groove where
Charley's thigh groins into the very bottom of her belly. Between the
palely beige lips of Charley's cunt has slipped Edie's middle finger
the second joint of which crooks there and does not move, shot to shot
to shot to shot. Charley's thumb tucks along the side of her hand
hidden the tip of it behind her index finger held straight, rigid, her
pinkie curling up and away and pulling her ring finger with it, away,
the shadow of her hand darkening the thicker but more carefully
trimmed patch of Edie's pubic hair. The lips of Edie's cunt pinker,
brightly lightstruck by the flash, lapping around the very tip of
Charley's tightly curled middle finger. Nor does her hand move from
shot, to shot, to shot, to shot.

I, says Charley, again.

Edie pulling Charley's hand a little closer, higher. Charley closing
her eyes as Edie's lips part in a smile. Her tongue licking out to
brush the tip of Charley's finger. Her mouth opening as her head slips
forward to take the glistening tip of Charley's finger in between her
lips. Charley's head tilting down, away. Edie pulling Charley's limp
hand from her mouth to look at it, pulling it back to lick the tip
again.

There, she says. Letting go. Charley shivers. All clean, says Edie.
It's over.

Not, says Charley, not quite.

Yeah, says Edie.

There's one more, says Charley. Kneeling. Scooping up the lacey black
thong.

Could you? says Edie, as Charley hands up her yellow scalloped
underwear.

The fourth strip, then: four shots, again, one atop the other. Skirts
uplifted once again by fists knuckled white by force the tendons
pressed up against the skin there terribly thin and blown out washed
out white by the harsh flash. The lacey black thong dark against the
chilly paleness of Charley's skin unbroken otherwise from uplifted
skirt to the bottom of the frame. A little small for her, perhaps, the
straps of it cutting cruelly a little up and over the flesh of her
hips pressed in by it. The yellow lace-scalloped underwear  beside her
bagging a little, lateral wrinkles bulging its surface like hidden
smiles across Edie's crotch.

Done, says Edie, dropping the strip on the stool by the others, and
done, flipping up her flowered skirt to thumb the scalloped waistband.

Edie, says Charley, we're supposed to.

What? says Edie, pushing. Kicking one knee a little forward then the
other, wiggling a little, as the yellow underwear slithers back down
and down her legs to the floor.

We're supposed to stay switched, says Charley. That's what the note
said.

Okay, says Edie, stepping one and two out of them. Okay. You can keep
'em. I've got plenty, I told you.

Yeah, but, says Charley, as Edie scoops up the yellow underwear.

I'll go without, says Edie. They can't possibly complain about that.
Grinning. Flipping up her skirt, her eyes wide with sudden pretended
shock. Sexy, she says.

Edie, says Charley. I'm glad it was you, she says. I mean, I'm sorry
you're in this too, but.

Yeah, says Edie. I know what you mean.

I'm glad it was you, says Charley.

They stand there a moment, not moving. The curtain still pulled
closed. Do you want to take the photos? says Edie. Drop them off?

Charley nods, scooping them up.

Hey, says Edie. Not yet reaching up for the curtain which is behind
her. You know what me and Addison were doing instead of gym?

What? says Charley.

Think about it, says Edie, jerking the curtain open. Stepping out.
Grinning.

Oh, says Charley. Oh.

See you, says Edie.

You did what? says Addison Cuyahoga into her cell phone, driving the
little red Miata. You fucking did what? Delighted. She wears a stiff
straw cowboy hat folded and creased like a taco shell and a pair of
amber sunglasses with big lenses and tortoiseshell frames and a black
satin bra and big gold hoop earrings. You licked her finger and she
didn't freak. Fuck me. Fuck me. Spinning the steering wheel with the
heel of one hand to turn the car into the parking lot of an old motel.
She is so ready for it. Jesus. Pulling to a stop next to a spidery
cantilevered staircase all flat planes and thin wrought railings. But
not yet, not yet. No! We've got to pull one more thing on her. Maybe.
One more, and she'll like, totally belong to us. Completely. I gotta
admit, Edie, jerking open the door and climbing out, I gotta admit,
this was a fucking great idea you had. Cowboy boots on her feet and
tight bluejeans hanging dangerously low about her hips, artfully
ragged there a little at the waistline where they were trimmed below
the useless missing beltloops. I really want to see these photos.
Jesus.

Up on the steps. You let her take them? she says into the phone. Okay,
whatever. Makes sense. We can pick them up later.

Just picking up Alexandra. You want me to swing by and grab you on the
way home?

At the top of the stairs now, on the second-floor balcony. Not a
problem. Call your folks, make a night of it. I'm on a low boil right
now, girlfriend. I am going to have to fuck the hell out of somebody
tonight and it might as well be you.

Knocking on a door. Mom? laughs Addison. Well. If you want to. Ha! I
knew it, I totally knew it. You are so crushed out on my Mom. You
little slut.

Well, maybe. If she's home. We could. It could be fun. Jesus. Come on!
Stamping her boot and jerking the doorknob, which twists, the door
popping open.

The room is dark. On the floor between the beds and the dresser where
the dead television sits kneels Alexandra Cuyahoga, naked, one hand in
her lap, the other up, sluicing something wet and glistening from the
corner of one eye. In the light from the doorway it is clear her face
is slathered with it, slick and greasy, a gobbet of it dangling from
her chin and dripping onto one bare little breast. Between the beds
stands Mister Tisdale shirtless, charcoal slacks unbuttoned open, cock
shining wetly in the darkness.

Oops, says Addison, into her cell phone. Gotta go. Punching it off.

I thought you locked that door, says Mister Tisdale. Turning away as
Alexandra crumples in upon herself blond hair falling to the floor
like a watery curtain both hands beneath which up to her face, wiping.
Wiping.

Hey, sis, says Addison.

                                                  ::
                                                  
                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls
                                             an object lesson.009
                                                 
                                                          --n.
                                                  ::
                                                  
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/nickurfe/www/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com

This story may be freely circulated by anyone, anytime, anywhere.

.

-- 
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.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+