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Message-ID: <37122asstr$1025507402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Joyce Melton <joyce@qnez.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Daily by Erin Halfelven
Date: Mon,  1 Jul 2002 03:10:02 -0400
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My first new story to ASSM in a long time. Hope everyone likes it.
More of my stuff appears on http://Calendar.atEROS.com, and
http://NaughtyWords.com. 
======================================================

Daily

by Erin Halfelven

Everyday he stood just inside his shop door, waiting for her to walk
past. Her brown hair swayed loosely or bobbed in a ponytail. In the
summer, she wore shorts and sneakers and her legs glowed with a golden
tan. In the winter she wore leggings and a coat and sometimes
high-heeled boots that made a distinctive sound as they clicked and
clacked on the sidewalk.

She's thirty years younger than you, he told himself, hell, maybe
forty.

But she smelled nice and her voice was warm and friendly when she
greeted him. In the spring she smelled like flowers and the whole
world smelled like flowers. In the fall she wore mini-skirts. Maybe he
liked the fall best.

The windows of the old junk shop had served her as a mirror more than
once. It's always dark in here, he thought, but I like it that way
because I can see out better.

She came down the sidewalk carrying the colorful soft-sided lunchbox
and a tan canvas purse. In the middle of summer, her shorts could not
be shorter. Hot pants, he thought they were called.

Hot pants indeed.

Her long shapely legs scissored her closer, her face lit up in a smile
as she saw him standing there. He wanted to speak to her, sometimes he
did. But he'd never found out her name or where she worked that she
could dress the way she did, or why she was so punctual, every
morning, five days a week, right at 9:35 a.m. she walked past his
shop.

She never came home this way, though, and he never saw her in the
neighborhood.

He didn't know her name. But she knew his, after all, it was on the
sign. He wanted to tell her that his first name was William and he was
never called Bill, tho sometimes old friends called him Tick-Tock
because of his passion for clocks and an ancient joking reference to a
comic book character no one remembered anymore.

He wanted to say she was beautiful.

He wanted to invite her in for tea and homemade biscuits with
blackberry jam. He wanted to touch her skin and find out if it was as
soft and smooth as it looked. He wanted to see under her blouse and
inside her panties and maybe get his fingers damp in her young pussy.

"Hi, Mr. Teller," she called as she swung past, "Beautiful day, ain't
it?"

He nodded, unable to speak to her today because, as usual, his hard-on
was just too intense.

===========================================
Copyright 2002 Joyce E. Melton, all rights reserved
-- Everyday Erotica
--   http://Calendar.atEROS.com

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