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Subject: {ASSM} What do you want? (MF, rom)
Date: Mon, 8 Jul 2002 03:10:08 -0400
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<1st attachment, "what_do_you_want.txt" begin>
If you are a minor in your country, or if you are
offended by stories with sexual content, delete
this immediately. This story is copyrighted as
stated at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/qickless/www.
To Hope(you know who you are and I hope you like
this)
What do you want?(MF, rom)
By Qickless [qickless@fastmail.fm]
Is it sleek black stockings in high heels, or a
warm hug?
It started with a whisper, wine-red lipstick
breathing into my ear at a crucial moment:
"Eric, I don't want you to see Martha anymore."
My hands were around her waist; she was sitting
on my lap, squirming. Her green hazel eyes
slithered over mine and her hand stole its way
over my body, pausing over my ragged cheek before
curling around my well-hidden cock.
It was hard to breathe.
"I don't want you to hang around Martha anymore.
She's so... shoddy."
Shoddy? Martha was shoddy. But --
"And ugly."
Ugly?
"But why?"
"What do you mean but why?"
Green dragon eyes, loading up fire canisters.
"Why? She's just my friend."
"Was, Eric. She was your friend. I'm your friend
now, Eric."
She licked my ear, pausing to nibble and then
bite it. Suddenly the hand crawling around my
cock was gone. She was standing up, the green and
white jumpsuit gone, nipples hard and ready.
"Fuck your friend, Eric."
My hard cock pounded into her, toppling her onto
the satin bed and plunging deep inside her. I
cried out and kissed her, licking her lipstick
and then tickling her soft curly breasts. She
came hard, laughing. I pulled out and came all
over her hips. She was on the pill, but she
didn't want to take any chances.
Neither did I.
Before she left, she dug up one of my paintings
from an old suitcase. She frequently made it a
hobby to poke around my things. The paint was
four months old, and fading fast. It was a woman,
thin and tall with just a small shred of color
wrapped around her.
"Who's this?"
"Nobody. Just a model."
She seemed satisfied, leaving my house with a
beaming smile, and a promise to call.
Martha lived in the room opposite mine. I knocked
on her door. And hearing no reply, I opened and
entered.
"Martha?"
"I'll be there in a sec, plant yourself in the
TV, will you?"
I couldn't find the TV. There was too much stuff
everywhere. Unbroken pizzas, uneaten food,
undrinkable coffee, underwear and bras, and
little and big figures of clay were everywhere.
Martha sculpted.
Brilliantly.
I made some coffee and plopped down on the couch.
After a bit of searching, I discovered the TV,
and after a little while, the remote. I polished
the TV screen with my T-shirt and settled back
down. Then I heard her call, "Eric, over here
please?"
In the last four months, she'd only invited me
into the 'studio' twice. I spilled the coffee
over the couch as I scrambled to my feet and
pushed the black curtain aside. She could change
her mind very easily.
She was sitting on a high stool, watching me
enter.
"Well, what do you think?"
It was a bust. It was my bust. It was
breathtaking.
"I didn't know I was so handsome."
"Stop it Eric."
"Really, its good. Very good."
"Really?"
"Really really."
She bit her lip and her brown warm skin gave me a
nice hug. I took a nice draught of the warm earth
that always seemed to dangle about her. Like her,
I loved the smell of work.
"Now you must show me your paintings."
I smiled.
"Maybe."
Maybe not.
We moved out of the dimly lit room and into the
electric light outside. Martha squinted lightly,
getting used to the light.
"I'll just shower and come back. Okay?"
"Sure."
I took my place on the couch and flicked
channels. Somebody was coaching potential lovers.
Somebody else was exhorting the merits of
divorce.
She came back, having freshly showered and
changed into a nice black dress. Her blue eyes
twinkled in the bright light. I got her a cup of
coffee, black.
"Nice," she breathed slowly relishing every drop.
"Thanks."
She leaned back on the couch, her tall lean body
stretching over the cushions, her eyes closed.
"So who did you have over? Christine?"
It was only a week since we started trading
relationships. It was still a very itchy topic.
I nodded.
"So... how did it go?"
"We broke up."
She choked on the coffee. I smiled.
"What happened?"
"Oh... nothing much, she was too pressy."
"Pressy?"
"Nagging."
"Oh..."
It was an awkward moment. I watched her trying
her best not to meet my eyes, and doing a bad job
of it.
"So, how's your love life going?" I asked.
"Okay, I guess."
She spent almost the entire day in this
apartment.
"You've got to go out more, you know?"
Her eyes twinkled, "Maybe I'm waiting for the
right man?"
"And maybe I'm waiting for the perfect girl
too... brown-skinned, blue-eyed, and with clay on
her hands."
She blushed.
"Oh, stop it Eric."
I didn't.
--
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