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From: "Qickless" <qickless@fastmail.fm>
Reply-To: "Qickless" <qickless@fastmail.fm>
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.

--


Comments to qickless@fastmail.fm
Definitive versions at 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/qickless/www

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