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From: "DB_Story" <DB_Story@att.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} Relationships 101: The Test {DB_Story} (flash fic, 500 words)
Date: Tue, 16 Jul 2002 06:10:03 -0400
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RELATIONSHIPS 101: THE TEST
By DB  ( DB_Story@att.net / http://home.att.net/files/Authors/db_story/www/ )
Copyright(C) 2002 by DB.
ASSM (flash fic, 500 words)

(This story contains Constitutionally protected material intended for adults
over 18 years of age in the United States of America, and whatever passes
for adult status in other countries.  If you are under legal age, acting
under legal age, not allowed to view such material in your area, or easily
offended, please do not continue.  This is not for you.

(The only rights granted are to view this story.  You are not allowed to
reproduce, post, or otherwise redistribute this story without permission,
except for non-profit Usenet archiving sites.

(To purchase for publication, place on your web-site devoted to this style
of fiction, or for permission to link to my posted material, please contact
me first at the above email.)

- - -

Feedback desired: ASSD or e-mail.

- - -

I ran my hands over Amy's warm, bare torso, paying especial attention to her
small breasts and nipples.  It was my first date since my divorce - and my
first with Amy ever.

Amy is not the reason for my divorce.  No outside person is.  It just
happened.  I'd met her as a friend-of-a-friend two days before the wedding.
I knew I'd ask her out if I ever became single again.  I was.  I did.  She
said yes.  And here we are.

Amy is a short 5'2" and slim.  Beautiful face with lovely eyes and gigantic
blonde hair.  And an even bigger personality.  Her sexy, petite breasts are
just right for her.  I was happy to get my hands on them so quickly - safely
past that uncertain moment when one actually unhooks and hopes to remove her
bra.

Now at her place, we haven't spoken in decades of minutes.  Just an
occasional sigh as she pushes up more tightly against me.  Her eyes are
closed and she is unconsciously stroking the inside of her soft thigh.  My
hand slowly follows hers to the edge of her white panties.

"Would you stop if I asked?" she asks, without asking.

"Yes."

Another decade later, "Please stop."

I freeze, Amy on my lap, my hand on her breast, a finger inside her panties.

More minutes.  Silence.

I carefully remove my hands and say, "I need to use the bathroom."

Her bra is back on when I return.  She offers me a glass of red wine, and an
invitation to spend the night - in the guestroom.

"I've got to go.  It's a two-hour drive."

"Call me," she begs, started by my abrupt departure.

"How about you call me."

- - -

Two days later she calls.

"You walked out on me," she accuses.  Has no one done this before?

"You said to stop.  You left me no place to go."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you ask every man this question?"

"Yes."

"And what happens?"

"Some stop.  Some don't."

"What happens to the ones who stop?"

"They usually become good friends."

"Non-sexual friends?"

"Well...yes."

"And the ones who don't stop?"

"I always give in."

"And then?"

"Usually an intense sexual relationship for a while."

"Do you ever trust them afterwards?"

"No."

"And you still don't know why I left?"

"Tell me."

"Because NEITHER of those outcomes are what I wanted with you!"

"Neither?"

"Neither!"

Silence.

"I'm guessing you can't really give yourself fully to one man.  So you've
created this way to only give half."

Long silence.

"Can I come down and see you?"

"No."

"Are you seeing someone else?"

"Yes."

"So soon?"

"Yes."

"But I really like you."

"That's only because you can't have me.  Next time don't 'test' your
partner's character.  The good ones will always leave."

"Oh."

"Goodbye, Amy."

- - -

Amy wasn't the only woman who found me desirable only after I had gotten
engaged and indicated a future interest.  She was just the first one
scratched off the list.

<end>

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