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Message-ID: <37839asstr$1029193807@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Laura Davis" <ldavis4@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} If Only, by Laura Lynn Davis F/f
Date: Mon, 12 Aug 2002 19:10:07 -0400
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If Only, by Laura Lynn Davis F/f

I apologize in advance for not spending more time to make this story better. 
  But I don't have a lot of time these days and my attention span is getting 
shorter.  LLD.

	Someone once wrote that the phrase 'if only' was the saddest in the English 
language.  I didn't really understand until after the accident.  Then, over 
the next two years, I came to a full understanding of just what the writer 
meant.  If only I hadn't gone on that school outing to New York City.  If 
only Mrs. Jensen hadn't been chaperoning her daughter's class that day.  If 
only I had refused to go down to the city to try for a modeling career.  If 
only I'd taken the subway that August afternoon instead of catching a taxi.  
Or, to go back to the beginning, if only my Vietnamese mother hadn't put me 
up for adoption.

	My name is Julie Hunter and I was born in Ho Ch Minh City on October 10, 
1981.  My father was ethnic Chinese and my mother was Vietnamese.  My father 
disappeared shortly after I was born and a month later my mother left me at 
an orphanage run by an order of Catholic nuns.  I was six months old when I 
was adopted by Mr and Mrs. William Hunter of Essex, Connecticut.

	I grew up in Essex and attended the regional high school where I was a 
three-sport athlete.  By the time I entered my sophomore year, in 1996, I 
stood 5' 10" tall and weighed 135 pounds.  I had two main interests in life: 
pulling good grades and sports.  I played soccer in the fall, basketball in 
the winter, and lacrosse in the spring.

	In November of that year we went on a class trip to the Metropolitan 
Museum.  I had just turned fifteen.  There were other school groups there 
that day and one was from the city.  One of the chaperones, Mrs. Jensen, was 
a booker for a small modeling agency.  She saw me in line at the cafeteria 
and introduced herself.  She gave me her card and asked me to call her if I 
had any interest in modeling.

	I didn't but I made the mistake of mentioning Mrs. Jensen to my mother.  A 
week later we made the trek into the city and within a couple of days I had 
a contract and mom was looking for an apartment in the city.  Mom found an 
apartment and enrolled me in a private school in Manhattan.  My father's 
objections had no more impact on mom than mine had.

	Modeling is the pits.  The work is hard and boring and the industry is 
filled with predators of both sexes.  I hated it.  But mom insisted that I 
give it a couple of years.  She told me that the money I was earning would 
allow me the freedom to do whatever I wanted, go to any college in the 
world.  So I worked my butt off and ignored the continual offers of drugs, 
alcohol, and sex.  Mom helped by keeping an eagle eye on me.

	I refused to give up sports completely and so I played soccer in the fall.  
And sometimes in the summer I'd play softball in Central Park.  After two 
years I wasn't a household name but I was doing quite well.  Then, in 
August, 1998, I caught a taxi to go to a photographer's studio in lower 
Manhattan.  The taxi was hit broadside by a bus and I woke up in the 
hospital.

	The next two years were a nightmare of reconstructive surgery and physical 
rehabilitation.  My right knee was badly damaged and I still walk with a 
slight limp.  But the worst damage was to my face - I looked like a slasher 
victim.  The doctors worked miracles over the next two years and when they 
were finally done nobody could tell that anything had ever happened to me.  
Nobody but me.

	Mom thought I'd go back to modeling and was angry when I refused.  She 
didn't understand why I refused an artificial eye to replace my left eye.  
She told me that the black patch I insisted on wearing was 'counter 
productive'.  We argued and the arguments escalated into huge screaming 
matches.

	I was nineteen but my mother still thought she was running my life.  When I 
told her I was leaving she tried to have me declared incompetent.  I got a 
lawyer and we went to court.  I won and my mother's name was removed from 
all of the joint accounts she'd established when I began modeling.  That's 
when we discovered that almost half of the money was missing.  Mom had 
dipped into my accounts to buy a new house in Greenwich and new cars for her 
and dad!

	My lawyer wanted me to sue to recover the money.  But I still had almost 
$400,000 and more coming from insurance settlements and settlements with the 
bus company and the taxi driver.  So I just took off.  My lawyer was the 
only one who knew where I was going and she had strict instructions not to 
tell anyone.

	I left Manhattan in December, 2000.  I was nineteen years old.  During one 
of my hospital stays a nurse had mentioned growing up in Massachusetts, on 
Cape Cod.  She'd mentioned Chatham a number of times, saying how beautiful 
it was and that's where I went.  I flew to Boston on the shuttle and then 
took a bus to the Cape.

	I stayed in a motel that was open in the off season.  Chatham turned out to 
be a beautiful town and I decided to stay.  It was quiet in the winter and I 
had no trouble finding a house to rent while I decided what to do with the 
rest of my life.  The house I chose was on South Beach.  The winter rental 
price was high but nothing like it what it went for in the summer.

	I didn't have a driver's license so I bought a bicycle.  I was still leery 
of riding in a car so a bicycle suited me perfectly.  And I needed the 
exercise.  I spent the winter riding my bike, reading an endless stream of 
mystery novels I ordered on Amazon, and watching sports on cable.

	I had my groceries delivered and I rarely spoke to anyone.  The houses on 
either side were closed for the winter.  By April I was in good shape 
physically but I still hadn't decided what to do with the rest of my life.  
I wanted to go to college but I didn't want to leave the Cape.  I thought 
about taking some classes at Cape Code Community College but that would have 
meant buying a car.  I wasn't ready for that.  The insurance settlements had 
come through and I was a fairly wealthy young woman.  I could have just 
loafed for the rest of my life but I was restless.

	Then, at the end of April my life changed again.  It was a warm spring and 
people were coming up to open up their cottages for the season.  My realtor 
called with the news that the house was going up for sale.  Was I 
interested?  I told her I'd get back to her in a day or so.  Then, on a warm 
Saturday morning I rode into Chatham on my bike.

	I was wearing jeans and tank top.  I had my hair pulled back into a 
ponytail and I was wearing a baseball cap.  A pair of dark sunglasses almost 
hid the patch over my left eye.  I'd been sunbathing and my skin was turning 
a dark bronze.  But when I looked in the mirror I still saw the maze of cuts 
that had been there after the accident.  I knew I was beautiful again but I 
didn't really believe it.

	I locked my bike into a rack in the parking lot next to the town hall and 
walked up Main Street.  My knee was acting up and I was limping more than 
usual.  I drifted from store to store, window shopping.  When I got to the 
bookstore I couldn't resist going in.  If I hadn't gone in ...... well, who 
knows?

	I was looking to my right as I entered the store so I didn't see the girl 
standing on the chair to left of the door.  I closed the door and had my 
back to her when she said, "Hi, can I help you?"

	I whirled around, startled, and saw her standing on the chair with a book 
in her hand.  She was small and blonde and cute and she had the most 
beautiful eyes - dark blue, almost purple.  I felt a jolt when our eyes met. 
  It was like a physical shock.  I *felt* my heart skip a beat.  I shook my 
head, stammered, "No."  I was barely able to talk and I didn't know why.

	She hopped down from the chair and I saw that she was no more than 5' 4".  
Her pale blonde hair was cropped short, giving her a boyish look that suited 
her.  She was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes.  She smiled and 
cocked her head to one side.  "Are you okay?"

	I panicked.  There's no other way to describe what happened.  I groped for 
the doorknob and somehow managed to get the door open and get outside.  My 
knee locked up and I had to lean against the side of the building for a few 
moments.  Then, as quickly as I could, I made my way back to the municipal 
parking lot.  By the time I got there my panic had subsided.  I sat down on 
a bench facing the street and tried to figure out what had just happened.

	Actually, I knew what had happened.  I just couldn't believe it.  Didn't 
want to believe it.  I'd heard of love at first sight, but I thought it was 
fiction, not something that happened in real life.  And with another girl?  
It was ridiculous!

	But as I sat there I could recall every detail of her appearance from the 
sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose to the sun-bleached down 
on her slender thighs.  The French call it 'Le Coup de Ploudre', the 
thunderclap - love at first sight, irrevocable and unexplainable.

	After I caught my breath I unlocked my bike and headed home.  I thought all 
I had to do was stay away from the bookstore and everything would be 
alright.  I should have know better.  The gods had just begun their 
mischief.

	On Sunday the Cape Cod Times had an article about the Chatham High girl's 
tennis team and their star player.  Who was, of course, the blonde from the 
bookstore.  Her name was Christine Johnson and she was seventeen, a junior, 
and undefeated in singles matches.  There was a picture of her, not a very 
good one, but good enough for me to be sure it was the same girl.  Their 
next match was Monday afternoon at 3:00 p.m., at home.

	I told myself that there was no way I was going to the match.  It was too 
far for me go on my bike.  And there was no real reason to go.  I couldn't 
have fallen in love with another girl.  I wasn't a virgin but my experience 
was limited to one time with a boy named Joe from back home in Connecticut.  
It hadn't been a total disaster but I hadn't felt anything one way or 
another.  And, as I mentioned, I'd been hit on by men and women while I was 
modeling and hadn't felt any desire either way.

	The taxi dropped me off at Chatham High at 2:45 p.m. on Monday afternoon.  
It was the first time I'd been in a car since leaving New York and it was a 
nerve-wracking ride.  I walked around the school and found my way to the 
tennis courts.  I found a spot on the grass outside the fence and settled 
down to watch.  Christine's match got underway a few moments after I 
arrived.

	She won easily by scores of 6-2, 6-0.  She made up for her lack of height 
with blazing speed and surprising strength.  She had a booming serve that 
her opponent couldn't handle and her speed allowed her to get to almost 
every ball that came over the net.  Her match lasted for less than 45 
minutes.  As soon as it was over I got up and headed across the parking lot. 
  I had my cell phone out to call a taxi when I heard footsteps behind me.  
"Excuse me, aren't you ...."

	I turned and saw Christine standing there with her tennis racquet in her 
hand.  "You are.  You're the girl who came into the store on Saturday.  What 
happened?  Why did you run out like that?"

	There was no use in denying it.  I mean, how many one-eyed Asian girls were 
there on the Cape at any given time?  I shrugged.  "I don't know.  I was 
scared, I guess."

	She stepped closer.  Her skin gleamed with perspiration and she looked 
wonderful.  "Scared of what?"

	I shook my head.  "I don't know.  I was just scared."

	Suddenly she held her hand out.  "I'm Chris Johnson.  You are?"

	I shook her hand.  "Julie Hunter."  She cocked her head, a quizzical look 
on her face.  "I was adopted."

	She smiled, her head tilted back, her eyes locked on mine.  "So, what were 
you scared of?"

	I shook my head.  "I don't know."  I took a step back.

	She followed.  "You're lying."

	I took another step back.  "No.  I'm not."  I turned and started to walk 
away.

	"I know what scared you.  I felt it too."

	I stopped and glanced back at her.  She was standing there with a big grin 
on her face.  "I love you."

	I stared at her for a moment.  "You've got to be kidding.  You're just a 
kid."  I turned and started waling again.

	"Can you look me in the eye and say that you don't feel the same way?"

	I stopped and faced her.  "I don't feel the same way."

	She grinned.  "Take your sun glasses off so I can see your eyes."

	I took my sun glasses off and she caught her breath when she saw the patch. 
  I started to speak the lie but I couldn't.  I turned and walked away.  
"You can run but you can't hide.  The Cape isn't all that big."

	I glanced back as I reached the corner of the building.  She was standing 
there watching me, tapping her racquet against her leg.  I called a taxi and 
by the time it dropped me off at the house I'd convinced myself that there 
was no way for her to find me.  Otherwise, I probably would have packed up 
and left Chatham.

	Two days later I came home from a late afternoon walk on the beach and 
found Chris sitting on the steps leading down from the back deck.  I stopped 
at the foot of the steps and looked up at her.  She was wearing shorts and I 
noticed that she had very pretty knees.  "What do you want?"

	She smiled.  "You."

	I shook my head.  "Go away little girl."

	She got up and came down the steps.  Standing on the last step put her eyes 
on a level with mine.  "Tell me you don't love me."

	I stared at her in silence for a long moment.  "Go away.  Please!"

	She smiled and leaned forward, sliding her arms around my neck.  A moment 
later her legs were wrapped around my waist and I stepped back to maintain 
my balance.  She kissed me and I was lost.  But I tried.  I turned and 
carried her down to the water.  I marched in until I was waist deep in the 
cold water and then I threw her in.  I had to tickle her to make her release 
her grip.  She went under and came up sputtering.  "Shit!  Are you crazy?  
The water's freezing!  If I catch cold and die it's your fault!"

	I turned and walked back to the house.  She followed, still muttering, and 
stood just inside the kitchen door.  I went and got two bath towels and 
threw her one.  "Get out of your wet clothes and I'll wash them."

	She wrapped the towel around herself and managed to remove her clothes 
without once showing anything of interest.  I scooped her wet clothes up and 
upstairs to the laundry room.  I threw my clothes in with hers and put a 
robe on before going back down to the kitchen.  She was making coffee, 
wrapped in the towel.  She glanced up and smiled, "I hope you don't mind."

	I shook my head.  "No, I could use a cup of coffee."  I pulled out a chair 
and sat down at the table.  The towel covered her from just under her 
shoulders to just above her knees.  Her very pretty knees.  I glanced away, 
blushing, as she turned and caught me looking at her knees.

	I heard her chuckle and then a moment later she was sitting on my lap, her 
arms around my neck. "I want to hear you say it."

	I pretended not to understand.  "Say what?"

	"Say it."  She kissed me, a quick peck on the lips.  "Say it."

	I sighed.  "I can't.  You're just a kid."

	"I'm seventeen!  How old are you?  Twenty?"

	I shook my head.  "No, I'm nineteen."

	She kissed me again.  This time it was a long kiss with lots of tongue.  
Then, her lips still touching mine, she repeated her demand.  "Say it."

	I took a deep breath.  "I love you."  Then I started to cry.  I couldn't 
help it.  I was convinced that admitting I loved her was a ticket straight 
to hell.

	"What's wrong?"

	"I'm not a lesbian!  I'm not!"

	She chuckled.  "So?"

	Suddenly, her hand was inside my robe, cupping my breast.  I shivered as my 
nipple hardened against her palm.  I glanced down.  "Please, stop before 
things get out of hand.  Please!"

	I stood, forcing her to scramble to avoid being dumped on her butt.  I 
walked over the counter and got two mugs out of the cabinet.  She followed, 
slipping her arms around me.  I sighed as she pulled my robe open and 
fondled my breasts.  I could have stopped her but I didn't and when she ran 
one hand down over my belly, between my legs, it was too late.

	A moment later I was on the floor, naked, and she was teasing my nipples 
with her tongue while her right hand explored my wet pussy.  She masturbated 
me to orgasm while I moaned with pleasure.  It was my first and I arched my 
back and screamed with pleasure as I came. She muffled my scream with her 
lips.

	She wouldn't let me do anything in return.  We sat at the table and sipped 
our coffee, neither of us saying much of anything.  She insisted that I 
remain naked and I didn't argue too much.  After we finished our coffee I 
took her upstairs and she showered while I put out clothes in the drier.  
After she came out of the shower I dried her hair.  Her body was perfect - 
small firm breasts, flat stomach, cute little ass, and slim, lovely legs.

	I wanted her to do me again but she shook her head.  "I have to get home.  
My father will be wondering what happened to me."  I got the clothes out of 
the drier and watched her get dressed.  I walked her down to the front door. 
  She kissed me, stroking my bare ass with both hands.  Then she was gone.

	I didn't sleep much that night.  And when I did sleep I had nightmares that 
I coudn't remember after I woke.  I didn't see her again until Saturday.  
She woke me up by ringing the doorbell at six a.m.

	She was dressed for running.  "Come on, sleepyhead.  Let's go for a run on 
the beach."

	I stared at her in silence for a moment.  "I don't know if I can keep up 
with you with this knee."  She slipped inside and followed me up the stairs. 
  All I had on was the long t-shirt I wear as a nightgown and a pair of 
cotton socks.  I brushed my teeth and put on a pair of shorts, a sportsbra, 
and a cropped t-shirt.

	We went out and I managed almost a half-mile before my knee acted up.  We 
walked back, chatting.  She wanted to know everything and I did my best to 
satisfy her.  As we walked, she slipped her arm around my waist.  I glanced 
around but there were only a couple of people out at that hour and they were 
far enough away so that I wasn't worried about being recognized.

	A few moments later she slipped her hand down the back of my shorts and 
stroked my bottom for a moment.  We continued on with her hand resting on my 
butt, inside my shorts.  When we got back to the cottage I went inside to 
make coffee.  I had just plugged the pot in when she called, "Take your bra 
off before you come back out."

	I hesitated but when I walked back out onto the deck my bra was draped over 
a kitchen chair.  I sighed as she slipped her hand under my t-shirt and 
fondled my breasts.  "God, you've got beautiful tits!"

	She teased me until I couldn't see straight!  We went inside and she chased 
me up the stairs to my bedroom.  This time she did me with her tongue while 
I lay on my back, my feet on the floor.  She knelt between my legs and 
licked my inner thighs until I thought I'd go mad!  When she ran her tongue 
along my slit I closed my eyes and whispered, "Oh!  My!  GOD!"

	We spent most of the day in bed.  The sex was fantastic!  I was hesistant 
the first time I went down on her but after one taste of her sweet pussy I 
was hooked.  We were lolling on my bed, our bodies slick with sweat, when I 
asked how she knew so much.  She smiled rubbed my belly.  "When I was 
fourteen the girl next door seduced me.  She was ninteen, just home from her 
freshman year in college.  I was her slut for the summer."

	"Her slut?"

	Chris nodded, her eyes steady on mine.  "Yes.  That's what she called me.  
Her slut.  There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for her."  She paused and her 
eyes grew dreamy.  "Or let her do to me."

	When I asked another question she suddenly clammed up and refused to answer 
any further questions.  Then her tongue was busy between my legs and I 
didn't ask again.

	Despite the mind-blowing sex I still had misgivings about my relationship 
with Chris.  She refused to answer any personal questions.  In June, after 
school was out for the year, she began spending most of her free time with 
me.  I'd bought the house and had begun to do some renovating.  I was doing 
a lot of the grunt work myself and I found that I liked working with my 
hands.  One afternoon when she came over after getting out of work I told 
her I wanted to meet her parents.

	She got very upset and refused to even consider it.  I insisted and we 
fought.  She slapped me and I threw her out.  The next morning I was working 
in the dining room, removing wallpaper, when the doorbell rang.  It was a 
tall man in his early forties.  He said, "I'm Dave Johnson, Christine's 
father.  Can we talk for a moment?"

	I invited him into the kitchen and poured coffee for both of us.  We talked 
for a while and basically what he said boiled down to this.  He was divorced 
and he'd recently met another woman.  A woman he thought he might have a 
life with.  But she and Chris hated each other.  "So," he concluded, "If I 
know Chris is safe with you then I can spend more time with Robin."  That's 
when I made my big mistake.  I admitted taht I was having an affair with 
Chris.

	If only I'd been more wary.  A few minutes after he left a police cruiser 
pulled into the yard.  I was arrested on various charges and taken into 
custody.  I was convicted on only one charge - carnal knowledge of a minor 
female - but that was enough to get me sentenced to seven years in prison.

The End

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