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From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel)
Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: Christmas Break      (doorknobs)
Date: Sat, 31 Aug 2002 01:10:05 -0400
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   visit Mat's Erotic Calender at:
   http://Calendar.atEROS.com

=========================================
CHRISTMAS BREAK 
by Mat Twassel
=========================================	

Melissa is either going over the cut list or thinking about 
the doorknob, about the exact way it might nudge her cunt.

Our offices are dark now, all but mine and hers, this last 
day, these last hours before Christmas break.  I've been 
enjoying the unusual peace of these quiet offices as I 
prepare for next week's reviews.  Mostly I've been thinking 
about Melissa, about her slim long legs squeezing together 
rhythmically as she stares at her PC screen saver.

We're on the seventh floor of central division headquarters.  
The corporation wants our space eliminated; they want us 
down-sized drastically.  Melissa was brought in from the 
outside to do the job.

It's been a long day for Melissa.  She's had to interview 
everybody.  She's tired.  She has her legs stretched out, 
crossed at the ankles under her desk, and she leans back in 
her chair, puts her hands behind her head and arches her 
back.  She can feel it most especially just below her ribs, 
her slim tummy, but also the tips of her breasts pressing 
the soft cups of her silky little bra.  And this is when she 
squeezes her legs together, those muscles of her inner 
thighs, and an instant later she clenches her cunt, and then 
her asshole, a little rock and roll between them, so that 
her pelvis lifts almost imperceptibly.

It's not clear that she can come this way, or that she even 
wants to.  Her PC screen-saver shows white gulls swooping 
across a slow sunset over the shimmery sea.  Now and then a 
fish jumps--you only see the ripples really, hear the little 
splash--and sometimes a swooping gull seizes the jumping 
fish, pinches it firmly in its beak, then swallows as it 
soars away.   It is these jumping fish that get to Melissa--
she associates them with the twitching of her clit.  It 
wouldn't be fair to move her hand there, would it?  
Sometimes two fish jump, one right after the other, and plop 
plop they fall back into screen-saver sea.  That's 
especially sexy, that little plop plop. "Oh," she wishes 
with a sigh, "Someone to suck my little clit just so."  She 
doesn't use those words, of course.  It's all in the 
internal flow of the screen saver.

When everything goes black, the moon comes up.  It goes 
through a complete cycle in one slow curve across the 
screen, crescent at the edge, full at the apex, final 
crescent just before going off the end.  During the lunar 
journey,  night clouds cross the screen, sometimes covering 
the moon, and black waves lap slender silver light.  Screen-
saver sunset requires almost eleven minutes.  Night is over 
in three.  Sand glistens in the dawn sun. The tide is out, 
and two children, a boy and a girl, stroll the dunes holding 
hands.  They play tag.  They spread suntan lotion over each 
other.  As the sun follows the moon, as sandpipers twitter 
and peck, the children age into teens, their bodies fill 
gently, slightly, and in the in-house edition these young 
sweethearts gracefully remove each other's swimsuits before 
splashing thigh-high into the surf.  My private version of 
the in-house edition goes one step further: With luscious 
shades of pink and purple spreading across the sky, the boy 
and the girl share a tender kiss.  That's not quite all: 
Just as the sea engulfs the last of the sun--at that last 
instant, with the slimmest band of bright gold light lining 
the horizon, the girl slides her face slowly down the boy's 
body.  That's what I do with my spare time--enhance these 
mildly erotic screen savers.

Melissa has her numbers, her targets, but it's not clear she 
has my screen saver.  Maybe she has my office mate's--those 
fat penguins riding antique bicycles on ice.  One penguin at 
first, then more and more. Lots of narrowly missed 
collisions.  Occasionally a bike spills, and the penguin 
slides across the screen, off the edge.  When enough 
penguins get on the screen, the ice begins to crack.  It 
tips up, big blue-white sheets of ice, and the penguins and 
bicycles slide swiftly into the sea.  That's been a big 
seller this year--penguins on bikes.  I gave Craig the idea, 
but Craig got most of the credit.

Or maybe Melissa is just looking at names and numbers.  She 
sighs. Maybe she's looking at my name now, my numbers.  She 
links her fingers and presses her clasped hands down her 
trim tummy, smoothing the upper lap of her trousers to just 
above her mons veneris.  She really could come now--the 
pressure is too delicious, so she takes her hands away, 
takes a deep breath.

I should be packing up, getting ready to leave.  I look at 
my watch, the second hand climbing up.  Melissa might be 
ready to call it a day.  She uses her left toe to pry off 
her right shoe.  Feels then for the ridge somewhere down 
there.

Melissa thinks about the shower she'll take at the hotel. 
The firm spray of fine warm water on the verge of too hot.   
Afterwards, according to my vision, she bends gracefully 
forward to dry her legs but accidentally brushes the 
bathroom doorknob with her lovely bare bottom.

In her office, getting ready to go, Melissa thinks about the 
doorknob--how remarkable that it is at the perfect height to 
touch her so intimately.  What if I turned around? she 
wonders.  Where, exactly, would it come to?  And could I 
lift my leg?  Could I stand on my tippy-toes just a little, 
and graze myself against the top, against the fluted little 
curl of grip?  And how would that feel?  And what would it 
look like in the mirror, the partially steamed up mirror?

Melissa sits up in her chair as she asks herself these 
questions, and as the questions flow she squeezes her cunt 
more rapidly.  She knows if she touched herself, even the 
littlest bit, she'd come.

Instead Melissa reaches down to put on her shoes, then she 
stands up, grabs her coat, gathers her purse and satchel and 
heads for the elevators.

I get my stuff together.

"Oh, hi," she says as we wait for the elevator to come up.  
"I didn't realize you were still here."

"Long day, huh?" I say.

She nods, smiles sweetly.

"Do you usually turn everything off?" she asks.

"What do you mean?" I say.

"When you go?  Do you shut off your PCs?  I wasn't sure.  
Yesterday I left it on."

"That's ok," I say.  "We're in the screen saver business 
after all."

"Oh right," she smiles as she steps ahead of me into the 
elevator.

"I don't know if I should tell you this," I say, "But I've 
been thinking about you."

"Oh," she says.  "What have you been thinking?"  She jabs 
the button for lower level one.

"I've been thinking about your thoughts," I say.

"My thoughts?"

"And about the doorknob in your bathroom."

"That's funny," Melissa says.  "I'm not sure my bathroom has 
a doorknob."

"Doors usually have doorknobs, don't they? There must be a 
doorknob on the door."

"I guess so," she says.  "But not all doors.  These elevator 
doors, for example."

This wasn't going quite the way I'd planned.  Maybe because 
I hadn't really planned. "I was imagining you thinking about 
brushing against it after your shower."

The elevator door has opened.  The lobby is before us, but 
Melissa has made no move to leave.

"Brushing against what?" Melissa asks.

"The doorknob," I say.  "With your...."  I don't know what 
word to use.

Melissa waits.

"Bottom," I say.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Melissa says.

"Not enough to hurt," I say, "Just nudging it, accidentally 
at first, and then more deliberately... caressing yourself 
against the surface of it."

"I see," Melissa says.  "So you're talking about some kind 
of masturbation?" Still she makes no move to leave the 
elevator.

"I hope you don't mind me telling you this."

"No," Melissa says.  "I'm glad you told me."  She moves very 
close to me.  I know she's going to kiss me.  I know what's 
going to happen: she'll hoist herself on the waist-high 
hand-holds and wrap her legs around me.  Through the wide 
open doors, anyone passing by could see us, but we won't 
notice, we won't care, we'll be too busy examining the 
glistening little knob of her clit as it wobbles back and 
forth.

She's looking deep in my eyes.  Wondrous desire.  She takes 
a deep breath.  Her perfume is pure sex.

"I need to tell you something, too," she says.  Her eyes 
gleam, a deep greedy pleasure.

"What do you have to tell me?" I say.

"The lay-off list," she says, "You're on it."

END
======================================
Christmas Break 
by Mat Twassel

Mat's Erotic Calendar at 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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