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Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: Ladder and Neptune (2 Christmas Stories)
Date: Tue, 24 Dec 2002 19:10:05 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Ladder&Neptune.txt" begin>
The Ladder
by Mat Twassel
==============
I was putting up the outside Christmas lights, and
before you know it I was washing windows, me on the
ladder outside and Helen on the inside, pointing
out the spots I missed. Then she called me in to
dinner. "The windows look so clean and sparkling,"
she said.
She looked so sparkling. So pleased with me. "And
this is a good dinner, too," I said.
Afterwards I helped with the dishes, pressing up
behind her, and one thing led to another.
Helen sighed. "We should do chores together more
often," she said. "I'm still trembling. Here,
feel."
I felt, and one thing led to another.
The next day the ladder was gone. I didn't notice
until I was pulling into the garage after work. I
remembered that I hadn't put the ladder away, and
that's when I noticed.
"Do you know what happened to the ladder?" I asked
Helen over dinner.
"No. What do you mean?"
"It's missing. I thought you might have noticed
something."
"Do you think someone took it?"
"It looks that way."
"Maybe it was only borrowed."
"I don't think so. I think it was stolen. I should
have put it away the other night."
"Oh, honey," Helen said, and she came around the
table and hugged me.
"It's only a ladder," I said, "but still, it makes
me mad. I mean, who would steal a ladder?"
"A second story man?" Helen said, and then she
giggled.
"I'll second story man you," I said, and I squeezed
her, and pretty soon we were on the floor and the
dinner dishes didn't get done that night.
"Do you think you should call the police?" Helen
asked me the next morning while we were finishing
breakfast.
"Because of the ladder?" I said.
"Don't you think?"
"Why don't you call them?"
"Me?" Helen said.
"Sure, why not?"
"Because I wouldn't know what to say."
"Just say our ladder was stolen."
"Yeah, but suppose they ask me what kind of ladder
it was. I don't know stuff like that."
"It was an aluminum step ladder. Six feet."
"Suppose they ask what it was worth, or ... "
"Call them," I said. "I'll tell you what to say."
She dialed the number. "No, she said, "it's not an
emergency. Okay."
She looked at me. "I'm on hold," she said.
I moved around behind her and held her. She was
good to hold. Her robe came open.
"Still on hold?" I whispered into her ear before
kissing it.
"Mmm," she said.
Still kissing her, I sat her down upon me and moved
her panties out of the way.
"Mmm," I said.
Her hips begin making little motions.
"Honey," she said, "Honey, you're making me ...
Hello? Um, yes, I'd like to ... um ... um ..."
I fluttered my tongue in her ear and pinched her
nipples.
"To ... um ... call you back."
She hung up and for a moment when she took one of
my hands from her breast I thought she was angry at
me, but she moved my hand down to her mound and it
didn't take long.
"That was mean," she said afterwards. "Don't you
want to get your ladder back?"
"It's not likely they'll be able to find it," I
said.
"Well then for insurance or something?"
"Good thought," I said. "Why don't you call the
police back?"
"Oh, no," she said. "I'm not falling for that
again. You call."
"Me?"
"Well, it's your ladder. You were the one who left
it out."
"Okay, okay," I said.
No sooner had I dialed the number than Helen was at
my zipper.
"Fair is fair," Helen said.
"Hello, I'd like to report ..."
Helen had me out. I was still small, and Helen's
mouth had me all.
"A ladder," I said. "A stolen ladder."
Helen sucked loud and hard, her lips making slurpy
kissing noises, her tongue wiggling.
"It was," I said. "It was."
I could feel Helen's hand behind. Her finger
probing.
"It was."
Working its way in.
"Taken," I gasped, trying to hang up the phone. I
missed. The handset dangled down. Helen's finger
popped out. Her mouth left me.
"No fair," I said.
She smiled. "Did you make your report to the
police?" she said, replacing the handset. "Did you
give them all the pertinent details?"
"No," I said. "How could I with ..."
"With what?" Helen asked, looking up at me past the
bob of my erection.
I took a deep breath.
"Don't you want the ladder thief caught and
punished?"
"I don't know. I guess so."
"Then don't you think you'd better make the call?"
"Are you going to ... do what you were doing again?"
"Do you want me to?"
I wasn't sure.
"What's a matter?" Helen said. "Can't you come and
think at the same time?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Dial the number," Helen said. "Let's find out."
"It's me again," I said. "About the ladder that
was stolen. We were cut off. We ..."
Helen stroked and sucked, slow and steady, and I
gave the information as best I could. I kept
waiting for Helen's finger. She teased me that
way, touching there and then retreating, and I grew
stiffer and stiffer, stumbling through the recital,
until at last I was finished, and I cradled the
phone.
"All done?" Helen said, her mouth for a moment
releasing me, her hand stopping, the air shimmery
and chilled.
"Yes," I blurted.
"Good boy," she said, "good, good boy!" Then she
recaptured me, stroked harder, and that sly finger
wiggled in. Staggering with pleasure, I shot.
"That is a good boy," she said, dripping, milking,
squeezing out the last drops. She wiped her face
with the side of her hand. "How come you had so
much left?"
"I don't know," I mumbled.
"What did they say?"
"I love you."
"The police said 'I love you'?"
"I love you," I said. "They said they'd see what
they could do but don't expect anything."
"So it looks like the ladder thief will get away
clean?" Helen said, standing up.
"Clean," I said, kissing her.
"The thing is we still have a couple of windows
left. The ones in the kitchen," Helen said.
"I guess I'd better get a new ladder," I said.
==============
The Ladder
by Mat Twassel
Neptune's Cove
Mat Twassel
==============
Minutes after Jerry leaves for work the police arrive.
Not the police, exactly. One policeman, with a shiny brim
to his cap and sharp creases on his trousers and a bulky
gun buckled to his belt. I am still in my robe when he
rings the bell, when I cautiously open the door.
"Ma'am," he says. "You reported your ladder stolen?"
"Right," I answer, holding the robe closed at the throat.
It is chilly out. Snow not too far off. "Jerry. My
husband. He reported it."
The policeman nods and smiles. Nice blue eyes. A boyish
face. He looks to be about my age. Approaching thirty.
"Um, do you want to come in," I say. "It's cold out
here."
I lead him through the hall and into the living room.
"Have a seat." I gesture to the couch. "Would you like
some coffee?"
"No, that's all right," he says.
"You sure? It's all made. Decaf, but it's good decaf. Or
are you not supposed to?"
"Okay," he agrees. "A cup would be fine."
While I am pouring the coffee into my new Peter Rabbit
mug, I wonder about the police car in the driveway. His
cruiser, I think they call them. What might the
neighbors think? I shrug it off. In the year we've been
here we've hardly been social with the neighbors. Except
for nosy old Mrs. Dole across the road, the nearest house
is almost half a mile down Bluebird Lane.
"I'm sorry about the mug," I say, handing it to the
officer. "We didn't quite get the dishes done last night.
This was an early Christmas gift from my little niece."
"It's very nice," the policeman says. He smiles at me.
"About your ladder ...?"
"It was taken," I say. "Sometime yesterday or maybe the
night before. What do you need to know?"
"We have the information from the report." He clears his
throat. "I just dropped by to see if there was anything
new. And to tell you we'd keep an eye out. I'll go to
the neighbors, see if they saw anything. But in cases
like these ..." He shrugs and smiles.
"I see."
I want to close my robe a little tighter, but I'm afraid
how that might look.
"Ladders are unusual," he adds. "It's usually tools or
bicycles. Sometimes toys."
"Toys?"
"Yeah," he says. "Stuffed animals left out on the lawn.
In a way those are the saddest. Carried off by a stray
dog for all we know. But scooters or tricycles--no way a
dog could be blamed for that. Once even a green worm."
"A green worm?"
"A kid's ride-on toy. Kind of a caterpillar. Taking
something like that is really low."
The policeman takes a sip of the coffee then sets the cup
on the end table.
"You don't like it?" I ask. "My coffee?"
"No, it's good," he says. "I'm not really much of a
coffee man. Or when I do, with lots of milk and sugar."
"Oh," I say. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think. I guess
I'm not used to having cops, I mean the police, in the
house."
"Cops is okay," he says. He stands up. His creases are
still sharp. My eyes move from his gun to his groin. I
can't help it. Those blue eyes. I hurry to say something.
"I could get you some milk and sugar. Or a Coke? I guess
I must have thought all cops liked black coffee."
"Most of them do," he says. His smile is so persistent.
"But that's okay. I have to be going. I just wanted to
let you know that I was going to check with your
neighbors. About the ladder. If you do think of anything
more, just call the station. They can patch you straight
through to me."
"Thanks," I say. "I will." I walk the man to the front
door. "My husband says he can't understand why anyone
would take a step ladder. He says they're not that
expensive."
"It's a mystery," the man says. "Maybe it was Santa
Claus. Maybe Santa took your ladder to help him get down
your chimney." He grins. I'm not sure if his grin is
boyish or lewd.
"Right," I say at the open doorway. "Santa Claus." The
wintry air is causing goosebumps on my skin. "Well,
thanks for coming over, Officer .... Detective ...?"
"Harper," he says. "Patrolman Harper. No problem." He
smiles. "I didn't think you'd remember me. Steve
Harper."
"Steve Harper," I say, trying to connect him to
something. Steve Harper. A blank.
"Junior high," he says. "We weren't in the same classes.
You were in honors. We had just moved into town. But I
danced with you at the last eighth grade dance. Neptune's
Cove. Remember that?"
"Oh," I say. "Barely. Maybe. Neptune's cove."
"It was just for one dance," Steve says. "Near the end of
the night. But it was the best dance I ever had."
"Oh," I say, trying to remember.
"Yeah." Steve chuckles. A mirthful, boyish laugh. "I
thought about it all that summer. I thought maybe in
high school ... But then we moved away."
He looks at me for a moment. Right into my eyes. I
shiver. "Cold," I say. "Snow soon."
He looks up at the sky, then back at me. "I've seen you a
couple of times at the health club, too," he adds.
"Working out."
"Yeah, I go there sometimes." What a foolish thing to
say. Of course I go there.
Steve nods. Then he turns and strides briskly down the
steps and onto the walk. When he gets to the cruiser he
turns, and seeing me still at the door, he waves. I wave
back. Just a friendly little wave, and my robe almost
falls open.
All morning I think about the junior high dance.
Neptune's Cove. Vaguely I remember blue and green
streamers. Cutouts of giant fish and squid and starfish
dangling from the gym ceiling. Shimmery blue cellophane
and dim blue lights. But I can't remember the songs. I
can't remember the dances. I can't remember Steve.
The morning passes. I shower and dress. I make tea. I
rearrange a few ornaments on the tree. I reheat noodles
from the other day. I wait for the mail, the last
Christmas cards before Christmas. Not having pre-school
gives me too much time. It's barely noon. I pack my
workout bag and head for the gym.
The place isn't crowded. Usually I go with Jerry two or
three times a week after he gets home from work, and it's
packed then.
Steve Harper isn't there, of course. I didn't think he
would be. I do some stairs, some rowing. I go more than
usual, until my arms ache. Then back to the stairs. I
want to feel it on the inside of my thighs and all the
way up. The music pounds. Feel your love, feel your
love. Feel your love, love, love. I look in the mirror.
My hair is wild. My face is red. I can see the runners
doing their laps. I wonder if Steve runs. I imagine him
lifting weights. His muscles smooth and big as he
strains. Would he smile then? Shelves of muscle. Sheaves
of muscle. Tight little nipples. Haunches hard as hams as
he squats, the rigid slab of lift, and then the bar above
his head, his torso agleam with sweat, rivulets rushing
down. Don't drop it. What if I touched him then? Tickled
him lightly under the arm? Kutchie, kutchie. How long
could he hold it up? Maybe he has no hair there. Jerry's
pits are full of dark curls. His chest is like a field of
wool. My fingers snag in it. The mat below his belly is
even thicker. Steve might be smooth. A hand might slide
unimpeded all the way to his root. To paydirt. That makes
me chuckle. Paydirt. On the exercise floor upstairs I
stretch out. Do a few tummy clenches. Then more
stretches. It feels so good to stretch. That infomercial
of the elephant stepping on the model's belly. I wish I
could remember him. Steve Harper. The dance at Neptune's
Cove.
Still no snow, though the sky looks swollen with it.
Jerry gets home early and I hug him at the door. The
kisses turn serious, and soon his hands are on my ass.
"Can we go dancing?" I ask.
"Dancing?" he says. "We haven't danced in ..."
"I know," I say. "Let's, okay? It's been much too long."
"It's Christmas Eve," he says. "No place will be open.
Those that are will be too jammed."
"Jammed is what I want," I say, pressing close. Wiggling
my front against his. "Please?"
"The thing is I have to get something," he says.
"What?"
"A new ladder."
"A new ladder? Why? I mean why tonight? Couldn't you get
a ladder tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow's Christmas."
"Then the next day. Why didn't you pick one up on the way
home?"
"I need the van, and I only thought of it at work," he
says. "I got this idea. I want to do it while it's fresh.
Come on. It will be fun."
"I'd rather go dancing."
"We will, honey. Soon. I promise."
Jerry loves hardware stores. He loves hardware. I can't
get too excited about it. A shiny crescent wrench doesn't
make my heart start hammering. A pneumatic screwdriver
doesn't thrill me to the core. Home Depot is huge and
hugely empty. No one but us in aisle after aisle of
drills and nails, pipes and lumber, routers and sump
pumps and roofing tar--not my idea of Eden.
"The police came over today," I mention to Jerry while
he's inspecting the step ladders.
"Oh?" he says. "About the ladder? What'd they want?"
"Nothing much," I answer. "They just said they'd be
looking into it."
"Fat chance," Jerry says. "Here. What do you think of
this baby? Climb on up."
"I don't want to."
"Come on. Climb up. I want to see you up there?"
Dutifully I climb.
Jerry is smiling. "Higher," he says.
I take another step. "This is as far as I go," I tell
him.
"One more," he says.
"Why? You want to see up my skirt?"
"Maybe," Jerry admits.
"Oh, Jerry," I say. But I climb up another step. "There.
That's as high as I go." I start to climb down.
"Wait," says Jerry.
"What now?"
"Spread your legs a little."
"No way," I say.
"Come on, just a little. The store is empty. No one
will see."
"I'll fall off."
"I'll hold it. Just a little."
I start to do it. The ladder wobbles when I move.
"Don't worry," Jerry says. "I've got you. Just a little
more, okay?"
"This is crazy."
"Please."
I spread my legs a little. Jerry has a hold of the
ladder. He's looking up.
"Now move your panties out of the way," he says.
"No," I answer. "I'm coming down."
"Just for a tiny second," Jerry says.
"Maybe at home," I say.
"Here," he says. "Do it here."
"And then can we go dancing?" I ask.
"Maybe," he says. "If there's time."
I look around. No one near. "What if someone comes?" I
say.
"Do it quick," he says.
I do it. I bunch the skirt from the front, ease the
material of my panties aside. Just for the briefest
instant. Then I hurry down the ladder. I'm trembling
when I reach the floor.
"How was that?" I say, out of breath.
"Too quick," Jerry says. "I couldn't see enough."
"Too bad," I tell him. "You said a tiny second."
"That was a micro second. A micro mini second. I wanted
you to put your finger in. But I'm proud of you. You're
so brave."
"I don't feel brave," I say. "I feel like I'm wetting my
pants. What if someone ...?"
"You could pretend you were falling. You could fall and
I could catch you."
He hugs me. I can feel how hard he is. "Hardware," I
say, rubbing up against him. "Time for dancing now, my
Mister Hardware man." We sway together. The cavernous
silence of Home Depot surrounds our dance.
At home Jerry brings the shiny new step ladder inside the
house. "How come?" I ask. "Shouldn't it go in the
garage?"
"Open the basement stairs, would you?" Jerry says. "I
have a few modifications to make."
"What kind of modifications?"
"A little customization job. You'll see."
"I thought we were going dancing."
"If there's time," Jerry says. "I have to do this first.
It shouldn't take long. It should be done before dinner's
ready. Just sandwiches if we're going to go dancing,
okay?"
I feel so pleased as I make the sandwiches. We're going
to go dancing after all. While the bacon sizzles on the
stove, I slice tomatoes and slather mayo on Jerry's toast
and think of what I'm going to wear.
After supper Jerry takes me downstairs.
"See?" he says, pointing to the ladder.
"It looks the same."
"I know. That's the point."
"So what did you do?"
"Aha," he says. "See this step here, two from the top?"
Jerry runs his hand over it.
"Yes?"
"I unbolted it. Sliced the bolts. And soldered them
back."
"I don't get it."
"It looks the same," Jerry says. "No way to tell it's
not. And it'll hold up fine, until about twenty pounds
or more steps on it. Then--kaboom!" Jerry claps his
hands.
"Kaboom?"
"It gives way. Whoever's on it falls off. Brilliant,
eh?"
"I don't understand."
"The thief," Jerry explains. "We're going to leave this
ladder out, just like the last one. And if it's stolen,
the thief is going to get a big surprise."
"I don't know," I say. "That sounds ... I don't know ...
dangerous ... and illegal."
"It is dangerous," Jerry says. "That's the point.
Dangerous for the thief."
"But what if it's some kid. What if some kid from the
neighborhood comes by and climbs up just for the fun of
it?"
"Okay," Jerry says.
"Okay what?"
"Okay, I see your point. I'll only put it out at night.
No kid would be out playing at night, right?"
"I don't know," I say. "I mean even if a thief does take
it, it might be someone else who climbs it, someone else
who ends up getting hurt. They could get killed. I was
up that high. That's pretty high. I think you should fix
it back."
Jerry looks crestfallen.
"It is very clever," I tell him.
"You think so?"
"Yeah. Now let's go dancing."
"You really want to?"
"I do. I want to dance and dance. And then we can come
home and open Christmas presents."
"The thing is, I'm not sure if I know of a place."
I get out the phone book.
"What, are you going to look up under 'dance'?"
"Why not?" I say.
I find the page.
"See? Look, there are several of them."
I read down the list. Neptune's Cove is near the bottom.
"Neptune's Cove," I say to Jerry. "Have you ever heard
of that?"
"I don't think so," he says. "Does it say where it is?"
I read him the address.
"Pretty seedy part of town," he says.
"Let's try it," I say. "If we don't like it, we can
always leave."
Neptune's Cove is in old warehouse on Pike Street just
across the river. It stands isolated and dark and cold,
but there are several cars in the parking lot, and we see
a couple stepping through the dark doorway.
"This is going to be exciting," I say to Jerry, taking
his hand.
"I don't know," he says. "Maybe we should have called
first. Maybe we need reservations."
"Come on," I say, leading him along the brick sidewalk.
The first snowflakes begin to fall.
We check our coats and pay the cover and enter the inner
area. The ceilings and walls have disappeared into
darkness, and yet the space seems small and snug. Little
tables surround the sunken dance floor. Couples sway in
shifting beams of blue and gold. Soft electric music ebbs
and flows. A waitress wearing mostly tights takes us to a
table.
"Drinks?" she says, and as she bends to light the candle
her bare breast grazes my shoulder.
Jerry looks at me.
"Red wine," I say.
"Make that two," Jerry tells her.
"Merlot okay?" she asks, and her fat nipples seem to
smile at us.
"Fine," Jerry says. He watches her bottom as she walks
off. You can see almost everything.
"Fine place you've gotten us into," he tells me. "I can't
believe they have something like this in our town."
"Yeah, well, as long as we're here we might as well
dance," I tell him. We step up onto the dance floor.
The music shimmers. Jerry puts his arms around me, and I
allow myself to drift. We glide about. I feel safe and
aimless. I don't think of anything. I just dance. It's
almost as if Jerry isn't there. Oh, this is nice.
"This is nice," Jerry says.
"Mm-hm," I agree. I look up. Pinpricks of light.
Jerry's hands drift lower. The small of my back. The
top of my bottom. He pulls me against him. I can feel
his fattened prick through his pants. Something in my
center catches.
"Mm-hm," Jerry says, his hand circling the small of my
back, the swell of my bottom. We sway together. "Mm-hm."
"You're naughty," I say. I look up and see the
excitement in his eyes. "You're a naughty boy."
"You're nice," he says. I can almost feel the throb of
him when I move my middle. "Nice and naughty."
"I ought to get even," I tell him. "For what you did in
the ladder store. I really ought to."
We keep dancing.
"How?" Jerry says. "How would you get even?"
"I'd unzip you," I tell him. My hand moves between us,
down to his middle. I feel the bulge against the back of
my hand. "I'd unzip you right here in front of everyone,
right in the middle of everything." I let my hand stroke
slowly upwards. "I'd unzip you and your big fat cock
would spring out like an old fishing pole--wouldn't that
be fun?"
"Mm," he says, bringing me closer, my hand trapped now.
"You think you could catch something with that big ol'
fishin' pole?" I say. "What do you think you'd catch?
Huh?" I turn my hand and give him the briefest squeeze
and then slip my hand out and we're just dancing again.
"Shall we check on how the wine is coming?" Jerry asks me
after a while. We wend our way back to the table.
Sure enough the wine is there. Steve Harper is there,
too, standing beside our table, but he's not in uniform
now.
"officer Harper?" I say in surprise.
"Hey, Helen," he says, beaming, "I thought that was you.
What do you know!"
"Hi," I say. "Um, Jerry, this is Officer Harper. I mean
Patrolman Harper. He was investigating our ladder."
"Still am," Harper says.
"Oh?" Jerry says. "Any fresh clues?"
"And this is my husband Jerry," I tell Steve.
"No clues," Steve says to Jerry.
"So is this part of the investigation?" Jerry says.
"This?" Steve says, spreading his hands.
"Yeah," Jerry says. "Why are you here?"
"Oh, I get it," Steve says. "No, this isn't part of the
investigation. This is my place. Me and a couple of
buddies. Pretty nice, eh? Is this the first time you've
been here?"
"First time," Jerry says. "I'd never even heard of it
before tonight."
"Well, there's always a first time," Steve says. "Enjoy
yourselves. You guys looked awfully good out there on the
dance floor." He winks. "And the wine's on me," he
continues. "Enjoy!" He nods at Jerry, smiles at me, and
strides off.
But after two steps he stops, turns around, and comes
back. He's still smiling. "Say, if it's okay with you,"
he says to Jerry just as he's sitting down, "if you don't
mind, could I have a dance with your lovely wife?"
Jerry pauses, still not quite in his chair. "I guess that
would be up to her," he says.
Steve looks at me.
"Um, sure," I say, "maybe later."
"Okay, later," Steve says. "I'm looking forward to it."
And then he slips off.
"So the cops own this place," Jerry says, settling into
his seat. "I guess that explains something." He takes a
sip of the wine.
"Merry Christmas, honey," I say, clinking his glass.
"How come you didn't tell me you knew the owner?" Jerry
asks.
"I didn't know I knew," I explain. "And I don't really
know him. Today was the fist time. Except for ..."
"How come you didn't tell me he was one of the cops who
came over this morning?" Jerry interrupts.
I shrug. "I thought I did. This wine is pretty good,
isn't it?"
"I don't know," Jerry says. He takes another sip. "I'm
not much of a wine man."
We sit in silence for a while, watching the dancers. Our
waitress comes near, but Jerry shakes his head.
"You do mind if I dance with him, don't you?" I say to
Jerry a few minutes later.
"Maybe a little," he says. "But if you want to ..."
"No, that's okay. Why don't we just leave?"
"Really?"
"Yeah, really. I don't feel like dancing anymore."
We're walking back to the car. "It's just that I don't
really like sharing you," Jerry says.
"I know," I tell him. I stretch up and give him a kiss.
"Look, snow," Jerry says when we reach the car. "I
walked all the way out here without really noticing.
Isn't that funny?"
I help Jerry dust the windows, and then we drive home. We
don't talk on the way. I stare out at the quiet streets,
at the homes with Christmas lights, and I wonder what
dancing with Steve would have been like. The snow
continues to fall.
When we get home an even layer of it covers our lawn and
sidewalk.
"The lights look pretty through the snow," I tell Jerry.
He grunts.
"And the tree lights look pretty, too. Good thing you
cleaned the windows."
Jerry grunts again and lets me in the house.
"Aren't you coming?" I ask.
"I thought I'd get the snow shovel out of the garage," he
says. "In case this turns into a blizzard. I'll leave it
on the porch."
"You aren't afraid someone might steal it?" I mean it to
be teasing, but he gives me that look.
"Come on," I say. "Who would steal a snow shovel?"
"You never know," he says. "But I'm leaving the ladder
out. Just for tonight. For protection."
"Protection?" I say, but he's already down the steps. I
don't feel like arguing with him.
I makes some fresh coffee. Jerry comes in, a few
snowflakes in his hair. "My snowman," I say to him.
"It's really coming down," he says. He looks happy.
"You're not mad at me are you?" I ask.
"I'm not mad at you," he says. "I'm mad about you." He
gives me a hug. "Are you mad about me?"
I kiss him in answer. A little nip.
"I've got fresh coffee," I tell him. "We can have it
while we open presents under the tree."
The tree looks beautiful with all the other lights off. I
spread a quilt and we sit on it and watch the twinkle.
Through the wide windows we can see the snow coming down.
"For you," I say, handing Jerry a little package.
He rattles it. "A pen knife?" he guesses. "You know how I
like those."
"Open it," I say.
He undoes the wrapping. When he sees what's inside he
smiles.
"I picked out the cutest one," I tell him. "The big'uns
won't be able to resist this guy. So sleek and fat and
juicy. Are you going to take him out?"
"How do you know it's not a her?" Jerry asks. "Look at
these hooks, don't those look like girl hooks to you?" He
eases the lure out of the package and lets it dangle.
"Now open the card."
Inside is a gift certificate from the sports store.
"Thank you," he says. "I can't wait to pick stuff out. I
can't wait to try out my new lure."
He hands me a good-sized box. "Your turn," he says.
I open it. Inside is a straw sunhat. The brim is wide and
floppy. In the band are plane tickets to Jamaica for
Easter Break.
"Oh, honey," I say. I'm beaming.
"Try it on," Jerry says.
I give him the tickets to hold and try the hat on.
"Mm," he says. "I don't know."
"What? Does it look funny? Do I look funny in it?"
"It's not that," he says. "More like what you're wearing.
Not exactly beach stuff."
"This isn't exactly the beach."
"We could pretend," Jerry says.
"Pretend this Christmas tree is a palm?"
"And you could take off some of your clothing."
"Some of my clothing?"
"All of your clothing. Except the hat."
"Is that what you'd like?"
"Yes."
"What about the neighbors?" I say. I glance out the
window towards Mrs. Dole's. Nothing but snowfall.
"This is a private beach," Jerry says. "Our private
beach."
I smile. My fingers go to the buttons of my blouse. I
do it slow. I feel brave under the hat. I smile and lick
my lips a little and work the buttons until I am bare on
top.
"Do you like my boobies?" I ask. I shake them a little.
"Not as big as that waitress," I say, touching a nipple,
taking it between my thumb and forefinger.
"Nicer, though," Jerry says. "Much nicer."
"You think so?" I ask, turning away a little.
"Now the rest of it, please," Jerry says.
Soon I'm wearing only panties. Thin white panties and
the wide sunhat.
"More," Jerry says.
"You first," I answer.
"Sure," Jerry says. His shirt flies off. Such strong
shoulders. Such a sturdy chest. Dark wool winds around
his nipples. Shoes and socks gone, he slides out of his
trousers. White jockey briefs. I can see the shape of
his bow, the bulge of his balls. And then he's naked,
kneeling on the quilt, grinning up at me.
"Come here," he says.
I stand next to him. He slides his hands slowly up the
insides of my legs. I tremble. His fingers inch closer.
They touch the center, the little wet circle of
excitement. Back and forth his fingers move, making the
juice squeak. Paydirt, I think, and I'd giggle except I
feel like I'm flooding and my throat is tight with
excitement. The fabric must be soaked. His fingers work
me wider. So delicious. I shiver.
He stops. He slides my panties down. It takes so long. He
stops partway and nestles his face against my fur. I hold
his head.
"I like when you're so wet."
"From dancing," I say. "Maybe we should do it more
often."
"Maybe we should do it now."
We laugh.
He takes my panties the rest of the way down. I step out.
He untwists them. I take them from him. He looks up at
me. I brush the panties near his nose.
"Smell how much I want you," I say, touching the damp
spot to his nostrils.
"So nice," he says.
"Lie back," I tell him. I push him down. "Lie back and
watch me."
I stand over him a moment, letting him see. I spread my
legs a little more and reach between and let a finger
slip inside. I move it. I move it until the squeaks come.
I can't not moan. "Oh, Jerry," I say. Then I lower
myself.
The hat falls off when I take him. Fat and full his root
blossoms in my mouth. Too full for me to hold it all--I
let it bob against my face. It dances a jerky dance as I
go below to play with the luggage. So tender and plump
and warm, these little pods. I cradle them carefully
upon my palm. My tongue reaches out for a taste. Rough
and fuzzy. Shriveled yet full. I widen my mouth enough
almost to take them in. I lift the bole to get at them
better. Like fuzzy dice, I think, the kind that dangle
from a high school hot rodder's rear-view mirror. I
almost laugh. Scary, these pouches, filled with something
elusive. My tongue tickles the fuzz. Travels the scroll
of skin. I nuzzle and nip with my lips. So much fuzz!
Steve's would be smoother, I think, like eggs, bald and
bare. Inside something rolls. For a moment I actually
think I can get them all in my mouth. "Easy," Jerry
says, his hands at my ears. "Easy, honey." I come up for
air.
"You're fun," I say. And I kiss him. A full kiss. His
tongue yields to mine. I'm on top now. Kissing and
kissing. He has his hand on my bottom. Squeezing. I can
feel his prick against my belly. He wants in. He wants
in so bad.
"More kisses," I say. "More kisses before fuck."
He likes when I say fuck. His prick jerks. I can feel
it. Soon it will be jerking in me. In my hot buttery
cunt. But first more kisses. He doesn't resist.
"Do you think it's still snowing?" I say.
He smiles silently. I sit up.
"If we listen hard, maybe we can hear it."
His prick is trapped under me. I wiggle a little. I
want him now. I want him so bad. But I'm going to make
him wait. Just a little longer. I lean forward.
Another kiss. Somehow his prick slips in. "Oh," I say.
I say it into his mouth. Oh honey. His cock blossoms in
my cunt the way earlier it blossomed in my mouth. "Oh
honey," I sigh. "Oh, Jerry, it feels so good. Oh honey
buns." I look in his eyes. He loves me. He thrusts up.
His big prick rooting. I feel so sleek, so opened. We
fuck that way. Slow and quiet. Like falling snow. It
usually takes him a long time to come from underneath. I
know this one is going to last and last. My breasts sway
with each slow stroke. He watches them, intent as a
little boy, so serious in his pleasure. So innocent. His
hands glide upon my back, upon the top of my bottom.
Still above, I stretch out. Oh, he feels so good that
way. I can feel the tingling in my calves. The pleasure
climbs towards where his hands are working.
"Could you?" So deep and delicious he is. "My bottom?
With your finger? Just a little?"
He does it. The fingertip presses the place as we fuck,
smoothing and circling, smoothing little circles, so
delicious, so exciting, the ever-tightening spirals of
pleasure, of thrill. I have to press backwards to catch
more of the tremble, to lick it with little squeezes, and
when I press forward again he enters me there, just a
little, just a touch, so that when I rock back he enters
me more, and when I fuck forward his finger eases out,
out almost all the way, and I moan, and then he slides in
again, and out, in and out, back and forth, so delicious,
so sharp and fuzzy, so sweet and tight, so deeply deeply
fucking good, and I moan again, and I think, what if
Steve were back there watching me, what if it was his
smooth finger edging in, what if ... what if it was his
cock, his smooth blond cock, cruising relentlessly,
inexorably into the tightness of my tight little asshole?
The thought makes me twitch. The twitch makes me clench.
The clench makes me clench harder, and when I release it
happens. He slides all the way in. So smooth and
straight and strong, the plunge--I scream, I thrash, I
come, my orgasm swooping down, a swift bird of prey
carrying me off in truculent claws while I mewl and
quiver helplessly.
I awake to the moan of wind, the rattle of windows. A
deep dark covers everything--no twinkle of tree lights
now. I curl tightly into the quilt, nestling against
Jerry. He puts his arms around me and holds me close. "I
liked last night," I whisper in his ear.
At first he doesn't stir. "The dancing was okay," he says
at last, his voice slow and dreamy at first, and then
awake. "I'm not too sure I cared for your friend Officer
Harker."
"Harper," I correct him. "I meant after--the dancing we
did here at home. But the dancing at Neptune's Cove was
all right, too."
"Neptune's Cove," Jerry murmurs.
"You were awfully sexy," I say. I wiggle against him.
"Mm," Jerry answers.
"Maybe we can go back for New Year's Eve."
"Maybe," Jerry says.
And then we are quiet, holding each other under the
quilt, the sounds of winter winds like ocean waves
buffeting us as we make our way back to sleep.
Christmas morning -- the wind has died down and a bright
blue sky pours through the window. I wrap myself again in
Jerry's arms, unwilling to get up just yet. But a moment
later he's standing, stretching.
"I can't believe we slept the whole night on the floor,"
he says.
Half on the quilt half on the rug I stretch too. A big
yawn. I feel so good. I yawn again, and again I stretch,
and Jerry stares down at me. I watch his eyes move down
my body, breasts to belly to the little mat of fur. I
spread my legs slightly. I feel swollen and good and ever
so slightly sticky. His eyes make me feel brazen, and I
spread my legs a little more. "How is it outside?" I
ask. "Blizzardy?"
"Not too bad," Jerry said, turning to the window.
"Probably a good six inches."
"A good six inches," I say, and I can't resist lifting my
leg and tickling his floppy penis with my toe. "Not bad."
It doesn't stay floppy for long. The nose springs up to
the nudge of my toes.
"Is it enough for snow angels?" I say, and I start
practicing them on the quilt.
"I'll snow angel you," Jerry says, and he kneels between
my legs, and I lift my legs high over my head and welcome
him in.
"This is more like a sleigh ride," I say as he works
himself deeper, causing us to slide across the quilt. "Do
you like riding my sleigh?"
Jerry doesn't answer, he just fucks harder.
"You do," I tell him. "You like my sleigh ride."
Soon we're slapping together. "Yes," I say. "Yes. Fuck
me all the way to grandma's house. Give me some of that
peacock pie."
Jerry snorts and comes and almost before he's done coming
he starts laughing. His laughter makes him pop out.
"Grandma's house," he says. "Peacock pie. You're so
crazy."
"Be back in me," I say, opening my arms, my legs. "More
fuck. More Christmas morning fuck."
"I don't know if I can," Jerry says. But he's still stiff
enough. My slipperiness is so open, so easy. Easy as pie.
I squeeze my cunt. It won't take long.
"Don't you want to open more presents?" Jerry says. He
presses down. In answer I come. My bottom thumps against
the floor. "Oh, oh, oh," I moan. I don't want to stop
coming.
It's so delicious. The slow ebbing of sex. We're lying
there, sprawled on the rug, sunlight streaming through
the windows. I won't ever move again. Minutes go by like
hours. And then we hear a noise. A rattling sliding sort
of sound scraping the roof.
"What was that?" I ask.
"Just shifting snow," Jerry says.
"Oh," I say. "I thought maybe it was someone on the roof.
Someone like Santa Claus."
"Not unless Santa is a squirrel," Jerry says. He gets
up, looks out the window.
"It really is deep in spots," he says. "Good thing I got
out the shovel."
"Hee hee," I say. "It wasn't stolen?"
Jerry steps closer to the window. "It better not have
been," he says. "Oh oh."
"What?" I say.
"The ladder. It's gone."
"Really?"
"I can't believe it."
"Are you sure."
"See for yourself. I left it right here, right under this
window."
I get up. Sure enough, no ladder.
"I don't get it," Jerry says. "No footprints. That
doesn't make sense."
"Maybe the snow filled them in," I suggest. "What are
those?" I point to two shallow dents.
"That's where the ladder stood," Jerry says.
"What could have happened?"
"I don't know," Jerry says. "It's like it just up and
flew away. I'm going to get dressed and check this out.
Ladders aren't supposed to fly."
"Do you want me to call the police? Maybe you shouldn't
touch anything. Maybe you should wait for the police to
get here."
Jerry just keeps getting dressed. "What are they going to
do?" he says, "dust the snow for fingerprints?" Soon he's
put on his coat and opened the door. Snow drifts in like
sparkling white sand.
"Be careful," I say. I don't think he hears me. I think
I'd better call the police. I dial the number.
"Can I speak to Officer ... I mean Patrolman Harper," I
say.
"He's not on duty now," the receptionist says.
"It's kind of an emergency," I tell the woman.
"I'm sorry," the woman says. "If it's an emergency you
can give me the information."
"I need to talk to Steve," I say. "Can't you just patch
me through? He said you could do that."
"Steve is in the hospital," the woman says. "Some kind of
accident."
"Accident? What kind of accident? Was he shot? Is he all
right?"
The woman laughs. "No, he wasn't shot. Just one of those
winter spills."
"Spills?" I say. My mind leaps. I hang up the phone. I
hurry into my robe. I go to the windows to get Jerry's
attention. I peer out one window after another. But he's
not out there. I pull on my coat and step barefoot into
my boots and go outside. Still no sign of Jerry. No
tracks. Nothing. As far as I can see the snow is smooth
and sparkling, the sky is bright and blue.
==============
Neptune's Cove
Mat Twassel
TouchWords, the Calendar.atEROS erotic story contest
e-books, are now available. Free subscription to
Calendar.atEROS with the purchase of an e-book.
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