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Subject: {ASSM} "Dream Maker" {Dancer} (MF rom slow) [5/5]
Date: Tue,  1 Apr 2003 09:10:05 -0500
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Warning: "This [work of prose] contains scenes of
	nudity, sexuality and coarse language.
	[Reader] discretion is advised."
(I.E. If it's illegal/dangerous to read/possess
pornography where  you are, don't bother.)

Disclaimer: Dancer - the authoress of this work -
	and Empath - its 'publisher' - take no
	responsibility due to any harm or
	misfortune that befalls someone from
	reading or possessing this work.

Copyright: This work of prose is the intellectual
	property of Dancer, and is protected by
	the Berne Convention.  *Unauthorized*
	publication or redistribution is
	prohibited.

{Non-legalese translation: if you want to put this
on a web site, just drop us an email; we'll probably
say yes. :)}

Bonus Question: Where is the quote in the 'Warning' from? :)


_________________________________________________________________
Protect your PC - get McAfee.com VirusScan Online  
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<1st attachment, "Dreamkr5e.txt" begin>


Dream Maker (5/5) (MF, pett, cons, rom, humor)

Dancer 2002 (c)


It took him three or four tries before finally setting
her glasses on the low shelf of the bed's headboard.
Max could've opened his eyes and stopped kissing
Amanda long enough to get that done, but he refused.
Her lips were soft and yielding and slightly parted,
just as they had been the last time they kissed. Their
tongues touched, slithered and tasted one another
while Amanda moaned into his mouth. Her hands tore at
his shirt, drawing it out of his jeans and up his
back. She bunched it under his armpits and caressed
the bared skin of his back, sliding her fingers under
his jeans to touch his rear. This time Max groaned,
tearing away from her mouth to yank his shirt over his
head. He moved to resume kissing but she stopped him
with a husky whisper. "Everything, take it all off,
Max."

"You, too?" he whispered back, looming over her with
his weight braced on both arms. "What about...you
know."

She smiled and giggled at his blush, pulling her hands
away from him. "The sheets are still dirty so what's a
little more blood? Unless it really bothers you a
lot." It did, but not bad enough to dim his ardor.

"If you don't care, then neither do I," he answered
and sat up to take off his trousers. The button fly
was jerked open and he raised his hips to lower his
jeans and boxers, throwing both articles onto the
floor. Amanda was undressing also. She flung her top
to the floor behind his back, then got onto her knees
and eased the borrowed undies down her legs. He turned
just in time to the makeshift, blood-soaked pad and he
slammed his eyelids shut fast. His stomach churned and
flip-flopped at the gruesome sight. "Now I know why my
dad stayed out of the delivery room," he groaned and
swore he'd never willingly watch the birth of any of
his future children. The only exception to that
promise would be if he was forced to deliver a baby
himself. He covered his eyes with his left hand,
sighing, "Amanda, I-I..."

"Can't, right?" she finished for him and jerked her
shorts up to cover herself again. She flopped on her
right side, giving him her back. It hurt him to hurt
her like this. He had to find a way to explain his
queasiness.

"Honey, it's not you yourself," Max began and spooned
in behind her, caressing his left fingers along the
skin of her shoulder. "It's...all the blood. I feel
weird about making love to you while you're bleeding
like a stuck pig. My brain keeps telling me it's okay
to have sex but my stomach's tied in knots." He
brushed his lips against her hair, hoping she
understood what he couldn't.

"Am I making any sense?"

"Sort of." Amanda looked back at him. "Know much about
psychology?"

"Some," he answered, waggling his head side-to-side.
"Why? Going to tell me this all stems from the fact I
wasn't breastfed as a baby?"

She grinned. "No, silly. In basic psychology, there
are three parts of the human mind - the id, the ego
and the superego. The id is all instinct and impulses;
your wanting to have sex is part of that. Got that?"
He nodded and she continued. "The superego is all the
morality stuff; what's right and wrong and all. That
part is what's making you feel sick in your tummy.
Sooo..."

"I have to decide which one is going to win."

"Basically."

"Who do you want to win?"

"Who do you think?" she retorted, captured his hand
with one of hers and placed it around the underside of
her left breast.

"Cheater," Max said, teasing the nipple to rigidity.

"Am not. I'm helping out. Your id is very primitive
and could never defeat the superego by itself." Her
voice grew breathless from his attentions and she
squirmed her bottom along his member. He gave her
breast a quick knead before leaving it and trailing
his hand downward across her stomach to the elastic
waist of the boxers she wore. "Mmmm, feels like my
guy's gaining ground," she whispered when he thumbed
the band away from her skin. His fingers slid under
and stroked the crisp curls of her pubes while he
worked his first finger between the thick folds of her
labia. She was slick with...he gulped.

"Don't think about it," he ordered himself when his
finger stilled.

"Yes, Max, don't," she agreed and joined a hand with
his. Her fingers covered his and guided him to her
clit, together their index digits toying with the
erect bundle. When he grew more confident about
touching her, she left him be and shoved her remaining
clothes passed her hips, wiggling against him to get
them free. She lashed out with her legs, using her
dexterous toes to nudge the material off her body. The
towel was between her knees. She reached down, snagged
it and flung it off the bed. Sans clothing, Amanda
turned in his arms until she once more lay flat on her
back and spread her legs. He half-covered her,
settling a thigh between hers and leaning his chest
against her breasts. They kissed again. He swallowed
her little mews and murmurs of passion as his fingers
dipped into her slippery heat. One arm wrapped around
his shoulders, the palm cupping the back of his head
while her other massaged the flexing muscles of his
working arm.

Max wasn't sure why he was readying her with his hand.
She was wet already from her monthly cycle. He
supposed he did it out of kindness, to prove to her he
wasn't a complete clod in the sack. He shifted his
kisses from her mouth down to her throat, licking and
nipping the pale flesh as he headed toward her
breasts. His fingers withdrew. She frowned and
whimpered her displeasure over the abandonment until
she felt his hot breath against her right nipple. Not
sure where to rest his stained hand, he propped it up
in the air on the bend of his elbow while he suckled.
First her right, then her left, raining pecks along
the alabaster orbs of flesh as he switched nubbins.
She thrust her upper body against him mouth, grasping
twin handfuls of bronzed hair to prevent his leaving.
Patiently, he wedged his other knee between her thighs
and tore himself away from her beautiful breasts.

"Ready?" he breathed, saw her nod vigorously and
fumbled as his cock probed her quim. Max growled at
his ineptness, finally grabbing his shaft with his
already filthy, left hand and positioning the blunt
tip against her opening. He pressed into her
femininity, sinking inch by gradual inch inside. His
breathing stopped for a moment, then he moaned,
"Ohhh-"

=======

"-God," I whimpered in unison, glorying in the
sensations of Max sheathed within me. It felt
wonderful and oh, so perfect! A new experience for me,
one I was ecstatic to learn. We fit together like
puzzle pieces completing a picture. I'd never had sex
during my period before and I thought my slit felt
bigger than normal, probably because of the extra
lubrication. "It's so...so weird," I whispered and
embraced him to me. "Almost like you've got a condom
on or something. How does it feel to you?"

"Like a warm, sloppy, apple pie," he replied, holding
his left arm up and most of his upper weight on his
right forearm. "And if I don't look at my hand, I
should be okay for the long haul."

"Puss," I said with a laugh.

"Am not," he countered teasingly, wrinkling his nose
in distaste as he wiped his blood stained hand against
the sheets. "It just feels wrong to me somehow, I
don't know."

"Maxwell, I am fine. You aren't hurting me or making
me bleed any more than I usually do." My tone was
firm. I wrapped my legs around him and bucked against
him to prove my point. His nostrils flared at my
movements and his mouth curved upward at the corners.

"Is-is it okay if I touch you?" he asked shyly,
thrusting into me with lazy rolls of his pelvis.

"Go ahead," I told him and felt both of his hands
slide into my dark waves hesitantly. "I wash. And I'm
not afraid to get a little dirty if it means having
you inside me." He crushed his lips to mine in a hard,
closed-mouth kiss that sent me reeling, then he
softened it and licked the tip of his tongue across my
bottom lip. I opened at his encroachment with a gentle
sigh, shutting my eyes as he ran his tongue around the
crowns of my teeth. His fingers twisted in my hair,
winding the thick strands around them as he massaged
my scalp. I lightly clawed at his shoulders and
kneaded the muscles briefly before sending my fingers
southward to his rear. His buttocks tensed and relaxed
as he thrust himself in and out of me and I cupped the
taut globes with both palms, letting them fall and
rise with his movements. My breasts were mashed
against his chest, his skin grazing my aching nipples
whenever he moved.

I felt so wanton and so sexy with Max's weight pinning
me beneath him. The fear from earlier had vanished,
evolved into passion. Max made me feel very protected
and safe from all the bad things in the world. At that
moment, all I wanted was to stay right where I was
with him buried between my thighs and never leave.

He ended our drawn-out kiss and started thrusting
faster, muttering what I took as nonsense. "Come with
me, Amanda," he whispered against my cheek and
punctuated his words with sweet, tender kisses. "I
love you. I don't want to go alone, honey. Please come
with me." I understood what he was saying and bucked
up as he pushed down. "Yessss," he hissed softly
through clenched teeth and plunged deeply, his body
stiffening as he spilled his seed. The tingly
sensations of my own orgasm never happened, much to my
disappointment.

I didn't have the cajones to fake one either, so I
hugged Max tightly and waited until his was finished.
Panting warm exhalations along my face, he gave
himself a few minutes to come down from the endorphin
high, then withdrew his cock and rolled off me onto
his side. "Thanks," he said with a quick half smile
while he disentangled his fingers from my hair.

What could I say? "You're welcome," I replied and
allowed him to pull me against him. His right arm slid
under my neck, offering me his shoulder as a pillow,
which I accepted with a sigh. I cuddled up close,
feeling the heat and perspiration from his exertions
wafting off him. He nuzzled the top of my head and
repeated his words of love. I cringed inwardly. How
could I explain the hesitation I felt in replying? I
liked him and all but...after one time he claims he
loves me? Does it happen that fast in real life?
Books, yes. I wrote about it. That's my job. My brain
must've been addled.

"This is when you tell me you love me, too," Max
stated. I chewed my lips and ducked my face down,
using my long hair as a cloak. "You don't, do you?" he
said despondently and I could hear the sadness in his
tone. Now what was I suppose to do? Lie outright? Be
honest and break his heart? He patted my arm gently.
"It's okay if you don't." He snorted and sighed. "I
probably just said it during the heat of the moment,
you know. A guy thing so you wouldn't feel guilty for
doing it with a stranger."

My back went up immediately. I lifted my head up and
threw my hair out of my face with the back of my right
hand so I could look him in the eye. "One, I do not
feel guilty," I said angrily, my eyes blazing with
indignation. "Two, you are not a stranger and three,
you aren't the type of man to tell a woman you love
her because passions were running high. So, put that
in your pipe and smoke it!" His response was simply to
cock an eyebrow at me. "Well? Is that -all- you're
going to do? Just look at me? Hmm??" I demanded, my
voice growing higher pitched and sounding a lot like
Daffy Duck arguing with Bugs Bunny.

"Nope," he finally answered after a while and hauled
me on top of his lap so I sprawled across his upper
body and my legs straddled him. I gasped at the hard
length throbbing against my slit. He held me to him
with one arm around my waist, the hand flat on my
bottom, and the other around my shoulders, that hand
speared through my hair. "I'm thinking you'll see
things my way after a whammy orgasm." Then he kissed
me, working his pelvis in circular motion. The glans
of his penis stroked and teased my aching clit. I
didn't want to want it, not this way, but my
struggling to escape his powerful grip only enhanced
the spikes of pleasure piercing my groin. Soon, I gave
in to him. My hips rocked along his fully erect member
and forced the nerves at the apex of my quim against
the spongy helmet. It hit me like a wave breaker;
muscles contracting, quick breaths coupled with
muffled mewling, and the hot flood of release. My
nails scratched at his pectorals, tearing at the
tanned flesh of his chest and shoulders.

My voice shook as much as my quivering body did when I
slurred his character. "You're despicable," I told
him, my swollen lips a scant inch above his.

"Amanda, you're giving me that look again," Max said,
just as out of breath as I was. I purred angrily, the
sound coming from low in my throat as I slitted my
eyes down at him. He gave me a lazy smile and lifted a
finger to my chin, stroking the tip along the curve of
my jaw line. "You look sexy as hell-ouch!" He yelped
when I quickly turned and sank my teeth into the bony
flesh of his finger. "You little polecat," he grumbled
and attempted to yank his digit free. But I held on,
clamping down with just enough pressure to piss him
off. "Let me go...now," he growled and cupped my lower
mandible with his other hand. His hand was wide enough
for the thumb to touch the left side and his fingers
along the right. He squeezed his hand together and I
let him go with a short cry. Regretting it, he
caressed the areas in front of my ears and pecked each
spot in turn.

"Rwowr," I purred playfully and licked a broad stroke
of my tongue from the hollow of his throat to his
chin. He ooo'ed softly over that move, so I kept doing
it, lapping across his cheeks, chin and mouth until my
mouth was dry as kindling. I was ready now. I think,
no believe strongly, that the orgasm cleared out the
roadblocks in my mind. The only problem was I couldn't
speak with cottonmouth. So, I did the next best thing.
I pushed myself up with an arm draped across his
sternum and molded my left hand into the appropriate
sign - thumb out, index finger up, middle and ring
ones folded down and pinkie out. If he didn't know
what it meant, I mouthed the words, "I love you."

        *               *               *

Max easily talked me into making love with him a
second time that day. This time it was better for me
and I found release with him buried inside me. After a
while of rest and recovery, he told me to stay in bed
because he was going to see about the broken windows.
I'm skipping alot here, but most of it was simply
repeats of our first couple days together (except no
more tornados). He managed to board up the empty panes
by himself and clean up all the glass out of the
carpet. We finished that day ensconced in his bedroom,
cuddling and snuggling and talking about our lives. He
told me about growing up the only boy in a family of
women - two sisters (one older, one younger than he)
and his mom - his father dying of a stroke when he was
sixteen, how he fell into writing and living in
Oklahoma. I, in turn, told him about Newfoundland, my
migration to Toronto after graduating from Memorial
University of Newfoundland, how I got into writing
romance novels, my close call at the altar and my
family.

To summarize: we laughed, we discussed, we loved for
the rest of my two weeks there. And no, we didn't make
love in every room of the house! Mostly we stayed to
his bed. Twice we did it on the couch after watching
television and once I convinced him my life wouldn't
be complete without having him outside under the
stars. He packed up a few thickly padded quilts and
drove me out into the open plains a couple miles from
his house. We loved in the bed of his truck with the
topper off. And for anybody who hasn't had intercourse
in the back of a pickup...trust me, you're better off
staying home with a nice, soft bed. On the plus side,
Max caressed, massaged and kissed every visible bruise
on my back and bottom, including some that weren't
discernable to the naked eye. The worst part was the
day I had to fly back to Canada. I cried the whole day
from the minute I woke up, through the drive to the
airport, to the long wait at the security post. I
begged for him to ask me to stay but he resisted,
hugging me hard and telling me we needed some time
apart. "We'll never know our true feelings unless you
go," Max had whispered in my ear. "If you don't think
of me at least twenty times a day, you'll know I was
just a passing fancy."

"I'll email you as soon as I get...home," I'd replied
hoarsely, my throat scratchy and sore. My turn to go
through the metal detector was next. "I love you, Max,
and I'll miss you," I told him and gave him a luscious
kiss to remember me by.

"Go," he'd stated and pushed me forward with a hand
against my back. I went, unhappy, grouchy and
miserable. My mood didn't improve with the flight or
the plane tag or even after I arrived at my condo late
Wednesday night. I emailed Max as promised, then spent
the night tossing and turning and wanting him next to
me in bed. When I finally gave up the ghost around six
a.m., I turned on my computer to start typing out the
novel I'd flown to Oklahoma to research, 'Chasing
Raymond'. My mailbox overflowed with fifty emails, all
from Max and all reiterating his love for me.
Apparently, his night hadn't gone any better than mine
because they spanned from the time we'd parted company
to an hour before I checked my mail. I replied with a
single email, telling him if he doubted my love, he
could read my newest book. I completed 'Chasing
Raymond' in four days and nights and dropped the
printed manuscript on Daniel Hollings' desk along with
a bombshell.

"You push Maxwell Stone's novel through on the double
or I'll take my business to another publishing
company," I threatened and he complied.

'The Dawning' came out in late summer and I waited in
line at Chapter's to get my own copy. Science fiction
wasn't really my kind. I went more for fantasy like
Marion Zimmer Bradley, Terry Brooks and Mercedes
Lackey. I preferred magic and dragons and make-believe
to mankind's quest to conquer the galaxy. But I knew
Max and put my disfavor aside to read his latest novel
about Dalton Hayes, troubleshooter for the Martian
government and occasional bodyguard to female
informants. Max was a...what's a polite
way...technical writer. He delved into the details of
mechanics, machinery and political intrigue while
glossing over the more tender emotions. I nitpicked
the two love scenes shared by Dalton and his
sometimes-lover, Frieda Hess. Uh-huh, like I'm not the
only person who does that, all you black kettles out
there. I fervently hoped his next book with Dalton and
Mona had more emotion and flowery descriptions in it.

My book came out a month after his in early October.
I'd set 'Chasing Raymond' in late 19th century
Oklahoma, making Raymond a bounty hunter working with
the U.S. Marshals and Carmen a Chicana senorita bent
on avenging her murdered family. Both were tracking
down the Calhoune gang, met up in a tavern south of
the border in Mexico and decided to pool their
resources to get the bad guys. As usual, they fell in
love and married by the last chapter, living happily
ever after with Carmen expecting her first babe. I saw
the cover artwork and choked on a laugh. Raymond
looked suspiciously like Max and Carmen was the
spitting image of me except for her dark complexion.

Dan set me up on a thirty-city book signing tour of
Canada and the U.S. starting in my hometown of St.
John's, working my way via airplanes in a zigzag
across the continent and ending the tour in Oklahoma
City. I made my usual stops in New York City, Boston,
Raleigh, Charleston, Miami, Chicago, Omaha, Toronto,
Calgary, Victoria and Los Angeles. By the time I ended
it in Oklahoma City, I was sick of smiling, my hand
ached from autographs and my left thumb had a
permanent paper cut along the pad.

I arrived at the Barnes & Noble bookstore an hour
ahead of time and the manager, Gavin Cole, snuck me
inside through the rear, employee's-only entrance.
Outside, it looked like ninety percent of the female
population of the state stood waiting for the doors to
open. Gavin escorted me to a large, blonde oak table
with two crates of 'Chasing' on the floor beside it
and a couple stacks piled ten high at either end. He
held the thickly padded chair out for me as I seated
myself and he bent down, asking, "Would you care for a
cup of coffee or hot chocolate?"

"Chocolate sounds nice, Mr. Cole," I replied. "Thank
you."

"Call me Gavin," he insisted with a grin, the corners
of his trimmed mustache twitching upward. I demurred
to his wishes and off he went to fetch me a cuppa.
While he was gone, I went through my stretching
routine: rolling my neck in slow circles and wiggled
my fingers exaggeratingly to pop the joints. "Here you
are," Gavin said and set the ceramic, white mug in
front of me. I smiled up at him as I cradled the warm
cup with both palms, bringing to my mouth for a sip.
"It's hot so be careful." He laid a hand along the top
of the chair back and I could feel the backs of his
fingers brushing my shoulder as I blew a cooling puff
across the steaming liquid. He was hitting on me.

"I think we better get started, Gavin," I said after
taking a small sip and replacing the mug on the
tabletop. "The natives are getting restless." And they
were. The bolder ladies began knocking and rapping
against the glass of the doors and bay window,
reminding the staff inside the store it was time to
open.

"All right then," he replied and patted my right
shoulder gently. "I'll have a couple of my staff with
you if you need anything." He took his leave and I
picked up one of the pens with a sigh, plastering a
tired smile on my face. The two employees stood on
either side of me, prepared to hand me a book when
I asked for it. Well, that was nice. At least I
wouldn't have to worry too much about my sore thumb.
The first, early rush hit me and I signed the
obligatory 'Amanda Kiss' on the front flyleaf of each
book for two solid hours before taking a fifteen-
minute break. I had just finished up in the washroom
when Gavin caught me. He stood closer to me than was
proper but I let it slide this time the second I
sensed his nervousness. "There is a lady asking if you
would allow her to take a picture of you," he
stammered.

"It's okay," I answered and touched his elbows with my
fingers. I steered him toward the autographing table.

"Normally, I wouldn't both to ask you directly," he
said as we walked. "But she and the gentleman with her
are very adamant about the idea." I groaned and heaved
a sigh. Pictures I didn't mind. Usually I stood with
an arm around the fan while her
girlfriend/sister/companion snapped a quick photo.
This one sounded like a publicity stunt either by
Kilroy or the local Chamber of Commerce. I had gone
through one before six years ago with a group of
motorcycle enthusiasts in Sturgis, South Dakota, to
promote the biker rally held there annually. Not that
that was a bad thing, oh no. It's just I accidentally
burned my foot on the muffler of the Harley I was
sitting on and had to take a fast detour to the
emergency room.

"They probably want me to sit astride a horse," I said
under my breath.

"A mule actually," Gavin corrected. I muttered an oath
and rubbed two fingers along the middle of my
forehead. Gavin put an arm around me to guide me
through the crowd filling the bookstore and outside
where the mule, the lady and gentleman waited. The
animal looked docile enough, standing completely still
and munching on a floral arrangement of white daisies
wrapped in green tissue paper. I greeted the woman and
shook her hand briefly, then turned to the man holding
the flowers. I recognized him immediately.

"Max," I breathed and ran over to him.

He caught me with one arm, saying, "Hey," and using
the top of my head to tip his Stetson out of the way.
It slid back from his face as he brushed his mouth
against mine for a chaste kiss. My hands flattened
against his shirtfront, feeling the play of his
muscles as he breathed. It was good to be in his arms
again and I pouted when our kiss ended. "You forgot
your hat," he said with a shy grin, letting me go long
enough to place his Stetson atop my hair.

"I didn't forget it," I replied, running my fingers
down along his ribcage to his waist. "Don't you know
the story behind it?"

"No, I guess I don't," he answered, stroking his hand
lightly up and down my spine and casting me a sultry
look with his eyes.

"Whatever's under the cowgirl's hat belongs to the
cowgirl," I explained and reached up with my right
hand. My hand cupped the indentations on the crown as
I slowly removed it and placed it on his burnished,
brown hair.

=======
end
<1st attachment end>


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