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Message-ID: <43929asstr$1060953004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Frank Downey" <fabfour.fan@verizon.net>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 15 Aug 2003 03:03:52 EDT
Subject: {ASSM} Recognition, by Frank Downey (MF rom flash)
Date: Fri, 15 Aug 2003 09:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

If you're under the legal age for smut in your community, begone. If such
things offend you, begone.

Copyright 2003 Frank Downey. All Rights Reserved.

RECOGNITION
by Frank Downey
fabfour.fan@verizon.net


"It was never just about the sex," I told her, right after we had finished
just that. "I love you."

"We never go out."

"And whose choice was that?" I reminded her.

"Well, you know. Paparazzi."

"It's not just that," I sighed. "You're an international pop star. You've
dated pop stars, movie stars, that guy-what was he, a prince?"

"Viscount."

"Right. And now you're with a lowly computer programmer. You're ashamed of
me. You love me, but you're ashamed of me."

"What?!?!?"

"And you're in conflict. That's why you can't admit you love me. That's why
it's just about sex."

She looked up at me. "Damn. I've hurt you."

"Not really. A little. I understand. But, still-all my friends know I'm
seeing someone, but I can't tell them who. Ashley Sims, and me? They'd never
believe it."

"It's not that I'm ashamed. It's, well, confusing."

"I know."

"Make love to me again," she pleaded.

That's where there was no confusion, no hesitation, no conflict. She lvoed
me, and I her, mind, body, and soul. It was perfect. It was always perfect.

Afterwards, curled up beside me, she said, "I do love you. You're the best
lover I've ever had, but I knew that from the start. It took me longer to
realize that somehow you've also become my best friend. I want to be with
you." She looked at me. "Are you hungry? I'm famished.'

"Now that you mention it, yes. You want me to call for takeout?"

"No. Let's go out."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Where?"

"How about Chez Morielle?"

Chez Morielle was the beautiful people hangout. There'd be plenty of
superstars and royalty there, there always was. Paparazzi, too. It was a
brave and loving gesture, but an unnecessary one.

"I've heard the food there sucks," I told her.

"Well," she giggled, "you're right."

"Joe's Bar and Grill," I said.

"Huh?"

"It's a five-block walk. It's got a little dance floor and a good jazz combo
on Friday nights, and the best hamburgers in Manhattan." I looked at her.
"But it's no place for an international pop star, is it?"

"It's a perfect place for Ashley Sims," she beamed.

On the way out of my brownstone, she asked me, "Do your friends hang out
there?"

"Many of them, yes. On a Friday night? Definitely."

"Good!" she said, and took my hand.


--The End-

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