Message-ID: <45094asstr$1067656208@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20031031195127.42458.qmail@web60310.mail.yahoo.com> From: Selena Jardine <selenajardine@yahoo.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 31 Oct 2003 11:51:27 -0800 (PST) Subject: {ASSM} Learning Secrets [Selena Jardine] Date: Fri, 31 Oct 2003 22:10:08 -0500 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 X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/45094> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, hecate __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free, easy-to-use web site design software http://sitebuilder.yahoo.com <1st attachment, "Once Bitten ASSM.doc" begin> Learning Secrets by Selena Jardine This little bit of Halloween spookiness is published here by kind permission of Ruthie's Club (http://www.ruthiesclub.com), where it appeared first, illustrated by Lloyd Meek. Comments and opinions eagerly welcomed and promptly responded to, as usual, at selenajardine at yahoo.com. Learning Secrets by Selena Jardine It is all over now for me. She has cast me aside. I am her leavings. She has moved on to someone else now, her skin cool next to his warm skin, her hair dangling, forming a cave over his face, her lips on his mouth, his jaw, his throat. Never my skin again, never my face, never my mouth. She does not think of me. I think of nothing but her. She is in my blood. *** Diane was a gorgeous creature, a golden girl, a living shampoo-and-toothpaste commercial. She was the girl everyone wanted, the It Girl of Ford College, the picture beside the dictionary definition of "student body." She never had a bad day, a pimple, or a hair out of place. Some girls whispered that the only way to look that good is to sell your soul, but they were ugly girls, and bitches besides. Richard, a male, understood better about Diane and her flawless beauty. The thing he didn't understand was why she always wanted to have Miranda around. Everything else became clear to him when it was too late, but that piece of the puzzle never really fell into place. Why would she want someone like Miranda--so plain, so ordinary--at her side? As a foil, perhaps? Miranda certainly did not enhance Diane's popularity or beauty. But there they both were, just as usual, when Richard stepped into Dante's that night. Diane sat in her chair, her long legs crossed and her blonde hair spilling over one shoulder, laughing at something an upperclassman was saying. Her eyes were almost closed in laughter, but Richard already knew they were blue--he had watched her so carefully for so long. She had an amber drink in her hand. She never had any trouble getting drinks, even though she was only an underage sophomore. Her hair gleamed in the dim light, and the strappy little black sundress she wore showed off her warm tennis-shoulders. She was absolutely and perfectly beautiful. College guys surrounded her on all sides. They were mostly big guys, athletic types, which is usually the sort that surrounds girls like Diane. Richard thought that Diane had discovered early on, probably in second grade or so, that she could pick and choose her court, merely by smiling and sighing and cuddling her long eyelashes to her cheeks. By now she was an expert at selection. There was Bob McDaniel, the first-string quarterback at Ford College, sitting next to two other football players Richard couldn't put names to. There was the tall, lanky debate guy--what was his name?--Matt something, who also played baseball in the spring. And a couple of other hangers-on, maybe guys who came over from the bar when they saw that Diane was there. The only break in the line of athletes, all of whom were angling for Diane's ready laugh, was Miranda. She was sitting in a corner, one arm folded across her waist, the knuckles of her other hand resting lightly on her chin. Her dark hair was scraped back from the pale oval of her face in a ponytail. She wore no makeup, and her eyes seemed huge and black in the dim light of the bar. She was the only person Richard could see who was not looking at Diane. For one moment he followed her eyes. She was watching the guy sitting next to her, blond, handsome Nick Galiakis, Diane's most recent ex-boyfriend. He was talking to her earnestly, leaning in toward her. Poor sap, thought Richard. Probably thought plain old Miranda could get Diane to go back to him. But no one had ever known Diane to turn back once she'd moved on. Richard was hoping she'd move on to him. He walked over to the table where the group sat and stood there smiling. Diane exchanged one swift look with Miranda, turned her head to look at Richard, and gave a little cry of pleasure. "Sweetie!" she said, and jumped up into his arms. She felt wonderful, an armful of lovely, fragrant girl. A slight springiness to her body suggested that she was not wearing a bra, and she gave him a kiss high up near his ear. He had an instant erection and turned his body slightly away to hide the fact. "Hi, cute thing," he said. "What are you doing here with all these cave-dwellers?" Diane laughed, and everyone else laughed along with her. All but Miranda. Miranda merely turned her head and looked at him steadily for a moment before looking back at poor, desperate Nick Galiakis. What's her problem? he thought, and dismissed the matter from his mind. It wasn't Miranda who mattered. He pulled up a chair, sat down at the table, and began again the slow process of engaging Diane's full attention. By the end of the evening, he had more or less succeeded. Walking home in the chilly October darkness, he remembered the pressure of Diane's hand in his, the taste of her lipstick. All promise, he told himself. She'd be incredible in bed. Still, he didn't want to wait any longer. Diane had a history of jumping from one guy to another in the space of about three weeks, and Richard didn't want to miss out. He'd had enough of not being noticed. He wanted to be the kind of guy Diane Lavalle dated. In the dark, his eye caught a flicker of movement just behind him and to the left. He turned quickly. No one there. Or... wait. Perhaps there was. He stood for a moment on the path, indecisive. He hated being nervous. What if someone was lurking there? Or--the thought came reluctantly--what if someone needed help? The pale blur he thought he'd seen made him shiver, and he steeled himself to go back. The path seemed darker in this direction. He moved toward the bend in the path where he thought he'd seen something flicker, his muscles tense, peering into the darkness. Finally, long after he thought he should have seen something, a shape took form in front of him. He gave a little half-laugh of surprise: Nick Galiakis, his back up against a tree, kissing Miranda. Nick and Miranda looked at him silently from under the tree. "Sorry," Richard said lamely. "I saw something move, and I thought someone might, uh, need help or something. Sorry." The two faces stared back at him, pale and drowned-looking in the darkness. Miranda's mouth was dark with her lipstick. "No one needs any help here," she said, and her voice was clear and firm. "We will be well alone." Richard could see that. Already Nick was impatient for him to go, pawing at Miranda's waist, pulling her to him, all but whimpering in his eagerness. Imagine wanting her after Diane, thought Richard, with a degree of contempt. He must really be hard up, poor bastard. But it was Miranda he dreamed of that night and not Diane, Miranda with a pale face and a dark, lipsticked mouth, smiling and saying No one needs any help here. He awoke with an erection and couldn't remember why. The next few weeks were full of careful strategic planning for Richard. He had set his sights on Diane, the golden girl, and he reeled her in an inch at a time, wanting to see and be seen. He memorized her schedule and met her after classes, neatly scooping her up for coffee or a drink. He pretended to be casual when he met her at basketball games, though he felt threatened by the presence of the jocks who usually crowded around her. Finally, one crisp night, he called her, trying to keep his voice light. "Want to go to a concert tonight? Natural Brunette is playing at Dante's if you feel like seeing them." No big deal. Doesn't matter. Say yes, say yes, say yes. "Sure!" she said. "I'm so glad you called, because I was dying to hear them anyway. Want to come get me around seven?" "Great. Seven," he said, and placed the telephone gently back in its cradle. Tonight, then, would be the night when Diane would fall ripe to his hand like the lovely plum she was. He let his hand linger on the telephone a moment, and he found himself thinking unexpectedly of Nick Galiakis. He hadn't seen Nick in at least a week. Funny. Maybe he was holed up in his room with Miranda. Richard snorted. Yeah, right. Probably just moping over Diane, was all. That's what Richard himself would have been doing in his place. But he wasn't going to be in his place. Not after tonight. *** Richard and Diane pressed into Dante's at seven-thirty that evening, the room 98.6 degrees and full of the rich smell of warm bodies and cold beer. The beat of the music was loud in Richard's ears, and it was hard to see in the dim light and the smoke. He looked into Diane's lovely face, making sure she was all right, and put a casual, territorial hand on her waist to guide her through the crush of people. Guys he'd never seen before. Girls with tattoos, one skinny girl with piercings on every visible part of her body. There were a couple of people he recognized: one guy from his math class was dancing with a short blonde he'd seen around campus, and that debate guy, Matt whoever-he-was, was over at the bar. And here he was with Diane. He had arrived. Right place, right time, right girl. Hot damn. She was saying something in his ear, tugging on his sweater. "Look, look," she said. "It's Miranda." Fuck, thought Richard. I don't have time for that. This is not part of the plan. But Diane was already pushing her way through the crowd, smiling and excusing herself, moving over to Miranda. Miranda's hair was still pulled back into a spare ponytail. She still wore no makeup, and she had on the same dark sweatshirt as before. The only difference in her that Richard could see was that she had a little more color in her face than the last time he'd seen her--scarcely surprising in such a warm room. She looked at him steadily, speaking in monosyllables as Diane chatted to her. Finally he looked away, faintly hostile, uncomfortable and unsure why. The music changed. "Diane?" he said, interrupting their conversation. "Want to dance?" Diane held Miranda's gaze as if she had not heard Richard at all. The corners of her lips turned up, making her look slightly sly and knowing. Then Miranda reached up almost tenderly to Diane's face and touched it lightly, once on each cheek and then on the lips. Diane held still as if hypnotized as Richard watched, uncomprehending. When Miranda had finished, Diane nodded slightly, as if a secret had been exchanged, then she turned to Richard. She was even more radiantly beautiful than she had been when she walked in with him, glowing with life and health. For a moment he was staggered. Beside her, Miranda smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "Oh!" said Diane at last. "Sure!" And she took his hand and stepped with him onto the dance floor. Finally, thought Richard, and put his arms around her. The room was so hot that her skin felt barely warm to the touch. He could feel the pliant muscles of her lower back under his fingers. He could smell her hair. Dancing with Diane. He didn't close his eyes. If there were people he knew on the dance floor, he wanted to catch their reactions. He felt great, except for the uncomfortable feeling that Miranda was watching them. He ignored that niggling sensation and held Diane more tightly. The music pounded on and on, rhythmic, hypnotic. Diane moved restlessly in his arms, tossed her golden hair, and then looked up at him. "I have to go to the bathroom," she shouted over the music. "I'll be right back." He smiled, nodded, and let her go. Fifteen minutes later, he was looking through the crowd, standing on tiptoe, searching fruitlessly for any sign of Diane. Where the fuck had she gone? She couldn't still be in the bathroom, unless she'd gotten sick and passed out or something, and if that had happened there'd be people going in and out, some kind of a fuss. Dammit, he thought. Dammit. Where is she? The thought came at first as a surprise. Miranda, he thought, and it was a relief to think it. Miranda will know. He turned around immediately to go look for her in the crowd. Just behind him, he found Miranda standing there, her face slightly amused in the flickering light from the dance floor. Relief flooded him, but also the metallic taste of fear. Had something happened to Diane? "Have you seen Diane?" shouted Richard. Miranda nodded. "Well, where is she?" "She left." Miranda's voice was pitched low, and it carried. "She left?" Richard couldn't believe his ears. "What do you mean, she left? When? Where?" Miranda still looked faintly amused. "About ten minutes ago, with Matt Levine," she said. "I do not know where they were going, but I would suppose somewhere a little less crowded." Matt Levine. The big debate guy, baseball in the spring. Richard looked at Miranda, and suddenly all his anger crumpled. He felt lost. Right place, right time. No girl. He'd missed his chance, and now here he was with the consolation prize. He put his head in his hands, the music pounding all around him, then looked around furtively. Was anyone witnessing this humiliation? "Come on," said Miranda, very close to his ear. "Let's get out of this." She moved through the crowd without difficulty, taking Richard in her wake. He followed her not to the door by which he had entered, but a small side entrance, and they slipped into the darkness. Outside, the last night of October blew through the branches of the trees. Richard shivered and hunched into his coat, watching his feet shuffle through dead leaves behind Miranda's confident stride. He thought, not wanting to, about Diane and Matt, two perfect orthodontures locked in a perfect kiss. "Miranda," he said, unhappily. "I know you're pretty good friends with Diane. Do you think you could find out from her what happened tonight?" Miranda stopped and turned. She stood under a tree ahead of him, in the dark, on a soft carpet of pine needles. "What happened?" she echoed. "What do you mean?" He took a step closer. Her hair was no longer tied back, and it hung thick and dark around her white face. Her eyes looked huge and black in the faint silver light of the October moon, all pupil, and she was smiling slightly. He could see a slight gap of smooth, pale skin between her shirt and the waistband of her jeans. "I only mean that I'd like to know if she..." He had been going to ask about pre-arrangement, about Matt Levine, about Diane's fickleness. Suddenly, he wanted instead to reach out and touch that gap of soft, tender skin at Miranda's waist, slide his hand up across her ribs to cup her breast. The desire was so strong it was almost compulsion, and he stepped closer to Miranda, almost touching her body with his own. She didn't move, only looked into his eyes with that faint smile. He found he had an erection so hard it was painful. "What's the matter?" asked Miranda. Her voice was mocking. "Cat got your tongue?" Richard blinked. For one moment, it looked as though her pupils were vertical slits, like a cat's. He was seeing things in the dark. She passed the tip of her own tongue thoughtfully across her own upper lip and looked at him with steady, hungry eyes. "Go on," she said, softly. "Invite me in." So Richard reached for her, quickly, clumsily, and issued the only invitation he knew how to give. He kissed her. Her lips were surprisingly cold under his, but they were pliant and eager, and he felt her arms, thin and strong, go around him. "You're cold," he said, pulling her closer. He was trembling. He wanted her then and there, wanted her naked on the scratchy floor of pine needles, his cock inside her slick cunt, but he wanted to appear at least this thoughtful. "Should we go somewhere?" Miranda laughed, a low, triumphant laugh, and her teeth flashed white in the moonlight. "I am not cold," she said. Suddenly Richard shivered, goose bumps rising on his arms and back. Something was wrong here, very wrong. He had to get away, try to call Diane, see what had happened tonight... Miranda leaned forward, her eyes half-lidded and hungry, and she kissed him. Once. Twice. Three times. Richard forgot Diane, Matt Levine, Dante's. Her lips were cold, but the inside of her mouth was hot and wet. Silently, she trailed kisses down his jawline. She licked the salty hollow of his throat over and over, tracing the veins with her tongue. Richard forgot his college classes, his humiliation, the October night. She put her hands under his shirt and scratched his skin lightly with her fingernails, brought his nipples to hardness, lowered her mouth to suck the pebbly tips. She scratched a little deeper, nails sharp just below his nipple, and drew a thin bead of blood. She laughed with satisfaction, and licked and licked. Richard forgot his social ambition, his family, and his friends. He moaned. Richard lay on the pine needles, naked, a slim pale woman on top of him. He could remember her name and almost nothing else: Miranda. Her hair dangled over his face, shutting out the light of the moon, but her skin was so white it was almost luminous, and he could see her great eyes. Her hands were on his chest, and she leaned forward to kiss him. It was a dizzying kiss, or perhaps he was light-headed. She kissed him again, and then shifted her weight--what weight there was--farther down his body. His throat again, where the great pulse beat. She dwelt lovingly there for a moment, her tongue flicking over the warm skin. Then lower. Even now, Richard ached to touch her lovely body, her breasts gleaming in the moonlight, but he didn't dare move. He felt her cold lips and hot, wet tongue on his chest, his waist. Richard moaned again. His cock throbbed and ached. He knew he was afraid for her to suck his cock, knew that the picture of it disappearing between those dark lips filled him with unformed terror, but he couldn't think, couldn't remember why. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. And her lips moved on without engulfing his cock. He drew a long, shuddery breath of mingled relief and disappointment, his head whirling. Miranda's tongue found the warm hollow where his thigh met his pelvis, and she sucked there gently for a moment, her tongue moving in broad sweeps over the taut tendon. Then she raised her head with a look of amused regret. "I can find no source there. I prefer that place for the pure style of the thing, and it leaves no marks, but ah well. I do retain certain old-fashioned sensibilities, and you have such a pretty throat, Richard." She gave one more lingering kiss to his cock, her teeth just grazing the skin, and moved with lithe grace up his body. Her skin was cool against his as she settled down over him. "Oh, Richard," she whispered. Long breath out, long breath in. "I think I might just have to fuck you when I do this part." She reached behind her and guided his cock into her pussy, pressing back until he was buried inside her. She was wet and hot, and he groaned. Pleasure and terror. Miranda began to move, back and forth, stretching up, her hair dangling again over Richard's face. He thrust into her, unable to help himself, and she arched her back. "My relatives ask me why I spend so much time with that beautiful idiot girl at the university," she said, a little breathlessly. "I never tell them how good she is at finding me pretty boys like you." Then she leaned forward, her tongue seeking out the vein in his throat, caressing it delicately. Richard closed his eyes, images whirling through his brain. The October moon. A cat's vertical pupils. Diane's golden hair. A pale oval face, saying, No one needs any help here. Miranda's smile, her breasts, her hair, her huge dark eyes. And then Richard felt the sweet poisonous sting at his throat, Miranda's tongue moving and sucking at the tender warm flesh, her mouth cold and hot around her tiny sharp white teeth. Through the whirl of confused images, he felt her pussy around his cock, pulling and rippling as if she were in the throes of orgasm. With his eyes still closed, and her teeth in his neck, his cock buried inside her, he came, crying out. Richard forgot everything, this time even his fear. *** When Richard opened his eyes again, he was disoriented for a moment. He was no longer in the woods but in a bed, his own narrow dormitory bed. The room was dark and still. He groped for the bedside lamp and looked at the radio clock in the pool of its light. Nine p.m., November 1. He had slept an entire day. His body ached as if in withdrawal. He walked to the mirror over the sink to look at himself, and was only half-surprised to see that he was white as a ghost, his eyes sunken, the stubble on his cheeks standing out sharp and dark. The sore on his neck looked odd, and it burned and itched. Still, that was not the worst thing. By far the worst was the burning and itching in his mind, the longing for Miranda herself, her body, her cold lips, her tongue on him. He wanted her back. He hungered for that sweet numbing sting. He could feel his desire for her like a drug, like a poison, in all his veins, but he knew his hunger would never be satisfied. She had moved on. He turned away from his exhausted, translucent image, the metallic taste of disgust in his mouth. His glance fell on the telephone. Miranda, he thought, his mind bumping against her like a moth against the glass outside. He looked in the student directory, his fingers shaking. No. No Miranda Glass in the book. It was what he had expected, but the dead end made him feel hollow. Then his eye, roving in despair, fell on another name. Nick Galiakis. He sat for a moment, lost in thought, remembering that handsome face talking so earnestly to Miranda in Dante's, that lost look so similar to the one he'd just seen in the mirror. (I wonder how long I'll be able to see it in the mirror, he thought, and shivered.) He saw again Nick's hands pawing at Miranda's waist, heard Miranda's voice assuring him that no one needed any help, no, no one needed any help here. The sore on his neck a maddening itch, the sore in his mind a maddening compulsion, he picked up the telephone. *** Six months later, one fresh spring night, Dante's was crowded to bursting. Spring fever emptied the library and the dorm rooms of Ford College and filled the dance floor. Graduating senior girls in tiny flowered dresses squeezed past gyrating freshmen, trying not to spill the beers they held, and went back for more when the spill inevitably occurred. In every corner, people displayed flashes of fresh sunburn on nose and hip and thigh, winter-pale skin out in the air again at last. Over in one corner, almost obscured from view by the laughing people sitting around him, sat the gorgeous young man of Ford College, Nick Galiakis. Some people whispered that getting over Diane Lavalle was the best thing that ever happened to him. Not only did he seem to be better-looking now than he used to be, blue-eyed and blond and muscular, but he had an infallible magnetic charm that other guys could only envy with sick longing. The table around him was full of girls, their eyes trained on his dimples. Black-haired Amanda Cobb, president of Eta Rho, her hand on his arm, flanked by two other girls from her sorority. Alicia Reynolds, head of the swim team, shaking her sleek blonde charioteer's head in a laugh. The only break in that line of female beauty was Richard, with his pale skin and shaggy dark hair. No one could really understand why Nick wanted to have Richard around in the first place. There he sat in a corner of the booth, the only person in range not looking at Nick, nodding slowly as Joan Andrews talked to him with her earnest face upturned. "I don't know why he broke up with me," she said, unhappily, looking into his eyes, which looked huge and black in the dim light of the bar. "Did I do something wrong? Do you think I could talk to you about it? I know you're really good friends." "I think we could talk about it," said Richard. "Maybe we could take a walk." They got up and moved through the music and the crowd to the door. Richard turned, looked back at Nick, and met his eyes. Nick cast a short, questioning glance at Amanda Cobb. Yes, nodded Richard. She's next. He stepped after Joan into the warm spring night and breathed deeply. His hunger for Miranda never receded. She flowed in his veins, scrabbled incessantly at the back of his mind. But he had found a way to take the edge off the desperate need. Miranda's own way. A beautiful stalking-horse. Lovely prey, asking to be taken. And springing to the teeth, to the tongue: fresh blood. Joan smiled up at him nervously. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Perfectly all right," he said, his white teeth glinting in the moonlight. "No one needs any help here." Edited by Father Ignatius <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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