index


Message-ID: <48455asstr$1089594602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Rumi Sylvestris <future_rumi@sbcglobal.net>
Subject: {ASSM} After the Plague: Anniversaries (sci-fi MF rom safe)
Lines: 421
Date: Sun, 11 Jul 2004 21:10:02 -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


More explorations of safer sex sometime in the future.

<1st attachment, "susan_jim.txt" begin>

After the Plague: Anniversaries (sci-fi MF safe petting slow)

After the accident, I went to a multi-sensory therapist.  On his advice
I changed my shampoo and soap to get around the accidental flashbacks.
I bought a new bed, packing her pillow away for those times that I
wanted to remember.  It was a nice single bed, room for me and the large
stuffed children's toy that I cried into on nights that were lonely.  I
spent about a month learning the cuisine Nell hated but I loved.  I
moved our historical costumes into storage and redecorated my apartment.
Her assistant and sewing machine were given to Ann, her business
partner.  Nell and I  were both practitioners of voluntary simplicity
living with exactly what we needed, so aside from the costumes, there
really was not much to dispose of, just a week's worth of clothes and
personal effects. 

Thankfully, most of the the memories I was managing were good ones.  In
the hospital after the accident, they zapped my hypothalamus to mute the
horror of that day.  My knowledge of her death was abstract.  The few
images of the accident are like watching old, faded 2d slides of her
death, tableaux shot by a crazy photographer with no concept of
composition, frames from a tragic film staring an actress chosen to look
exactly like my wife and lover of 27 years.

Still can't get into the front seat of a car without breaking into a
cold sweat though.  

Numbness is better than the alternative, but still not easy.  I poured
myself into my work and tried to redefine myself as a middle-aged
widower.  I had good friends and co-workers.  The first anniversary
passed with a token acknowledgment, then a week later, Susan invited me
to a dinner at her new apartment.  Susan and I had become something like
friends.  Sheela, another one of my co-workers brought one of her new
lovers.  They were not trying to show off, but seeing them together made
me feel more and more alone.  

I awoke the next morning on Susan's couch, a wet cloth on my forehead
and a sick feeling in my mouth.  Susan was sitting at her Assistant,
reading.  With a groan I sat up, and realized that my skin-tight bodysuit
did nothing to hide my morning erection.  Embarrassed, I covered myself
with a blanket just as she turned.  

"Damnit, Jim, you owe me," she said.

"Thanks for helping me out last night," I said.  I remembered vomiting,
a lot of vomiting.  "Must have been something I had for lunch."

"Lunch nothing, do you even remember how much wine you had last night?
If you want to kill yourself, find a better way to do it."

"Wine?",  I don't drink, have not for years.

"I took the liberty of scanning your meditag," she said.  "You are
overdue to have your pancreas recharged, thankfully you started vomiting
before you could hurt yourself."

I stared dumbfounded.  I remember the wine, and Sheela's look of
surprise.  I found myself blinking away tears. "I'm sorry, I don't know
what I was thinking."  I choked. 

Susan stood up and I awkwardly realized that she was not wearing a robe,
only a bodysuit.  The skin-tight nanofabric in these new times was
almost like wearing nothing at all, and for many of us raised with
boxers and pants, uncomfortably revealing on a casual basis.  She sat
down next to me and put her arm around me.  The physical contact was
warm, desirable and unnerving at the same time.  

"I'm sorry," she said.  "I can be a bit blunt at times and I needed to
get it off my chest. Sheela's timing was, a bit awkward for me, I can
understand being jealous."

"No," I said, "I'm not jealous so much as..."

"Envious?" she said with a grin.  "I agree."

I turned to look at her, "I thought you..."

"Played the field?" she grinned back.  "Yeah, I have friends that I
sport-sex with on occasion, but I don't feel that..."

"Zing?"

"Yeah, that's a good word for it, zing."  She said, "Janet was good but
look how that turned out."

The closeness of her was both pleasant and uncomfortable.  I wanted to
turn my head and breathe in her scent.  To hold her close.  I had
thought of making love with her before but our friendship was largely
built on the fact that we didn't.  But mostly, I felt fear.  Why would
she want someone 20 years older and from a different time, before the
plagues and failing ozone made nanofabric a second skin? Why would I
want to risk becoming involved in the complex tangle of relationships
that she lived? 

Still, my hand reached for her thigh, and she broke the spell, "You and
Nell had something special, I envied that.  I don't think I can have it
again."

The belated anniversary of the accident fell out of me in wracking sobs.
27 years lost in the past.  Nell and I had every intention of living
another 60 together. Susan held me in silence as it all fell out.  

Then it was just me and her, and a full bladder and a mouth that tasted
of stale wine and last-night's dinner.  

For the next year it remained me and her as the nice safe platonic
friends.  Sheela's "zing" turned out to be a flash in the pan.  Susan
and I went back to being the friendly companions over weekly coffee and
monthly dinner parties. And as the second anniversary approached, I
started to dread it more and more.  I had my work, I had a handful of
friends, and that was enough for me.  But my friends were starting to
bother me with their concern, at some point, every conversation
included, "Are you OK, no really, how are you doing?"

Susan invited me to dinner again, a few friends gathered around the
table and talking about family, politics and movies.  The dinner party
moved from month to month and household to household. This time around I
was keenly aware of the eyes on me as I passed the wine around the
table, the awkward pauses in conversation as we talked around Nell's
two-year absence.  

"We should have a costume party, for Halloween coming up," Mike said.
Mike was a newcomer to our group, Kate's date for the night.  The group
fell into a stony silence with half the eyes on their plates and half
the eyes on me.  The costume ball had been Nell's big hobby before she
died, and no one had picked up the slack in the two years since then.  

Sheela, sometimes the diplomat, cleared her throat.

"I would love a good costume party," I said interrupting her change of
subject.  Now I had the attention of everyone.  "Well, why not, we
missed last year, and we should start it back up again."

Mike looked around the table, knowing that he accidentally stepped in
something but not knowing what.  I decided to let him off the hook,
"Look folks, I appreciate the fact that some of you want to be sensitive
to my feelings, with the second anniversary of... Nell's death." That
last part was hard to say.  "But I'm ok.  I think that we should have
another costume party to continue the tradition."

My words were much braver than what I felt.

Sheela burst in, "let me ask the rest of The Household if we can have it
at our place."  Bill, Chang and Carol gave their assent to having the
party there, and it was mostly settled.

After dessert, I helped Susan with the dishes, while the remainder of
the party drank coffee.  "That was brave of you," she said.  

I was feeling a bit irritated, "Look, no really, I'm ok.  I'm dealing
with it," I replied.  "I don't think it will ever not hurt at times, but
I've learned to live with it."

"I know, I just think that you could benefit from something new.  Yeah,
you're ok in the sense that you are not going to self-destruct in front
of us, or start massaging your loneliness by seducing co-eds, but I
think you can use something new in your life."

I stared at the water, mulling over her words, "So what do you
recommend?"

"I don't know.  Go on sabbatical to Cuba or Thailand or something.  Pick
up a hobby.  Help put this costume party together.  Go out on a date or
something, perhaps get laid."  Her gloved hand found mine on the edge of
the sink. "Or perhaps not," she said, moving back away from me.

"I'm not asexual you know," I said.  "I just can't see myself in a, you
know, a big-R Relationship.  I don't think that would be fair to the
other person, to get into something with a weepy widower who may never
get over the love of his life."

"I'm not talking about a big-R Relationship," she replied.  "Something
more casual."

"Like what you do?" I asked.

"Jim," she said, getting close to me again. "You've known me for three
years now.  After Graham, I rebounded into Janet, and you know how that
turned out.  So I have friends that I sport-sex with, and friends that I
don't. And sometimes, I just want to sleep with someone."  She moved away
from me, confusing me.  "Perhaps that would be good for you."

"Susan," I said, "So which am I? A friend you have sex with, or a friend
you don't?"  I covered her hand with mine, twining my fingers with hers.  

"That's up to you. Are you offended?" she asked.

"No, I don't think so," I said, leaning close to her.  I was mildly
aware that I was tenting my kilt.  "I don't know how this will work
though."

"Let's just play it by ear and get rid of the dinner guests," she
whispered.  

"Now why would you want to do that?" said Sheela from the kitchen door.
She gave us a wink, "I suppose that means you don't need a lift home
Jim?"

Susan turned around and leaned back against the sink, "How long have you
been spying on us?"  

"Just long enough," Sheela said, "We really gotta go, it's already past
Emily and Sam's bedtime."  

"I'll see you out," Susan said.  It turns out everyone had an excuse to
head home at a reasonable hour.  Susan gave hugs all around but I just
shook hands, until Sheela pulled me into a hug and whispered, "'bout
time Jim."  I noticed Susan giving Kate a slightly more than friendly
kiss, with her hug, and exchanged whispers.

When everyone was gone, Susan closed the door and leaned back against
it.  "Well," I said, "I guess everyone knows I'm staying over."

"Don't worry about it," she said.  "We're all adults, except for Mike
perhaps."

"So Kate's ok with this?"  I asked.  

Susan gave me an odd look, "Kate is a lot of fun on a date, but I don't
think she can really have an emotional attachment to anything without a
superconductor and a particle beam.  Besides, she thinks you're cute."

I felt awkward, odd, bashful.  I had never been good at this sort of
transition from the casual "hey would you like coffee together" to "gee,
I really want to watch the look on your face when you orgasm."  

"So," I said.  "What next?"

"I'd feel better if we finished up the dishes tonight," she said.  We
started working next to each other, I washed and she rinsed.  When we
got to the pots she excused herself to go to the bathroom.   I did not
hear her come back, and she surprised me by wrapping her arms around me
from behind.

"Um, Jim, there is something I need to tell you," she said.

I froze, "Should I call a taxi?"

"Ohh, nothing like that, it's just, I don't do wet sex.  We can do
whatever we like as long as we keep the bodysuits on.  But," she
shrugged. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow but not tonight."

I nodded, "I'm not a stranger to safer sex myself."

The nanofabric bodysuit had become the universal undergarment in the
first decades of the 21st century.  The fabric flowed like liquid from a
neck collar, tightening against the skin and becoming an extremely
durable, comfortable skintight layer.  It actively breathed transporting
water through its membrane while disrupting or denaturing most organic
molecules that passed through.  Tissue-thin and smooth, most people of
Susan's generation adopted it as not only as something to wear, but also
as protection during sex. Intercourse had became something of a taboo, a
final ritual act for people who literally trusted each other with their
lives.

"Good," Susan said, "do you want a patch?"  The mild legal psychedelic
enhanced skin sensation.  

"Sure," I said.  She broke contact with me briefly to peel the backing
off the patch and press it to the spot just under my ear.  She then
wrapped her arms around me, slipping her hands under my sweater to
caress my suit-covered skin.  

"Keep doing that," she said, "I want to feel you work."  I was a bit
self conscious about the few pounds around my middle that did not go away
no matter how many miles I walked.   But she didn't seem to mind.  Her
hands roamed over my chest and stomach as I finished the last pot.  
She squeezed me tight and pressed her cheek to my back, "I've been
wanting to do this for a long time," she said.

"Why didn't you ask?"

"Didn't think you would be interested." 

I turned around and we kissed.  These were not the wet sloppy, kisses of
tongue and spit of my youth, but kisses that roamed over the entire
face, touching and blessing each feature, lips, nose, eyes, forehead,
the little scar on her cheek, the cleft of my chin.  They were kisses
that included noses and eyelashes, cheeks and chins as equal actors
along with the lips.  

We danced our way into her living room, an awkward shuffling dance of
two people who did not want to sacrifice touching for mobility.  My leg
slipped between hers, and she rubbed against it.  The warm tingling of
the patch had spread from my neck to a glow all over.  I wanted to feel
every tiny muscle with my fingers, lips and tongue greedily tasting
every part of her face.  

At the edge of the couch, she grabbed the hem of my sweater, yanking it
up over my head.  The momentary loss of contact with her was compensated
when she nuzzled my chest, easily finding a nipple and kissing it, while
fumbling with the button of my kilt.  Reluctantly I broke contact to
strip her sweater off, and unzipped her skirt.  Awkwardly we kissed
while kicking out of our garments.  

She pushed me back onto the couch and said, "slow down a second, I want
to see you."  Her eyes roamed over my body, making me feel slightly
self-conscious.  I was 20 years older.  A die-hard pedestrian, I walked
about three miles a day but even when I trained for distance walking I
still carried a few extra pounds around the waist.  My earth-tone green
suit had adjusted to my erection.  Slightly translucent, nanofabric
darkened at the head, and clung to the shaft as if painted on.  I was
experienced enough to know that I shouldn't be self-conscious, but I
still was.

Susan, I suspected was having some of the same anxieties.  Of course it
should not matter because all good friends who find themselves on the
verge of becoming lovers are beautiful to each other.  Her dark brown
hair was held back from her face by a single band.  Her deep brow eyes
scanned over my body, lingered over my erection but kept returning to my
face.  Her body was clad in a pale lavender suit that tinted her skin
rather than covered it, revealing the flush of her skin, the large dark
aureoles and nipples, and the dark patch between her legs. 

Smiling I reached out for her and pulled her to me.  My head tilted up
slightly to nuzzle her breasts. My hands roamed over her back as she
pressed my head against her, her fingers tangled in my hair.  Grasping
each other we stayed that way, my lips and teeth pulling soft sighs of
pleasure from her.  "I want you," I said.  "I want to feel you come."

Wordlessly she placed one of my hands between her legs.  She was hot
there, damp under her suit.  When I found the right spot, she sighed
"there," when I hit the right motion, she said "yes."  Then she was
wordless again as her flush deepened and her breath came in panting
gasps.  Eagerly, perhaps a bit too roughly I stroked her, until her
breath quickened, until she let out a long moan, deep and low.  I felt
it as much as heard it, with one arm around her waist and my face
pressed against her chest.  A shuddering shaking moan followed by a
series of short pants, then she twisted away from me to collapse on the
couch, her head rolling back onto the cushion.

"Damn!" she said after a bit.  

"You want more?" I asked sliding a hand along her belly.  

"Ohh, not right now, not that way, I think I'm a bit over sensitive for
that at the moment."  

She leaned over to kiss me, soft and tender at first, then more
aggressive.  After a moment, she pushed be back to lay back on the
couch.  Climbing on top of me, she straddled one of my legs then pressed
against me, grinding against my thigh, and sliding against my erection
pressed against her.  Moaning I thrust against her and we writhed
together, feeding off of each other's arousal.  She climbed towards
another orgasm, fueled by the patch and our shared closeness.  We held
eye contact until the last moment, when her eyes fluttered closed as she
shook against me. My own orgasm not far off, I writhed against her
trying to reach it only to find it slip just out of reach.  

"Do you want to come?" she asked.

"I'm ok," I said.  I didn't want to be pushy.

"Honesty Jim," do you want an orgasm?  

Looking her in the eyes, I croaked "yes, but it's um, I don't know, not
working this way."  

She stood up, took my hand and led me to her bed.  She pulled down the
covers and had me lay down.  She picked up a bottle from the bedside
table and climbed into bed, sitting cross-legged next to me.  Pouring
some of the massage "oil" onto her hands she said, "my turn to see you
come."  She started with one hand stroking my chest and another hand
massaging my thigh.  I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensations.  She
found one of my nipples and I felt my distracted, preoccupied penis
start to stiffen again as she worked away the tension of being with
someone new.  

Slowly the hands found their way to my erection, one hand massaging the
base, one hand sliding over the fabric of the bodysuit, the fabric its
self slipping frictionlessly over my skin.  Her voice soothing, "ok,
just relax, remember to breathe."  When I got to the edge she slowed
down.  Through my half-lidded eyes I was aware that she was watching my
face, "there we go," she said.  "Your face looks so beautiful, just
relax and let it happen." With those words my back arched against the
bed, shocks ran from the base of my cock to the tip and reverberated
through my body to the tips of my toes.  

Finally, I fell back against the bed, and rolled over into a fetal
position.  (Another advantage of nanotechnology, massage "oil" that does
not stain, and sheets that can't get stained.)  Susan curled around me
holding me close.  "Wow," I said, and then burst into tears.  

She held me and smoothed me, as the tears came out of my body.  She
didn't speak, just held me and that perfect moment was when I started to
fall in love with her.  

When it was over, she asked, "are you OK, I hope I didn't do anything
wrong."

"No" I said, suddenly giggling.  "I didn't expect the first time to be,
like this.  I hope I didn't scare you."

"A little," she said.  

"Susan?" I said.

"Yes Jim?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?" I said, suddenly rolling over to face her
and caress her cheek.

"I have a Saturday off for once," she said smiling.

"Would you hold me tonight, and then maybe tomorrow, we could, um, do
something."

"Jim," she said cupping my cheek, "I was thinking of doing a lot of
'something' with you this weekend."
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+