Message-ID: <48455asstr$1089594602@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Mail-Format-Warning: No previous line for continuation: Wed Aug 14 16:30:23 2002Return-Path: <future_rumi@sbcglobal.net> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <20040711230000.67797.qmail@web81009.mail.yahoo.com> From: Rumi Sylvestris <future_rumi@sbcglobal.net> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 11 Jul 2004 16:00:00 -0700 (PDT) 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 X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2004/48455> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, hoisingr 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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+