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From: rache696@yahoo.com (Rache)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 00:26:52 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Perfect (the things I write for love) (F/F, Romance, Preg)
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Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 06:10:03 -0400
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Story Codes: F/F, Romance, Preg

Copyright 2004 Rachael P. Ross all rights reserved. This story may be
reosted and/or archived to FREE access by adults only. This permission
is granted provided that my name and email rache696@yahoo.com address,
as well as this notice, is included in the message body.

Author's note: People ask me, 'How can you write something like
"Sandy" and then turn around and write something like "Perfect"?' and
all I can say is, I like to write. I don't have to like the story, to
like the story...you know?

This is a love letter to a woman I saw in church today. But I didn't
have the nerve to say anything. If I see her next week... -rr 08 Aug
2004

-+-+-


Perfect
(The things I write for love)
By rachael

I met her in church, of all places. We were sitting in the same row,
but on opposite sides of the center aisle. Next to each other, yet
separated by a sliver of empty space. What a delightful tease, so much
better than being right next to her. She glanced at me when she sat
down, a little smile, nothing more. I'd never seen her before, I was
new to this city, and this hour of worship was not my customary.

It was her legs, I suppose, that fascinated me at first. They were
long and beautiful, without stockings or nylons to cover her pale
skin. Her dress was short when she sat down, and the woman pulled at
the hem self-consciously, and she crossed her legs tightly at the
thighs, so that my eyes were drawn to her motion.

I stared at them, seeing the way the muscle tone beneath pulled or
pushed at the skin, sculpting her flesh in different ways when she
moved. She caught me several times, while the choir sang and we
waited, staring at her legs and feet like that. Occasionally I'd
glance up, to see her face in profile, or maybe slightly tilted
towards or away from me. She was beautiful, maybe 23 or 24 I'd have
guessed.

Her eyes were dark, like her hair cut to the shoulders with a small
inward curl. She had narrow arching brows and a small, straight nose
above an equally small and sensual mouth. Her cheekbones were high and
plain to see, though not prominent by any means, just enough to
structure her delightful face. Her chin was neither strong nor weak,
but perfect and gave her a heart shaped aspect as it narrowed. I could
not see her body, she wore a light blazer, smoke colored above her
black dress, and it draped in such a way as to hide her from my view.

I was in love, plainly and without mercy and it was a terrible
wonderful sensation to find it in such beautiful surroundings. I knew
that she was aware of me. Try as I might to be cautious, to be oblique
in my intentions, she would catch a glimpse of me looking from the
corner of her eye. Occasionally her head would turn a fraction and I
would look away, or sometimes I would turn toward her as well, hoping
our eyes would meet, but they did not. She was shy and cautious.

I was just 21 then, a single woman on my own for the first time.
Everything was a new experience, even those I might previously have
expected, life was a surprise at every moment. I sat in the church,
mimicking the woman, I crossed my legs as she did, pressing my thighs
together, feeling the dampness between them. I clasped my hands, or
folded my arms, or let them lay limply in my lap. I worried over my
hair, brushing at imaginary strands from my eyes. I licked my lips,
tasting my lipstick, wishing I could see myself and know I was still
pretty. I squirmed and held my breath and counted my heart beats as I
waited.

When we rose for our hymns I took the opportunity to look, to turn
unabashedly in the pretext of rising. I moved my eyes up from her
feet, along her legs as she stood, the hem of her dress now falling
two inches above her knee, but clinging to her thighs, outlining them
and her ass pushed out nicely, not overly large, but small and high
and round. Her blazer had swept back as she leaned forward and the
swell of her tummy pushed slightly against the pew in front of her. It
was barely noticeable, but there just the same. The woman was
pregnant, perhaps 3 months or so, just starting to show and I felt my
vaginal walls contract slightly, a deep throbbing sensation in my
womb.

Her breasts were smallish, but firm and pushing outward sexily. She
turned her head and caught me, her eyes glancing quickly away, but
returning. They darted back and forth and I thought she smiled
perhaps, but then became more aware of her slight belly and pulled her
blazer closed, crossing her arms and I sighed deeply.

It continued in that way for an hour. The almost unbearable teasing as
my mind played little games, picturing this woman doing everyday
things. Smiling and laughing, cleaning her kitchen, sleeping, walking,
just sitting in the darkness. I didn't dare imagine more, I couldn't,
she was too beautiful to spoil that way. With vulgar thoughts. I was
in love, as I've mentioned. Hopelessly.

As our worship service concluded I was torn between my desire to speak
to her, just to know her name at least, so my heart would have a sound
all it's own. And to let her go, to live the rest of my life with that
one hour etched perfectly in my mind. Never spoiled or ruined, but
timeless and unchangeable. She would always be mine that way, for one
fleeting moment in our lives we had shared something special,
something important. I knew, when she gave me a small glance before
standing to exit, a look with her soft dark eyes and a barest hint of
a smile, I knew she felt the same.

I was hopeless and I could not let her go, it was an impossibility. I
timed my own exit, moving slowly and now faster, so that we should
turn our corners at the same time. This woman to her right, and me to
my left, facing each other, walking towards each other so we could
exit through the double doors at the back of the church. She looked at
me and then down and I moved next to her. When she paused to speak
with an acquaintance I stopped as well, unable to move from her side.
When she turned to walk I was there and she was aware of it, of
course, and I thought it pleased her. I hoped.

"What is your name?" I asked finally, as we walked down the sidewalk.

"Susan." She paused and looked at me.

"I'm Rachael." I took a deep breath, my heart was pounding now and it
was a chore to breathe. I worried over every step, lest I trip and
appear the fool. Likewise my words, I was overly cautious and slow and
she walked on.

"I love you." I told her and I'd intended a whisper, I think, but it
came out loudly, and ugly to my ears and I cringed at the sound of my
voice.

She stopped then and turned to me. It was evening and dark and it was
by lamplight that I saw her face, seeming sad somehow, or confused
perhaps. "I don't know what you mean." Her voice was distant.

I put my hand on her then, on her arm just below her elbow, our first
touch. "You've never been in love?" I asked her and she shook her
head. "Please," I begged her, "come with me, to my apartments."

"I've never done such a thing." She smiled faintly and her chin dipped
slightly. "I wouldn't know how."

"I will show you." I whispered and dared closer, moving my hand now
from her arm to her waist. "I am in love with you."

She was taller than I by several inches and I looked up into her
shadowed face. We were close now, so close it was overwhelming me. I
put my other hand on her hip, so that we stood like lovers in the
moonlight, and I swallowed nervously, waiting and hoping. Her arms
hung limply, she made no movement to embrace me, or step away. There
was no sign of her opinion but a deep and ragged sigh.

"Alright." She said so softly I might have imagined it. I felt my
heart swelling, growing so large that it engulfed me entirely and I
flushed with heat. There are no words to suffice that expression of my
soul, that eternal second when all things become possible.

I took her hand, forcing myself to be patient, to move slowly as we
made our way to my home. We did not speak. I was fearful to give her
the opportunity to change her mind, and she...I believe she was content
to be led. Curious perhaps, desirous of something unexpected. I didn't
yet know her, I didn't understand her yet, she was a mystery in which
I was caught. The silence was almost suffocating and it fed my fears,
but her hand in mine was a reassurance and it kept me safely on our
path.

I was staying then in an old Victorian house, remodeled, with separate
apartments upstairs and down. I led her up the old and creaking
stairs, dimly lit and cold, unlocking my door to the warmth and
congenial atmosphere of my rooms. There was a sitting room, a small
kitchen/dining room, a bedroom with a bath, and several closets, in
unlikely places. The walls were salmon and red floral wallpaper, the
floor a golden hardwood, with rough bright oriental carpets. Rosewood
furniture, soft lamps of brass, and books and papers, reproductions of
Monet and Pollack, my collection of ivory figures, humans, gods and
monsters, animals collected from my travels. Japanese dolls in
porcelain, and lace curtains from India, bold and beautiful silk
screens. It was a cluttered, lived in place, collected and full of
happy memories.

Susan looked at it all, smiling and nodding. She saw my small Bonsai,
cultivated carefully for many years, exquisite and fragile. I showed
her my violin, an investment of many years that rarely satisfied the
senses, but my heart would fly upon it's strings.

I showed her everything, I had so few visitors.

"You are the first." I told her. "I do not invite people into my home,
it is something I cannot share." I put my arms around her. "It is
something I must give entirely."

I was staring into her eyes, seeing them for the first time in that
soft light. Brown flecked with gold, seeming to pierce me, exposing
all of my secrets. "Do you want to kiss me?" She asked and I felt the
first tentative touch of her fingers upon my bare skin, just there on
my shoulder.

I slid my hand along her back, upward to the nape of her neck. Her
skin was soft and warm, damp with perspiration and her hair fell over
my fingers as I pulled her mouth to mine. We kissed then, standing
like that, our bodies still and unmoving. Even our tongues, between
gently parted lips, moved languid and leisurely, just touching and
tasting. It was the most wonderful experience. I would have traded
every memory in my life should it be necessary to remember only that
one kiss.

I had two pieces of furniture then, in my sitting room, an antique
chaise lounge of mahogany, soft and large enough for us both. And a
leather sofa, that was cool and sticky to damp flesh. I had covered it
with bolts of rough Egyptian linen, faded khaki and a warm shade of
mustard that I'd intended once for skirts and blouses and slacks. But
it was to neither of these that we moved, instead Susan and I knelt
slowly in the center of that chaotic life once lived, and let our
bodies entangle gracefully.

"Have you never been in love, Susan?" I asked, with her head on my
shoulder, her breath on my face as we lay together. We were still
clothed, our skirts askew and ridden high, with our leg scissored
comfortably. Her blazer still over her shoulders, but pulled back so
it bunched beneath her. She had one arm between us and the other
traced the hollow of my throat. My own hand was on her shoulder,
cradling her to me, while the other explored that tender swell of her
abdomen.

"Never before." She sighed.

"What of this?" I smiled at her, touching her belly.

"I desired a child." She moved closer and her thigh rubbed between
mine. "I found some men, some fellows where I work, and I invited them
to my house one evening. I served them dinner and wine and I told them
I had no feelings for them, for anyone. To have said such a thing to
one person, alone, would have been impossible, but they were together,
do you see? And I drew my strength from their numbers. I told them
that I wanted a child, but it wasn't necessary to know whom the father
was. In fact, I did not want to know, I said. I would have them make
love to me, as many times as they wished during the night. My only
condition was that I was blindfolded, and they must not speak, or
otherwise give away their identities. I did not want to know which of
them was first, or which was last, or which had taken me twice and
another only once."

I kissed Susan's lips softly, urging her to continue as her story was
exciting me terribly.

"I was a virgin then, nearly 4 months ago now, having never loved
another, or given myself in lust or casual desire. I was blindfolded
as I'd requested, and furthermore I was bound, hand and foot to my
bed. I didn't object to this rough treatment, for they were gentle and
even considerate, but for this, one of them told me, I was to be tied.
It was a rape, if not in purpose then in deed. I agreed to that
sentiment, to being raped although I had not considered it such in the
beginning. There were six of them, and the first was painful, much
more so than I'd been led to expect in the idle chatter of my female
companions. But perhaps they'd forgotten the first, though I don't
think it should be possible. I will never forget him."

"I have never had sex with a man." I whispered.

Susan continued, pressing a finger to my lips. "Then you are lucky,
and unlucky both, for it is our purpose you know. Do you not feel it,
Rachael? The emptiness inside, when it is late and you cannot sleep,
but only turn this way and that, uncomfortable because the bed is too
soft, or the pillow too hard, although they have always been fine
before. I felt it. I would press my hand to my belly, just here, and
feel nothing."

She touched me, pushing her fingers into the softness of my tummy,
just above my pubis mound. I tried to imagine the emptiness she
described, but in truth I had never had the sensation. It made me sad,
as though I were imperfect and I was loath to admit it to her.

"They took me that night, all of them many times. I wept a little, I
think, because a part of me did not want this thing. I've never felt
the need for anyone, even as a child I was uncomfortable with my
parents and their constant touches and attentions. For many years the
thought of a man - of doing that thing - was repulsive to me and I
would feel ill at the thought of it. But the yearning for a child, to
be a woman complete was too powerful eventually. I felt no pleasure
during the night, only pain, although I was certain the men did not
share in it. For them it was thoroughly enjoyable and they
congratulated me when it was over. They thanked me and untied me,
removing my blindfold as the sun was rising. They were in a good humor
while I was impeded by my loss, though of what I couldn't express.
There was some part of me gone then, even as I conceived and gained
something more. It is a curious balance, don't you think?"

"May I see it?" I answered her.

"Of course." She sat up and undressed completely as I lay there,
watching. She removed her blazer and her dress, even her panties,
until there was no part of Susan I couldn't inspect. Her breasts had
not yet begun to produce milk, they were still ripe and firm, with
small nipples that were dark and hard. The bulge in her belly was
there, but only if she turned just so, otherwise it would be
overlooked. Her skin was white and smooth, without blemish or scar.
Between her legs was her sex, puffy and fat, with a small but thick
tangle of black hair. I could discern her labia, barely visible, and
the small knot of flesh which hid her clitoris. I held my breath
looking at her.

I reached out to touch her stomach, grazing it with my fingers and
trying to discern that subtle swelling. "Kiss it for me, Rachael." She
spoke softly and did not move, merely watched as I moved, placing my
cheek over her pubis and touching my lips to her tummy. I could feel
the heat of her against my face, the humidity of her sex rising and
filling my nose with her scent. She stroked my hair, combing her
fingers through it as I kissed, and then licked at her skin.

"Tell me now, how do you love me, Rachael?" I had my eyes closed and
her voice seemed to come from within that empty space.

"I love you, the way stars love the night. They are there, always, but
unseen in the brilliant exposure of the sun. That is my love; it was
always here, inside me, but I had no knowledge of it. I couldn't know
it existed, while I made my way from day to day and place to place. I
was searching, you have no idea how desperately, looking for someone.
And that need, that brilliant wanting, it did not fulfill, it only
buried the truth like the sun hiding the stars. And now, tonight, I
was not looking, I was not searching for anything, but I found you. I
do not understand it."

"Perhaps all love is accidental." She smiled down at me. "Or maybe
love cannot be found. To seek it is to drive it further away. Did you
ever say to yourself, `Today I shall find someone to fall in love
with.' and then do precisely that? No, of course not, because to do so
would invite comparison, which love cannot stand. I shall love her, if
she had but this other person's smile. And I might love him, if only
he were a fraction taller." Susan giggled softly and I clutched my
arms around her tightly, laying my cheek to her belly. "Love is
perfect."

"And how is it that you, having never been in love, should understand
it so completely?" I murmured.

"Because now I too am in love." She lifted me and gazed into my eyes,
which had grown wet suddenly. We kissed then and Susan undressed me,
bathing me with her gaze as every part of me was rendered perfect.

End
rache696@yahoo.com

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