Message-ID: <52132asstr$1128237002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <johnwizard13@hotmail.com> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <BAY107-F352DF34B535B9254B013A7DD810@phx.gbl> X-Originating-Email: [johnwizard13@hotmail.com] From: "John Wizard" <johnwizard13@hotmail.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 X-OriginalArrivalTime: 02 Oct 2005 04:14:31.0478 (UTC) FILETIME=[C9D49D60:01C5C707] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sat, 01 Oct 2005 21:14:31 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} Cultures and Customs (Mg MF) {Wizard} X-Original-Subject: Cultures and Customs - Wizard - Mg Lines: 586 Date: Sun, 02 Oct 2005 03:10:02 -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/Year2005/52132> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, hoisingr Customs and Cultures Love at first sight. Wizard [Obligatory Message: This is an erotic story, If you are offended by erotica, don’t read it. If is illegal to read erotica in your jurisdiction, don’t get caught reading it. If you are under the age to read erotic fiction, don’t admit reading read it. Otherwise enjoy.] [Note: Special thanks to Russell Hoisington and Denny Wheeler for their comments and help with my atrocious spelling and punctuation.] It's got to be the most absurd invention of the romance writers. The idea that with one look you can find the love of your life, your soul-mate. Now I'll admit that the first time I saw Stefania I couldn't take my eyes off her. But it wasn't that she was gorgeous, or love at first sight. It was more like watching a train wreck. You know it's wrong to stare, but you can't help yourself. She was wearing baggy tattered jeans that had at least four different kinds of stains and an equally baggy grey sweatshirt with a large pizza stain on the stomach. Her hair seemed grimy and was mostly tied back into a ponytail, but a dozen wisps had escaped and stuck at various angles. And to top it off, an ink blot resided on her nose. When I saw her she was standing over a table in the library. The table was scattered with bound copies of dissertations. She'd flip through one, toss it to the side, and pick up another. I saw her again about a week later, and again I found myself staring. This time it wasn't a train wreck, but rather the almost recognition that can drive you bananas. I saw her lounging on the grass, a beautiful girl wearing cut-offs and an orange Caltech t-shirt. The t-shirt itself made her stand out here on the campus of Stanford. She was lying on her side, propped up on an elbow reading some textbook. Her black hair gleamed in the April sunshine as it splayed over her shoulder and down across her chest. I kept staring from the bench where I was sitting. I tried not to be obvious, but I probably wasn't too successful. I knew her from somewhere, but I hadn't a clue where. My own book was in my lap. A book that I needed to finish before my next class, but I just couldn't concentrate. Where the hell did I know her from? High school? Undergrad? The time for my class came and went, and I just kept staring. We'd been sitting there for over an hour, barely fifty feet apart. Then she closed her book and put it back in her backpack. I panicked. She was getting ready to leave. But she didn't. She pulled a huge stack of paper out of the same backpack. It most have been two inches thick. She started flipping through them, reading a bit then looking further in the stack. That was when it hit me. Library girl. But this was no train wreck. This was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. I'd broken up with my last girlfriend over a month ago and really hadn't been interested since, but I decided to take a shot. I figured that she was out of my league, but every now and then it's good to get in over your head. I walked toward her using a kind of button hook pattern so that I'd approach her from the side. As I got close, I almost chickened out again. The title of the paper she was reading was A STATISTICAL ANALYSIS OF ELECTRON PATHS IN IRRADIATED.... Thankfully her thumb covered the rest. She had to be a brain. A major brain if she was reading that. And she was not only reading it, she was making some kind of calculations in the margins of the paper. I recognized about a quarter of the symbols she was using, and even though I recognized them, I didn't have a clue what they meant. I got as far as trig in high school and forgot everything I learned as soon as the final test was over. Now I'm not stupid. I was twenty-six and I'd already earned my Ph.D., but math and science weren't my thing and apparently they were hers. But as I had second thoughts about her reading material, I caught sight of her ass and figured the worst she could do was shoot me down. Who knows, maybe in Latin. I stood at her feet for a couple of minutes. She was intent on her reading and didn't notice me. I thought about taking the easy out and slipping away, but in for a penny... I cleared my throat. "Did you ever find what you were looking for so frantically?" She looked up. "Excuse me?" She lifted her hand to shield her eyes as she looked at me, and I realized that I'd chosen a spot that put the sun directly behind me. I moved around in front of her so that she wouldn't have to fight the glare, though maybe it was in my favor. "I saw you in the library a week ago. You were going nuts looking through musty old dissertations." She laughed. She had a great laugh. It was hearty but lyrical. "Damn, I'd hoped nobody saw me." "Well, I thought about calling the FBI." She cocked an eyebrow. "You looked like you'd just escaped from terrorists." "In my defense, I'd been up about sixty hours straight, and I was looking for one last citation for my dissertation." "Your dissertation? You're going for your doctorate?" "What, I don't look smart enough?" "No, it's not that. I just figured that you were an undergrad. You don't look old enough." "I'll have you know I'm an old maid. I'll be twenty-three in July." "Twenty-two and working for your doctorate?" I was amazed. I'd gotten my doctorate at twenty three and thought I was doing great. Average is about twenty five or six. "Done working, actually. I turned it in right after you saw me in the library. Now all I have to do is wait, then defend it in front of my committee." "Been there, done that," I commiserated. "You've got yours then?" "Last year," I admitted. "It must have been a relief." "It was," I said with a sigh. "I had one professor on my committee who not only challenged my conclusions and research, but argued that some of my commas should have been semi-colons." "Sounds like fun." "I've had better weeks." "What are you doing now?" she asked. "Teaching some classes." I swallowed. "And hoping to take a beautiful doctoral candidate to dinner." "Good luck. Anyone I know?" I thought about making a break for it, but the way the sun highlighted her hair was almost magical. "You." "Why me?" "Because you're beautiful. Because you're waiting on your dissertation committee and you're not a basket case, and because anyone who can read that..." I pointed down at the papers in front of her, "can program my VCR so that I don't miss 'Reba' anymore." She laughed again. "And why would I want to go out with you?" "Good question," I mused. "Well, I'm cute. And I'm funny. And I don't kiss on the first date, so don't even ask me." "Not even if I beg?" "Won't happen," I told her. * * * By the time we'd finished dinner, I knew I was in love. But not at first sight. It took me another four months to convince Stefania that she was in love too. We got married in September. Stef had just started a new job at JPL (CalTech's Jet Propulsion Laboratory), so we didn't get a honeymoon then. And by the way, though it was hard, I didn't kiss her on that first date. * * * "Are you scared?" Stef asked with an evil smile. "I think I'd rather be visiting my doctoral committee again," I told her honestly. She laughed that special laugh of hers and squeezed my arm. We were standing outside her family's house in Watermelon Mountain, Idaho. Snow was falling lightly, adding to the inch that was already on the ground. Meeting my new in-laws wasn't my idea of a honeymoon, but it was Christmas vacation and was expected of us. "Just remember," she said, turning me towards her, "No matter what happens, I love you." She leaned in and kissed me. "And the best part is, we only have to do this once a year." She kissed me again. "Maybe every other year." And she kissed me a third time. I kissed back, my arms going around her. Her arms went around me, and I felt her hand on my butt. And that was when the damned door opened. * * * A few minutes later I had been introduced to the entire clan. Learning all the members of Congress would be easier. The woman who'd opened the door and looked exactly like Stefania wasn't Mom, it was Aunt Sophia. There were two more aunts, Angela and Lucia. All three of them had husbands, two Dons and a Mark. Her mother Camellia and her father Benito. Sophia and Camellia were total babes. Mid-forties but not an once of fat on them. The same couldn't be said for Angela and Lucia who looked a lot like dumplings. Then there was grandfather Rosario, in his eighties and looking amazingly robust, and his wife Ariana. And she had three sisters who apparently had outlasted seven husbands between them. Rosario had one sister, and she had buried two husbands. The women of this generation seemed to fall into two categories, flesh and bones and wrinkles or fat and wrinkles. The five of them in bikinis at a sex offenders clinic could cure them all. One look at them and you’d never want sex again Stef had four sisters: Bianca, who had just turned eighteen a few days ago, Daniella who would turn sixteen the day after New Year's, Dona, who was twelve, and Michele, who was nine. Sophia, Angela, and Lucia had another fourteen kids between them, eight girls and six boys. Then there were about a dozen other cousins hanging around, whose origin I never did learn. All in all, this was Watermelon Mountain's own Little Italy. The family was very old school. Rosario was the patriarch and ruled the family--tribe might be a better word--through his wife Arianna. People came and went all evening. Apparently, this particular neighborhood was almost completely related to my wife, so all these people had homes close by. At first most of the grown-ups sat around the living room, except Stef's mother and aunt Sophia who were putting the finishing touches on dinner. I was surprised because while we sat and talked, Stef and I on the sofa, the others scattered around the room, Grandpa Rosario sat on a recliner with Stef's sister Dona and her cousin Tabra on his lap. His hands seemed very busy beneath their skirts. Incest didn't surprise, but the openness of it did. I wondered if I'd married into one of those families you always read about in the newsgroup sex stories where everyone fucked everyone else. After a few minutes, Dona looked as if she were having an orgasm and trying very hard not to make any noise and disturb the adult conversations. When she finally relaxed, breathing deeply, cousin Tabra started. Grandpa seemed proud of himself but the others all ignored it. When Tabra had finished, Dona took her hand and the two of them slid off grandpa's lap, gave me a funny look and slunk out of the room. I couldn’t read their looks. Pleasure from their orgasms, but more. Kind of a now-the-chores-are-done kind of thing. Grandpa said something to one of the Dons that I didn't catch, and laughed. The Don chuckled artificially. Tabra was his daughter, I seemed to recall. Then grandpa said something else, a little louder and in Italian. Beside me Stef, who'd been holding my hand, tensed up and squeezed. (Author's note: for the sake of my readers who don't read Italian, all Italian conversation will be translated into English and placed in brackets. This is also for the sake of those authors who don't write Italian.) "[I'm looking forward to getting to know my little Stefania again. She's been away too long,]" Grandpa said with a definite leer. "[I'll thank you to remember that I'm on my honeymoon, you randy old goat,]" Stef snapped. "Stefania!" her grandmother shouted. "[Be respectful of your grandfather. After all, he's the head of this family.]" "[I'll be respectful,]" Stef said softly to her grandmother. "[But remind him of the sanctity of the honeymoon, in case he's forgotten.]" "[My mind is still sharp. I've forgotten nothing,]" Grandpa said to Stef with a little heat. "[I wonder...]" he said, as if musing. "[Can it truly be a honeymoon, so long after the wedding?]" Stef turned red. While this jabbering in rapid fire Italian went on, I sat back as if totally lost. Somehow, I'd never mentioned to Stef that I spoke Italian. But in all fairness, I don't think I'd mentioned that I spoke German or Russian either. We were still getting to know each other. That was half the fun. She knew I spoke French. The fact that I spoke only four languages was a source of great embarrassment to my mother who spoke seven. She blamed it on my father who spoke only three. * * * A little later, as Stef and I were stepping outside for some fresh air, I noticed grandpa taking Daniella by the hand into one of the downstairs bedrooms. The girl didn't look all that happy about it. On the porch, we chatted with a cousin, whose name I forget, while he smoked a cigarette. Then he went back inside. "Would you care to tell me about it?" I asked. "I think coming home was a mistake," she mumbled. "But Mama wanted so badly to meet you and introduce you to the family." "I don't think it was a mistake, but what's with your grandfather? Does he always fondle young girls in the living room?" Stef thought for a long time before answering. "Yes. But only en famiglia. That means in th..." "In the family," I finished for her. She looked startled. "I've seen the Godfather," I explained, and she relaxed. "But why does everyone let him?" "Because he's the head of the family." "But..." "It's complicated," she said with a sigh. Aunt Lucia started to join us on the porch but caught the look in Stef's eye and beat a hasty retreat. "Uncomplicate it," I suggested. "My family believes in following the old traditions. My grandfather comes from a small village in Sicily. One of the traditions in that village is that the head of the village can have sex with any girl he wants." I felt my eyebrow arch, and I know my face got red. "Any girl, no matter how old?" "Well, he only fucks the ones who are over twelve, but he likes to play with all of them." This was an idea that was going to take some getting used to. I realized that my Stef had lived here when she was twelve, but didn't think either one of us would feel better if I asked the obvious question. "So why the big deal about whether it was really our honeymoon?" "There are certain times when a girl is safe from grandpa. One is when she is at her most fertile and another is on her honeymoon," Stef said sadly. "You know I was kind of a whiz kid. I left here when I was sixteen for college. And I haven't come home often. Grandpa wants to fuck me." I hate it when Stef gets sad, which isn't often. "And how the hell did you know that he was questioning our honeymoon?" "Did I ever mention that I speak Italian?" I asked as innocently as I could. "No." "I probably didn't mention the German or Russian either?" She laughed. Did I mention that I loved her laugh? "So what do we do now? Pack up and get the hell out? Or put up with the family tradition and let the old goat fuck me? And our daughter." "Our daughter? Are we? Are you..." "No," she said with a little laugh. "Our hypothetical future daughter. You may have noticed that girls run in my family." She sighed again. "Those are our choices: in the family, or out." "Let's at least have dinner. We can think about it. Now, tell me all about Sicily and your grandfather coming to America." * * * As we moved to dinner, I was amazed. The table was so loaded with food that I couldn’t understand why it didn't collapse. There seemed to be several different kinds of pasta and huge platters of steaming vegetables and meats. Soon over a dozen adults settled in various places around the table. The kids were relegated to a couple of tables in the kitchen. Stefania and I sat at the foot of the table in a place of honor. Granddad Rosario sat at the head of the table as if holding court. Bianca sat next to Stefania and Daniella sat next to me. Apparently almost sixteen was old enough to sit at the adult table. A dozen conversations flowed around the table all at once as food was passed and plates heaped high. Much of it in Italian. Grandfather liked to take little shots at Stefania's new husband, me. He'd smile at me and I'd smile back as if I didn't understand a word. Grandmother Ariana would gently chide him to be nice to no effect. The mountains of food slowly dwindled. Grandmother Ariana tried to include me in the conversations as much as possible. "And what do you do?" she asked as people started leaning back in their chairs. "I teach at Stanford," I answered around a last bite of lamb. "And what do you teach?" she asked just as most of the other conversations paused. "Cultural Anthropology," I said with a smile. Grandma looked blank and several of the others exchanged blank looks. I took pity on them. "I teach about the customs and cultures of peoples around the world. Mostly the Pacific Islands." Grandmother smiled, though I wasn't sure she approved. Rosario looked at me from the head of the table. "Then you believe in tradition?" he asked with a leer. "Yes sir," I answered without hesitation. "Traditions are the glue that hold a people together." Rosario looked very satisfied and turned to look at Stefania. I could see her flush from the corner of my eye. "What if the traditions are very different from your own?" he asked. The table had grown completely quiet. "We, as scientists, try to understand all traditions no matter how alien they may seem at first. We try not to judge, but to understand the reasons behind the traditions." "[You see, even the funny looking stranger respects our traditions.]" He fixed his gaze on Benito. "[Maybe you should teach your children such respect,]" he said with a quick glance at Daniella. Daniella swallowed wrong and started coughing. Grandfather leaned back, looking very satisfied. I decided to make his day. "Stefania has told me about the traditions you have brought from the old country, and I have great respect for them." Everyone looked startled at this admission. "And of course I insist that Stefania honor and respect them in ALL ways," I said, emphasizing "all." Beside me, Stef looked like I'd just kicked her dog. "That is good," Grandfather Rosario agreed, looking the proverbial cat who ate the canary. "Stefania has told me how you came to this country when you were only seven, sir." I said, looking as respectful as I could. "I spent a year in Sicily studying the traditions there. They are important and honorable." "You lived in Sicily?" Ariana asked with awe in her voice. "Only for a year. My specialty is the Pacific islands. But I enjoyed my time in the old country." Grandmother smiled at me. I had a feeling that my stock in the family just went up a few points. "It is a great thing that you keep the traditions of Lampudusa alive in your home," I said with a warm smile. Grandfather jumped to his feet extending an accusing finger in my direction. His chair crashed to the floor with a crash that echoed in the complete silence. "How dare you..." he sputtered. His arm quivered as he pointed at me. "I don't understand?" I said in concern. "You came here from the village of Lampudusa didn't you?" "You...You..." he sputtered again. "Lampudusians are only fit for stealing sheep and producing whores for Messina." "My grandfather came from the village of Cucinotta," Stefania explained quietly. I put my confused look on my face. I hadn't used it much since moving out of my family's house. Nowadays I tried to look wise and comprehending. "Stef didn't mention the village name." A lie, and one I sincerely hoped that Stef wouldn't mention. "I just assumed from your traditions that it was Lampudusa." "Why?" Grandma Ariana demanded. Now she was standing, too, and didn't look very happy. "The tradition of all girls..." I almost said fucking, but at the last second substituted, "honoring the head of the house is something only practiced in Lampudusa. None of the other villages practice it. Cucinotta has very different traditions." Grandma Ariana was now staring at Rosario, who looked a little sick. The other woman at the table had all stood and all were looking directly at Rosario. Daniella next to me seemed to be quivering in anger. "Sir, you came here when you were seven, and Stef says you were orphaned shortly after. You must have heard your elders talking about Lampudusa and thought they were talking about your own village. An understandable mistake." "I...a mistake. Yes, a mistake." I sat munching a breadstick. My hand found Stef's under the table, and I gave her a squeeze. "Of course, Cucinotta has some interesting customs of its own." I squeezed Stef's hand again and she picked up on the signal. "They do? Like what?" "Well, the head of the house is responsible for satisfying any physical urges that widows in the family might have." I looked deeply into Stef's eyes, enjoying the twinkle I saw there. Rosario's sister Helena cackled. I glanced at her and then back at my Stefania. Imagine taking the skin from a woman who stood six two and weighed three hundred pounds. Then drape it on a woman who was just barely five feet and only weighed eighty pounds if she was holding the cat when she stepped on the scale. Add about five wisps of grey hair and you have Helena. Helena had figured out what I had just said and was leering at her brother. Within a minute, Arianna's sisters had similar leers as they appraised the head of the family. Even Arianna looked happy; I imagine with all the young pussy running around she didn't get much action. * * * That night I lay in bed with my beautiful wife. I rolled her on top of me. She giggled. "What if they hear?" We were in Stef's old room. Bianca had gotten kicked out and was sleeping with Daniela on one side of us. Dona and Michelle's room was on the other side. "In this family I don't think they'll mind." Stef giggled again as she worked my hard sword into its favorite sheath. "Thank you," she whispered into my ear and then started nibbling on my earlobe. I thrust deep inside of her. "Did I mention that Cucinotta does have some real traditions? There's one that when a knight saves a girl from a fate worse than death, she and all her sisters and cousins, uh, honor him," I grinned. Stef bit my ear. Hard. "Have you ever been to Sicily? Really?" she whispered. "America has some great traditions too," I said, ignoring her question. "Know what my favorite is?" "What?" she asked, then her tongue started exploring the ridges of my ear. "And what about Sicily?" "The Fifth Amendment." ------- ASSM Moderation System Notice-------- This post has been reformatted by the ASSM Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting. -- 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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+