Message-ID: <56999asstr$1197472202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: a35g2000prf.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail From: declan@weirdness.com X-Original-Message-ID: <42ff2968-da85-40f0-8ede-2326e20438ca@a35g2000prf.googlegroups.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 12 Dec 2007 12:26:32 +0000 (UTC) Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com Injection-Info: a35g2000prf.googlegroups.com; posting-host=89.204.229.112; posting-account=I5WJvgoAAACPB2WTLiNoN2Mit8JIK3Vc User-Agent: G2/1.0 X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; en-GB; rv:1.8.1.11) Gecko/20071127 Firefox/2.0.0.11,gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 12 Dec 2007 04:26:31 -0800 (PST) Subject: {ASSM} Alexandra Ch05(Slow, Romance, Literary Erotica) Lines: 449 Date: Wed, 12 Dec 2007 10:10:02 -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/Year2007/56999> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, RuiJorge Hi I have posted various chapters of this novel to various newsgroups and web sites over the last few years (and from several different email accounts). I have lost track of where I post what. So I have decided to post the complete novel here over the next week. The complete novel and my other stories are also available on my website www.DeclanStanley.com. ----------- Alexandra Chapter 5 It wasn't that I didn't want to see her, or that I avoided her. It was just that she was out every time I phoned and didn't show up at the camera club. I even called around to her flat a couple of times, but there was no answer. At first it didn't cause me any concern. She didn't come to the camera club the following Tuesday, but while I was disappointed it was nothing unusual. I mean it isn't compulsory to attend every meeting. And when I phoned on the Thursday and she wasn't in, again that was quite normal. She didn't phone me from work on the Friday as she usually did and then I started to worry. But not very much. I phoned her back on Friday night, but she was out. It was no great surprise, Alexandra was not the type of girl you'd expect to be in on a Friday night. But when she didn't phone me back on Saturday and was out both times I phoned her, I realized that the bitch had gone away for the weekend without bothering to tell me. Great ! I thought, here was I hanging around all Friday and Saturday not doing anything because I was waiting to arrange to do something with her and she'd disappeared without a second thought. I was livid. I couldn't wait to get to the club on Tuesday to tell her what I thought of that. But, of course, she didn't show up. Neither did she bother to return my calls the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. So Saturday afternoon I went around to her flat to really give her a piece of my mind. But there was no answer. She wasn't home. Had she gone away two weekends in a row? Without bothering tell me either time. Just to be sure I called back later. And again on Sunday. But there was still no answer. By this stage my anger had evaporated and a state of shock had set in. I was exceedingly nervous about showing up at the club on Tuesday. I didn't know what to make of her behaviour, nor how I should react. I was even more frightened by how I might react if my anger resurfaced. But I decided that staying away would not be any better. As it turned out all my anxiety and worry was for nothing, because she didn't show. I must have walked around in a daze for the next day or so. I didn't know how to react. She'd obviously dumped me. And because she hadn't had the decency to tell me to my face I didn't quite know why, though I strongly suspected that it had something to do with our last date. But neither did I have a chance to vent my anger at her. She'd just disappeared from my life. I couldn't say or do anything about it. One more frustration to end our relationship with. Then I realised that tomorrow was Friday and I developed this irrational fear that she'd phone me up. I walked around in dread for the rest of the day. Half the time telling myself that as she'd dumped me she wasn't likely to phone me ever again. The other thinking that as she hadn't "officially" dumped me, that is told me to my face, maybe she'd change her mind and decide to go out with me again. I was scared shitless ! What was I going to do? Then I came to my senses. She was avoiding me, not me her, I had nothing to fear from meeting her again, she was the one with all the explaining to do, not me ! She was the one who'd walked out on me. If I ever met her again I was just going to play it cool, as if nothing had ever happened between us. I told myself this repeatedly over the next few weeks. Slowly adjusting to the fact that Alexandra really didn't love me. That I'd have to find someone else to share my life and raise a family with. But it was still pretty depressing. Then she showed up in the club one Tuesday night. I'd arrived late for the meeting and found a seat at the back. The lecturer was showing slides so it was dark and all I could make out of the people around me were vague shadows. But a few minutes after I'd arrived I recognized the shape of the head in front of me. I thought, that's Alexandra. Then I thought, no it can't be. But my heart was already beating faster. I couldn't concentrate on the lecture. Which was a pity, because it was by a guy who'd taken photos while pot-holing. He'd used all sorts of intricate combinations of lights and flash guns to illuminate some fantastic rock formations he'd discovered under ground. But I couldn't focus on what he was saying. All I could think of was that Alexandra was sitting in front of me. I could smell her perfume and the memories of our love making came flooding back to me. When the lecture was over she turned around in her seat and noticed me. "Hi," she smiled. "Long time no see, stranger." I opened my mouth to respond, but my mind went blank. I'd fallen in love with her, she'd treated me with contempt, then dumped me with out a word of explanation, and now she was acting as if we were casual acquaintances who'd not seen each other for a few days. "So what have you been up to while I was away?" she asked. "You where away?" I didn't know what to say. "Yeh," she smiled again. "Don't tell me you didn't notice." "Oh, I noticed all right," I replied. "I just wish you'd bothered to tell me about it before hand." "Sorry?" she stopped smiling. "I missed you," I said. I thought, If I make a fuss about her disappearing will she get offended and walk out on me for good? I couldn't risk it. I'd have to show the true strength of my love for her by accepting her back and loving her even more. She smiled back. Then looked down. "I missed you, as well," she whispered. My heart jumped. I reached up and stroked her cheek. She looked up and I went weak at the knees as our eyes met. I cleared my throat to say something, but lent forward to kiss her instead. Once again we ended up in her place again. And once again I caressed and stroked her. Once again she kissed and hugged me back. Once again I kissed and licked and sucked her, ran my hands all over her body, gloried in our physical intimacy . Once again sure of my love for her. And once again, when I'd made her come, she asked me to leave without returning the compliment. Once again we could have sex, but I couldn't sleep with her. Once again I'd told her that I loved her and once again I felt rejected even though she'd not rejected me. So there I was left wondering what she felt for me. Could I love someone who didn't love me? Could she love me and treat me with what I was increasingly calling contempt? Was I just an easy lay to her or did she have stronger feelings for me? Would this uncertainty ever end? Could I ever love her properly and know that she loved me back? And then it was Friday night and once again I was standing outside Easons wondering if Alexandra would turn up. A month before I had been wondering if I was going to spend the rest of my Friday nights standing here waiting for her and just the week before I'd thought I'd never have to do it again. But there I was once more, waiting for her to pop out of the crowd. I was saying to myself, I don't know why I agreed to see her again. She obviously doesn't love me. I'm just going to be hurt again. She's just going to fuck me about again. I should be old enough to know better by now. I should just go home now and forget about her. But I didn't. Looking back I suppose I was trying to be noble. To take the moral high ground. To prove myself better than her by treating her decently, even while she used and abused me. But more importantly I couldn't forget the feel of her in my arms. The taste of her when I made love to her. The trill of making her come. The smell from my fingers that would linger for days. And then she was there. Walking towards me through the crowd. A smile on her face as she saw me. She was wearing a long black skirt, and black leather boots. On top of which she had a chunky wool cardigan, black with green flecks through it. Her long black hair was tied back in a pony tail with a red ribbon. And her green eyes shone out at me. "Hi," she said as she stopped beside me. My mouth was dry, but I managed to respond. "Hi," I smiled back, my heart beating faster, my balls tightening at the thought of making love to her. Once again we had a nice pleasant evening out. We had a drink, saw a movie and went to Bewley's for coffee afterwards. All the time we chatted about this and that, about photography and movies,about work and shopping, about her tennis and my writing. About almost everything, but what I most wanted to talk about, what I felt for her, and what she felt for me. It wasn't until we where on our way back to her place that I managed to get around to bringing up the subject. But once again my frustration worked its way to the fore. "So what does us having sex mean to you?" I asked. "Sex?" she almost laughed. "Where was I when we had sex?" "What do you mean," I was astonished. "We had sex on our first date." I added quickly, "And most dates since." "What?" she seemed surprised. "When we made love," I explained. "Oh, that," she smiled. "That wasn't sex." "O.K." I took a breath to control my anger. "So if it wasn't sex what was it?" "It was ..." she searched for words. "... just foreplay." It was damn well just foreplay for me, Bitch ! I glared at her as the thought burned through my mind. You made dam sure it was nothing more. She smiled, and I wanted to smash her face in. "What made you think it was sex?" she asked. I fought to keep myself under control. "I made love to you and you fucking came, that's what made it sex." "No, Kevin," she smiled as she gently shook her head. I was humiliated. To have made love to her. To have worshipped her. To have given her the greatest pleasure I could. The greatest pleasure she'd let me anyway. And to have her dismiss it as something totally trivial. Something she'd almost overlooked. I was shaken to the core. To have put her in such a central position in my life and to have her regard me as something so inconsequential was devastating. One part of me knew that this was just what she wanted me to feel. That this was all part of some perverted scheme she had. And another part of me knew that she really loved me. That I couldn't make love to somebody, and have her react to me the way she did, and not have her fall in love with me. That surely nobody could open themselves' physically without exposing themselves' emotionally as well. That sex couldn't be meaningless to her. The two thoughts combined to make me believe that she was rebelling against her love for me. That she couldn't accept that she loved me, or that I loved her. That somehow she couldn't trust her own emotions. So that on the one hand she was drawn to me and let me make love to her. But on the other she couldn't accept that our feelings for each other were valid. She couldn't respond to me in the way that I wanted, simply because I'd told her that was how I wanted her to respond. Then the notion of sin came to me. She'd told me that she was a Catholic, that she went to mass every Sunday. And I thought that she probably couldn't admit that she was having sex with me, because having sex was a sin. That she had reasoned that if I didn't penetrate her vagina with my penis, that if I didn't come, that it mustn't be sex. And the safest way to ensure that was to ignore my penis altogether, to make sure that I didn't come. A sort of home made version of "Safe Sex" for repressed Catholics. We continued back to her place, but when we got to the door she stopped and turned to me. "I not going to invite you in tonight, Kevin," she looked down. "Oh," I said, wanting to ask why, but knowing it would only start an argument if I did. "O.K.," I shrugged. She put her arms around my neck and we kissed. I put my arms around her and hugged. She stepped back and turned to unlock the door. I started back down the garden. "See you next week at the club," she said. "Yeh," I replied. "See you then." Wondering if I would or not. I made my lonely way home. Looking back on my relationship with her I realise that one of my biggest mistakes might have been that I'd usually asked her those "tricky" questions after she'd come, when for all intents and purposes she seemed to have no further interest in me. Maybe if I'd asked her before hand she'd have been more interested in talking to me about them. But then I'd have run the risk of having an argument with her and not getting a chance to make love to her. And I'd wanted to make love to her so badly. Maybe I had only been interested in "having my evil way" with her after all. But yet we'd not really argued this time and still she hadn't invited me inside. So maybe I should have pushed her into arguments more often. Maybe then she'd have believed how important those things had been to me. But then I had told her how I'd felt and she'd just not believed me. And I feel now as I felt then that if the only way I could make her accept what I told her I felt was what I truly did feel was by having an argument with her, then she wasn't worth the bother needed to convince her. I guess it was the sin of pride that made me unable to plead and beg for understanding. But the next time we made love I was going to make dam sure she didn't ignore my penis. She didn't actually turn up at the next meeting of the Camera Club. Which didn't surprise me. By this stage I knew that if she said she'd see me at the Club than she'd not turn up. But what did surprise me was that she was in when I phoned her the next Thursday. So I arranged to meet her the following day, at the same time and place. Once again she took my breath away when she arrived, so I didn't mind having stood there for twenty minutes waiting for her. We went to see some Hollywood blockbuster. I can't remember which one it was, but the smell of her perfume and the feel of her snuggling against my shoulder for over an hour gave me a pleasant hormonal buzz. And when we came out of the cinema we headed straight back to her place. By this stage we'd made love often enough for the trill of discovery to be somewhat abated. It was still exciting to make love, but we had started to develop regular habits and favourite positions. One of my favourite to this day is me lying on my back with her on top, one breast in my mouth, a hand on the other, with my other hand stretched down to caress her to orgasm. But this time I tried to encourage her to take a more active interest in my. I wanted her hands to caress me to orgasm as well. So when we started to make love I deliberately put her hand to my crotch so she could feel the bulge of my erection through my jeans. I encouraged her to stroke and caress me. I got completely naked, even though she only stripped to T-shirt and panties. And when she took her hand from my genitals I took mine from her's, though we continued to kiss and rub each other. She put her hand back on my penis and I slipped my fingers back into her vagina. We had a long slow delicious session, slowly building up to a climax. We started off fully clothed leaning against one of the arm chairs. Then we where half naked lying on the floor, first her on top of me, then me on top of her, then her on top again. It must have taken us over half an hour just to strip. All the time kissing and cuddling and caressing each other. By the time I was completely naked we were both more than ready to come. We where on the floor. I was sitting between her legs leaning forward to kiss her. She was resting back on one arm, her other hand on my penis. Her T-shirt was pulled up and her breast was in my mouth, nipple hard against my tongue. Her hand rubbed gently across the tip of my erection. Much too gently to make me come, but more than enough to stimulate me. My fingers once again found their way to her vagina. She was wide open and hot. And I just couldn't help myself. I couldn't deny her orgasm. It was one thing if I'd tried and failed, but I was much too experienced for that. I knew what to do, and I really couldn't help myself. My fingers found their own way across and around and inside. I pumped her for a few timeless moments, then she shuddered and gasped and came. When she'd relaxed and I'd taken my fingers out I realised that her hand was no longer on my penis. She'd brought it down to push my fingers away. I lent back on my elbow, expecting her to resume her caresses. But instead she stood up and walked out into the bathroom. I was left reclined on the floor, with an erection, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now. This was worst then being ignored completely. To have been aroused. To have her acknowledge my arousal, even stimulate and encourage it. And then for her to just walk away from it was .... well unbelievable . Yet she'd done it. I was living through it. I didn't want to believe it. Yet it had happened. I couldn't ignore it. I was in a state of complete and utter shock. What was I supposed to do? Rush into the bathroom and rape her ! I tell you I nearly did. Much as I hate to admit it, I nearly fucking raped her. And I'm sure there's not a court in the land that would have convicted me of the crime either. But I am not an animal. I am not ruled by my hormones. I was not so frustrated and degraded that I'd lost control of my actions. I was devastated, yes. But I was not going to exact any revenge on her. I was not going to stoop to her level. I wasn't going to start playing her fucked up little games. So I started to get dressed. As I was tucking my T-shirt into my jeans she came out of the bathroom. "Oh, are you leaving," she seemed genuinely surprised. I said nothing. Just sat on the end of her bed and pulled on my shoes. She sat beside me. I put my hand on her knee. Then moved it up and squeezed her thigh. I looked at her. I wanted to say so many things. That I loved her. That I wanted her. That I needed her. That I worshipped her. That I wanted so much to understand her. So much to reach her. Just once to believe that we'd really understood each other. But I couldn't. So instead I slid off the bed onto the floor in front of her. She brought her knees together, so I kissed and licked them. Working my way up her thighs. I wanted to grab her and make mad passionate love to her. For her to respond and embrace me, open her legs and let me come inside her. To forget everything else and unite us in an act of total surrender to each other. But she pulled my head away. And smiled down at me. "You're lively tonight," she whispered, kissing my forehead. "But I think you've really had enough." I looked up at her, my hands on her thighs, her hands pressing against my ears as she held my head away. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't say anything. I swallowed, but still couldn't speak. So I looked down and nodded. "Come on," she stood up and got my coat from the back of the door. I stood up and put it on. She opened the door to let me out. I stood in front of her for a moment. Then she was in my arms. My face was buried in her hair, pressing against the side of her neck and her shoulder. My hands caressed her hips and back through the cotton of her T-shirt. Then my left hand was underneath, pressing her panties into the crack between her buttocks. My fingers reaching down and around to caress her. She stepped back and pushed me away. "My, you're spunky tonight," she smiled and kissed my cheek. "See you next week." "Yeh," I replied, my hand gently cupping her breast. "See you next week." Then I was outside, walking away, with the door closing behind me. On the next date I decided to try another tack. Instead of going straight to the cinema I suggested we go for a drink first. Once we where settled at a table with our drinks I tried to talk to her about how I felt for her, how she felt for me and what type of relationship she wanted us to have. But instead I found myself talking to her about sex. Why couldn't I talk to her about love without mentioning sex? It was as if my desire for her was so strong and I was so frustrated, after having my hopes raised and dashed so often, that all my energies seemed to be channelled into lustful thoughts. But she had no qualms about talking about sex. Just as long as the conversation didn't get too personal. And I didn't say anything that she could interpret as either asking to have sex with her or implying that we were having sex. I can't remember what strange twists and turns our conversation must have taken during our first drink, but half way through our second we ended up talking about masturbation. "So what would you tell your twelve year old son if you found him masturbating?" I took a sip of my drink. "Well ... " I felt she was going to just shrug it off, but she didn't. "I'd tell him what it was all about. What it was for." Visions of her inaptness at doing any thing for me came to mind and I wondered how she was going to tell her son how to masturbate properly. I doubted if she knew that there was more than one technique. So I asked, "What do you mean?" "You know," she smiled. "About the birds and the bees." I wanted to explain to her that I meant if she had discovered him masturbating after he'd been told about the birds and the bees. I wanted to know if she would tell him that it was a sin and that he shouldn't do it. But I felt that the guy sitting at the end of the next table was beginning to take an interest in our conversation and I didn't want to discuss this in front of an audience. I decided to change the conversation again. Most people in Ireland, regardless of religious or political persuasion, believe that the sex education in Irish schools is inadequate. Though when it comes to the question of what should be done to improve it opinions differ widely. Which is probably why so little has been done about improving the situation. "Well I'm glad you'd tell him," I smiled. "Because if you left it up to the schools he'd not find out about anything." She seem surprised. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "We had very good sex education classes in our school." "I thought you went to a nun's school," I said. "I did," she nodded. "And they had sex education classes?" I didn't believe it. "Of course," she smiled. "Didn't you have them." "All the priests told us was that it was immoral to masturbate. And that you shouldn't get your passions inflamed as it might to be difficult to control them and you'd end up getting a girl into trouble," I smiled then at how silly it had seemed. But when I think now of the stupidity of it makes me so angry. She laughed with me. "Really?" she asked. "Really," I stopped laughing. "We were taught all about sex," she said. "By the nuns?" The thought of a nun being explicit about sex was incredible. "Well it was a lay teacher that gave the classes," she conceded. "But the nuns must have known what she was teaching us." "What?" I asked. "All about contraception. And how to make love. Or even masturbate." "Don't be disgusting, Kevin," She looked away. "Disgusting?" I smiled. "Which one of those was disgusting?" I thought, you sure find the thought of making love to me disgusting. "They don't teach you that sort of thing in school," she said. "I know," I replied. "I went to school as well." There was silence for a moment. "So where are you supposed to learn about that sort of thing if they don't teach you in school?" I asked. "Well," she replied. "Where did you learn about it?" "From books and magazines," I said. "And late night television programs." I smiled, "Particularly channel Four." We laughed. And I noticed she'd finished her drink. "Do you want another?" I asked. "No, Kevin," she shook her head. "I have to make an early start in the morning, so I think it's time I headed home." "O.K." I knocked back the remains of my pint while she put on her coat. I think she was going to leave without me, but when she saw me putting on my coat she waited for me. We walked back down towards O'Connell st. I thought that we'd be going back to her place as usual. But she stopped and took hold of my arm. "Listen," she said. "There's just enough time for you to catch your last bus home. Isn't there?" I shrugged, "Yeh. The stop's just down the road. The last bus isn't due to leave for another half hour." "Well," she hesitated. "It's just that I have to get up early in the morning to catch a bus home," she looked down. "So I don't think that you'd better come back with me tonight." I felt a familiar disappointment. "O.K.," I said. What else could I say. "So you're going away for the rest of the weekend, then." "Yes," she looked up, but offered no other explanation. I put my arms around her and leaned forward to kiss her. She kissed me quickly and stepped away. "I'll see you then," she said. Then she looked down again. "You know it was a very interesting conversation we had tonight," she turned and hurried away. And left me with a lot to think about. I'd certainly achieved my goal of finding more about what she thought of sex. But I'd failed miserably in finding out just what she felt about me. I had this unshakeable believe that she didn't know how she felt about me. That she was unwilling to look at our relationship and decide what she felt about me. Because if she knew she'd surely tell me. But at least I now knew some more about her attitude to sex. It was no wonder she knew fuck all about sex. If she thought what the nuns were likely to have told her was all there is to know she must have been in a bad state. I don't mean that they wouldn't have taught her anything. I'm sure that she knew a lot more about menstrual cycles, gestation periods and even genetics than I did. But I'm equally sure that she knew little about contraception. And she definitely knew nothing about making love. And she didn't seem to have come to terms with the guilt of wanting sex yet. I know that guilt, I was raised as a Catholic. And even now I'm not sure that I've come to terms with the guilt that was instilled in me at having normal feelings and emotions. So I spent the next few weeks thinking. The poor little kid, feeling all these desires that she was not supposed to have. Not knowing what to do with them and so repressing them. No wonder she couldn't make up her mind if she wanted to have sex or not. Or rather, that she wanted to have sex, but she couldn't admit it, least of all to herself. And all the time I ignored all the trouble I was having with my own uncontrollable desires. Ironic justice? ----------- Copyright Declan Stanley. The full story can be found at: http://declanstanley.com/novels/alexandra/ -- 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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+