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Meiko #29
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Copyright 1993 Donald L. Conover
Registration No. TXu 585-582
All Rights Reserved
[email protected]
License is hereby granted for this manuscript to be ported to
other systems worldwide, provided no fees are charged and local
laws permit such transfer, but it may not be printed or performed
in whole or in part without the express written consent of the
author. If you wish to be added to the electronic subscription
list, please send me e-mail: [email protected].
MEIKO contains the erotic adventures of the first woman Prime
Minister of Japan. If you are underage or would be offended by
such material, please discontinue reading now.
Conspiracy
Meiko went to Dulles International Airport and met the All
Nippon Airways non-stop flight from Tokyo, as she had been asked to
do by Seiji.
"Please meet President Kajima tomorrow evening at 7:00," he
said. "He may have someone with him." Nothing more. In later
years she wondered why she was not more inquisitive about the
"someone," but at the time it never crossed her mind. Perhaps she
was too busy thinking about the rush hour traffic she would have to
negotiate in her brand new burgundy red Honda Accord. In the haze
of decades she wanted to remember, but that part of the events of
the following week was completely flooded by other emotions of that
time.
The crowd in the arrival lounge was more boisterous than
usual. It was always exciting to await loved ones clearing customs
after a long international flight and the long separations implied
by the distances, but that night there was a special tingle in the
air. She couldn't quite place it. Was it the noise of obnoxious
parents shouting welcomes to a group of exhausted exchange
students?
The opaque door slid open once again and Kajima walked
through, towing his wheeled luggage. Meiko couldn't move. Her
feet were suddenly nailed to the floor. Next to Kajima was a man
in black, with ruddy high and rounded cheekbones and lighter skin
around his eyes, where sunglasses had been. He wore a black
fedora, like Frank Sinatra as a gangster. Meiko's mind flashed to
the morning in Sendai decades before. A chill ran up her spine and
she shivered involuntarily.
"Ah, Meiko," Kajima said cordially, as she automatically bowed
to the required angle. "Thank you for coming to meet us. This is
Kurokawa-san." Meiko bowed again, but with less depth than was
required for the President.
"Why do they always have to wear white ties," she asked
herself. "And in America?" The uniform of Kurokawa's profession
worked well to intimidate in Japan, but here, in the light of
Dulles International Airport, he just seemed foolish.
"Let us get some rest for this evening," Kajima said, "and
then we can talk about our plans in the morning," as if they might
be planning a sight-seeing venture to Williamsburg, instead of
their real purpose.
The ride to the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown was silent.
Meiko's thoughts ripped through her head like a tropical cyclone.
Never in her years at Teramoto had she seen any executive with such
a man, but that was only because she was never invited out for an
evening's carousing. What could he have in mind? She smiled wryly
as it crossed her mind that she was too old to be taken back to
Ogawa's.
Years later she remembered the digits on the clock on her
desk, 10:32, when Seiji called her to join the group in his office.
Beyond the mahogany paneled door were the three men. Seiji
had his back to the window, as always, to intimidate his guests
with the morning sun. Kajima and Kurokawa seemed to flank Seiji,
their chairs turned sideways slightly to avoid the direct morning
light. Between them was a single high backed chair facing Seiji
and the rising sun behind him. Meiko always hated those chairs.
They made her feel like a little girl sitting in the dock before
The Inquisition. Kurokawa was dressed precisely as before. Meiko
broke the tension in her mind by thinking that his luggage must be
easy for international travel.
Kajima swiveled in his chair as she entered. "Ah,
Meiko-chan," he said, as if he were speaking with a high school
girl. "Thank you for joining us. We need your expertise."
"I am happy to help in any way," Meiko said, bowing low, in
the general direction of the group.
"Please sit down and join us," Seiji said.
Meiko sat at the edge of the giant chair, with her back very
straight. She could not lean against the chair's back without
reclining like an errant teenager.
"Do you remember David Vandewater?" Kajima asked.
Meiko's eyes shot up to meet Seiji's. She was surprised to
see pain and remorse on his face. "Yes," she replied, her voice
cracking with uncertainty.
"Do you have a photograph of him?" Kajima continued.
"Yes," she said, holding Seiji's eyes.
"Wonderful! You will please go home and get it as soon as we
have finished this meeting," Kajima directed.
"Why?" Meiko didn't like the tone of the instruction.
"It is better that you know very little," Kajima replied.
"Vandewater-san is about to give testimony to the Joint Economic
Committee of the Congress. He is going to show why the devaluation
of the dollar was bad for the United States. He published an
article on the subject. When it was circulated in Japan, the
Nikkei stock average declined sharply and the value of the yen
dropped eight per cent in one day."
"How could one small article be so powerful?" Meiko asked, a
doubtful expression twisting her smile.
"It's easy," Kajima said. "The Americans don't understand
what happened to their economy. Their rhetoric has kept them
focused on the idea that a low valued dollar is good for them. But
while they have pursued that policy, we Japanese have had more than
two trillion dollars per year in additional purchasing power
outside of Japan. He cannot be allowed to make a big noise about
what's really happening."
"So what do you plan to do?" Meiko asked, glancing quickly at
Kurokawa. "Kill him?"
"Oh, no, no," Kajima said, trying to reassure her with the
same voice that her father had used the day before she was sent
away from home to "earn her dowry," as he had put it. "We just
want him to miss his appointment to testify."
"And what am I to do?" Meiko didn't like the direction of the
discussion.
"All you need to do is interpret for Kurokawa-san," Kajima
said. "His organization knows some people here. And give him a
photograph of Vandewater-san." An arrangement was made for Meiko
to pick up Kurokawa in front of the Four Seasons at three o'clock.
She was dismissed from the meeting.
After the mahogany door closed behind her with a thud, Meiko
noticed that her knees were weak. She felt dirty. Her mind
flashed a time at Ogawa's when three men were allowed to ejaculate
on her face and hair, and how it took weeks for her to feel clean
again. She shuddered. She returned to her office, picked up her
purse, and left for her apartment.
Kurokawa's figure was easily recognizable from two blocks
away. It looked like a black smudge of oil on a canvas by Van
Gogh. The black hat and sunglasses had been added to the ensemble
to clearly identify his role in Meiko's life. Her apprehension was
nearly overwhelming.
"855 E Street, Northeast," Kurokawa said gruffly, as if his
dominance over Meiko had been established for years.
Meiko made no effort to speak during the fifteen minutes it
took to reach the address. Her mind was filled with the black
night of the Master's house in Sendai. Even the scent of
Kurokawa's suit was the same as the two men who surrounded her on
the drive away from her father's house. The thought made her want
to crawl out of her skin. Her stomach trembled. She was glad she
had eaten nothing.
The doorbell of the two story purple brick town house was
answered by a wiry black man in a Washington Redskins T-shirt,
wearing a goatee. He stepped back when he saw Kurokawa, leaving
space for them to enter. They went into a sitting room with grimy
upholstered furniture. The combined smells of urine, sweat,
liquor, and sickly air freshener combined in a compote that seared
Meiko's mind. "How can people live this way?" She thought.
The black man was eager. He rose to the negotiation like a
goldfish to food. Nipping here and there at the morsels Kurokawa
offered, but wanting it to be over quickly. He grabbed at the
white envelope when it emerged from Kurokawa's breast pocket.
Though the conversation passed through her, this was one of
those occasions when Meiko could scarcely remember what had been
said. It happened that way when she was distracted about something
else. "How can I warn David," she thought. Kurokawa was a shackle
that would have to be slipped from her wrist.
With their business done, Kurokawa almost smiled. He asked
questions about the sights as they returned to Georgetown. He even
requested that they drive by the Capitol so that he could see all
of the buildings at once, with the sunset behind them.
"Park the car," he grunted, when they reached the hotel.
Meiko's stomach flipped. "I have a few errands to run for
Murakami-san before tomorrow morning," she said in her best
falsetto voice. Her eyes flashed to his hard expression as she
made a little feminine gesture of submission.
"This is Murakami's instruction," Kurokawa grunted again.
Meiko made a U-turn on M Street, in front of the hotel,
stopping at the entrance. "I have something else to do," she said,
still with the feminine voice, but with rising heat.
Kurokawa's steel fist clamped tightly around Meiko's right
wrist. "Park the car," he demanded.
Meiko smashed her left hand into the horn, sounding a constant
blare which quickly brought the attention of the doorman, who
opened the door on Kurokawa's side.
Kurokawa twisted Meiko's arm down and out, away from the
steering wheel. Meiko shrieked in pain. The doorman bent down to
see its source.
"Drive!" Kurokawa shouted his undeniable command. The car
lurched forward, nearly severing the doorman's hand. "Park there!"
Kurokawa indicated a city bus stop just ahead of them.
"It's illegal," Meiko protested.
Kurokawa's eyes flashed cruelty as he twisted the arm further.
Meiko swerved into the open place and made the wheels squeal
their protest.
Kurokawa released Meiko and turned off the car, keeping the
keys. Grabbing her arm again, he opened the door and yanked her
across the emergency brake and out his side, head first, leaving
one of her shoes behind.
Meiko stumbled to her feet, terror bursting from her tear
streaked face as Kurokawa marched her into the hotel, still
gripping her arm. The doorman was on his station telephone calling
the police as they went past.
Kurokawa pulled Meiko through the door of his room, threw the
keys across the room, and grabbed the neckline of Meiko's dress in
one motion. He yanked once and it gave with a rip. His hand
caught her bra and top of her slip as it came down. He yanked
again and Meiko was stripped to the waist. When he released her
arm, both hands came up over her breasts, while he gripped the
bundle of cloth and ripped at it until it all came away, leaving
Meiko in panties and pantyhose.
"Now you will stay put," he grunted, and went into the
bathroom with the package of rags in his right hand.
Meiko sobbed as he left, but as soon as she heard his urine
she grabbed the lock on the door without hesitation and escaped.
She ran down the hall, grabbing a pillowcase from the service cart
as she went. She took the service stairs two at a time, tripping
once, but catching herself on the bannister.
Kurokawa's footsteps were only a flight behind her. She raced
through the lobby and past two surprised police officers, who were
taking a statement from the doorman. They looked up just in time
to see Kurokawa racing across the lobby with a revolver in his
hand, intent on Meiko. One tackled him as he past, while the other
twisted the weapon from his hand and applied handcuffs like he was
catching a calf at a rodeo. The tackler was forcing Kurokawa's
face into the floor.
They looked up to see Meiko leaving the car with her purse in
hand. She stopped a taxi by stepping in front of it and jumped
into the front seat, startling the tourist couple in the back.
"You must take me to 2355 Connecticut Avenue immediately!"
Her voice was so commanding that the driver sped off. Meiko looked
back to see Kurokawa being roughly lifted to his feet, his hands
shackled behind him.
"That OK with you folks?" The driver asked, as though
interrupted fares were a normal occurrence.
"Oh, sure," the man in the back said nervously.
Meiko adjusted the pillowcase over her breasts as the taxi
quickly negotiated the two miles to her apartment. When they
stopped in front, she left twenty dollars on the seat and ran into
the building, to the astonishment of her own doorman.
--
Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to [email protected].
Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for "subscriptions,"
stories, GIFs, or archive sites.
Enter Command: N
Article #340 (347 is last):
From: [email protected] (Donald Conover)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: Meiko--Chapter 30--Warning
Date: Tue Jun 21 08:38:21 1994
Archive-name: meiko30
Copyright 1993 Donald L. Conover
Registration No. TXu 585-582
All Rights Reserved
[email protected]
License is hereby granted for this manuscript to be ported to
other systems worldwide, provided no fees are charged and local
laws permit such transfer, but it may not be printed or performed
in whole or in part without the express written consent of the
author. If you wish to be added to the electronic subscription
list, please send me e-mail: [email protected].
MEIKO contains the erotic adventures of the first woman Prime
Minister of Japan. If you are underage or would be offended by
such material, please discontinue reading now.
Warning
Twenty minutes later Meiko emerged from another taxi at 395
Massachusetts Avenue, NE, on Capitol Hill, wearing an old pair of
blue jeans and a sweatshirt. She wrestled the heavy glass door
open and went inside.
"I need to see David," she said to the receptionist. Her
urgency made the words a command. "Tell him it's Meiko."
The receptionist picked up the telephone and announced her.
Fifteen seconds later David's teak door opened and he emerged with
a smile as broad as Texas on his face. It evaporated when he saw
her state. He had never seen her in a public place without perfect
attire and properly combed hair.
"What is it?" He asked with concern.
Meiko marched past him, grabbing his arm as she went, steering
him back into the office and closing the door.
"Seiji has arranged to have you killed before your testimony
about the dollar value," she blurted out, as soon as they were
alone.
"What?" David replied. "Don't be silly! Why would anyone
bother?"
"Because there are hundreds of billions of dollars worth of
purchasing power at stake," Meiko said, knowing that she had got it
right between billions and millions.
"Yes, there is a lot of money at stake," David said, "but
killing me won't stop the Congress's investigation. Surely, if I'm
killed they will want to know why, and they will investigate my
writings and speeches even further. Others will come to testify."
"Yes, but not like you. Not like someone who has lived and
breathed this issue for five years."
"What do you think is going to happen, then?" David said,
still not particularly concerned.
Meiko told the tale of the previous twenty-four hours. "I
don't know just how they will try," she continued. "They have your
picture and your office and home addresses, so they can pick their
time and place."
"Come home for dinner with me," David said, picking up the
telephone. "We can walk from here, and two people together are
safer than one." He winked at her to say that he was not going to
allow something like this to dampen his spirit. After speaking
into the telephone for a few moments, he said, "Jessica is
delighted! We've been wanting to entertain you for a long time."
His boyish grin leaked through the tension of the moment. "So it's
settled. Let's go!"
They stepped through the large glass outer door, which David
stopped to lock. It was dark outside, but streetlights maintained
a surreal glow all the way along the street, except where the shade
of a large tree cast a shadow across the sidewalk. Meiko surveyed
the scene, but did not notice the two young men standing behind a
hedge at the end of the street. Looking through the foliage, they
could see but not be seen.
David and Meiko came down the steps from the office door and
crossed the street at mid-block. They side stepped between the
cars parked along the street, and began walking toward Stanton
Park.
At a moment gauged to put them in front of David and Meiko
just when they were in the shade of the large tree, the two young
men nonchalantly stepped from behind the hedge. They wore dark
clothes and baseball caps, which shaded their features from the
light. It was impossible to get a sense of their appearance.
The two pairs met in the shadow of the tree. Just as they
did, David noticed the silver glint of a large revolver at the side
of one of the boys. The boys stopped in front of David and Meiko.
"Give us your money," the taller one said.
"Oh, sure," David responded, reaching for his wallet in his
hip pocket.
The gun began its arc upward toward David's belly. Meiko saw
it and acted instinctively.
"No!" She shouted, diving at the wicked device and putting
her body between David's and the barrel.
The revolver responded to her movement. "Pop! Pop!" As
quickly as Meiko had jumped, the boys shoved their way past David
and the crumbling Meiko, and ran down the street.
Meiko's body collapsed on the concrete, a pool of blood
coloring the grey at her abdomen.
"Call an ambulance," David shouted at another pair of
strollers half a block away. The two youths, suddenly frightened
by what they had done, turned right on 3rd Street and disappeared
into the night.
David used his pocket knife to slit Meiko's blue jeans and
shirt to bare the wounds. He found two circles of gushing red just
below the navel. He placed his left had across the openings and
pressed firmly, hoping he remembered his first aid.
"Are you Mr. Vandewater?"
"Yes," David responded to the green gowned surgeon seven hours
later.
"Your friend is going to make it, but ...
"But?"
"But we had to perform a hysterectomy," the doctor continued.
"These men used highly destructive ammunition. One bullet
obliterated the right ovary, while the other shredded her uterus.
There was nothing else we could do. I'm sorry."
Tears ran down David's face. He saw himself in his old
Chevrolet, rushing down the New York Thruway to where his mother
had her hysterectomy. "Don't worry," she had said, "I can still
have sex," as if it were an issue between them.
"Can I see her?" David asked.
"Not just now," the doctor said. "She's heavily sedated. Why
don't you come back in the morning?"
"Weeks passed," Meiko said. "David and Jessica took me into
their home. They protected me like a member of the family."
"And what happened to David's testimony?" Noriko asked.
"Oh, he gave it. But nobody listened. The Congress had been
brain washed by the simplistic idea, put forward by famous
economists, that a low valued dollar meant more exports. And it
did! The trouble was the cost to the American economy as a whole.
David's rough estimate was a trillion dollars per year in lost
purchasing power."
"Well, at least we Japanese can be thankful for their
stupidity," Noriko observed.
"Yes," Meiko replied. "When I was Prime Minister, I always
promoted a strong yen. I still do. That's one of the many
valuable lessons I learned from David.
"What happened to Seiji and Kurokawa?" Noriko asked.
"They were both tried for conspiracy to commit murder, and
sentenced to life imprisonment. Even Kajima was arrested at the
airport and sentenced to ten years in prison for his role. I came
back the following year for the trials. It was a very sad time,
but at least I had a chance to know David and Jessica in a
different way, as old and cherished friends."
"What happened to Midori?"
"She was shocked by what happened, of course," Meiko replied.
"She came to visit me in the hospital, and said she was divorcing
Seiji. She asked me to contact her when I returned to Japan."
"I'm almost surprised that you did, though, considering your
long relationship with Seiji."
"Yes, that might seem odd to some," Meiko admitted. "But
Midori and I had both lost to the male dominated system. She was
a nightingale in a gilded cage, while I had become a traditional
courtesan. When I returned to Japan, we visited often and time
licked our wounds. Gradually we knew that we must do something for
change. And Aoki had her idea."
Meiko rose and went to the sideboard by the wall of her
western sitting room. She picked up a diorama with rich blues,
greens and browns, carried it back to the tea table and set it
before Noriko.
"What is this?" Noriko asked.
"This was David's gift, at the end of the trial. It's
symbolic of my life."
Inside the large glass case was a beautifully done beach scene
with blues and greens in the sea, white foam in the breakers, real
sand, a dark brown pier with creosote slapped onto the pilings, and
four amber glass fishing floats, about one inch in diameter. The
disproportion of the fishing floats drew the eye to them. One was
on the pier; one was tangled in a net lying on the beach; one was
simply lying on the beach; and one was bobbing in the sea offshore.
N
Next to the float entangled in the net were a pair of child's
scissors. They seemed out of place.
"'This gift represents your life,' David said, when he gave it
to me on the day before I was to return to Japan, and Aoki's home
in Hayama. By then, David had become interested in psychology and
the concept of the Self. 'The amber fishing floats represent your
Soul in different situations,' he explained.
"David always drew me into his world with his intense
interests. 'The ideal,' he continued, 'is to free your Soul to
float on the sea of happiness and peace. But there are many
obstacles. The float on the pier represents the times in your life
when obstacles built by others have separated you from your goal.
In those times, you needed someone else, like the admiral, to place
you back in the sea.'
"'Sometimes forces beyond your control sweep you onto the
beach,' he said. 'I know you felt badly when I married Jessica,
but each Soul must find its peace, and Jessica is my Soulmate.
Though such a situation can leave you spiritually on the beach,
there are forces of nature that can refloat you. The tides will
raise the water level and provide relief for this kind of grief.
"'The float in the net represents entanglements of our own
making,' David's eyes turned devilish. 'You and I found ourselves
cut off from the sea when we went on our butterfly hunts. Perhaps
you have done it again,' he added gently, 'in your dealings with
Seiji.'
"My wounds were healed by then, but David's comment twisted in
my stomach like a knife. I knew he was right. And I knew that I
had to spend some time on the beach at Hayama, just walking, before
I would know what to do next."
"What about the scissors?" Noriko asked, wanting to fully
understand the scene.
"'The scissors are my answer to the net,' David said. 'When
we find ourselves entangled by our own actions, we must cut
ourselves free.' So I did. And Midori did too. We both returned
to Japan, and in our quiet time, and our time together and with
Aoki, we decided what we must do to stop the outrageous things
people do in the system.
"Now, our effort must seem small ... "
"On the contrary, Meiko-san!" Noriko protested. "You are
still the only woman to have served as Prime Minister. You opened
the eyes of many women."
"Yes, I suppose so," Meiko said, "but the changes have been
slow ... too slow." Her face emerged from her downtrodden trance,
and she looked at Noriko with a smile. "But that's why we're
writing this book, isn't it? When it's published I'll know I have
done what I can do."
"Yes," Noriko said. "And that's a lot. More than any other
woman has done to shine a light on the shadow. At least in this
country."
--
Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to [email protected].
Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for "subscriptions,"
stories, GIFs, or archive sites.
Enter Command: N
Article #341 (347 is last):
From: [email protected] (Donald Conover)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: Meiko--Chapter 31--Election
Date: Tue Jun 21 08:46:27 1994
Archive-name: meiko31
Copyright 1993 Donald L. Conover
Registration No. TXu 585-582
All Rights Reserved
[email protected]
License is hereby granted for this manuscript to be ported to
other systems worldwide, provided no fees are charged and local
laws permit such transfer, but it may not be printed or performed
in whole or in part without the express written consent of the
author. If you wish to be added to the electronic subscription
list, please send me e-mail: [email protected].
MEIKO contains the erotic adventures of the first woman Prime
Minister of Japan. If you are underage or would be offended by
such material, please discontinue reading now.
Election
"I have been reviewing some of the tapes of your election
campaigns," Noriko said after a ten day hiatus in their
interviews. "Can we talk a little about the mechanics of how you
were elected?"
"Yes, of course," Meiko said cheerfully.
"What made it possible? You didn't have a political career at
all."
"Disgust and desire."
"Disgust?" Noriko asked.
"Yes. By 1995 I had seen it all; how the system controlled by
men operates. It had dominated my life in many ways. But it was
the attack on David, and my wound, that finally imbued me with the
spirit to take action."
"But many women are angry," Noriko commented. "Only you
became Prime Minister."
"Yes, that is true," Meiko replied. "But I had a secret
weapon. We called it a 'stealth' weapon in those days, because it
was invisible to the Liberal Democratic Party."
"What was that?"
"As you know, throughout Japan there are about 800,000
fujinkai, groups of women who meet regularly to deal with problems
and share experiences. Especially in those days and before, it was
very rare to have husbands home more than one day per week, so
the women had to help one another. In America they would probably
be called coffee klatsches."
"But surely the Liberal Democrats knew of those," Noriko
protested.
"Of course they knew," Meiko replied, "but they didn't think
of them as important. The trick was to get a representative in
every group, who could talk about the plight of women, and what
must be done to change the situation."
"That seems an impossible task for someone like you, though.
You barely knew anything about that lifestyle at all. You were a
professional woman, never married, and you had spent many years in
America. How could you even penetrate those groups?"
"That's where Aoki's genius came into play," Meiko's eyes were
playful again. "We had talked of the plight of women many times
over the years, but it was not until I was recuperating
from my wound in Hayama that we had the idea."
"What was that?"
"We knew that if we could organize Japanese women as a whole,
that we could take the government away from the Liberal Democrats."
"But you had no organization; and no money to create one,"
Noriko protested.
"That was Aoki's brilliance. We decided to piggyback on
another type of organization. For years Aoki had been involved
with Pola. As you know, Pola sells cosmetics through a sales
structure called network marketing. They rely on individual
independent distributors to sell their products. There are many
such companies in Japan, including many American companies like
Avon, Amway, and Nu Skin International. The largest of these have
a million distributors, and generally one in each fujinkai."
Noriko's eyes were getting wider as she scribbled on the page.
"There is a hierarchy of distributors in each company, so that
everyone is connected directly or indirectly to everyone else.
This means that the top distributors have means of communicating to
distributors on the bottom very quickly and efficiently. An
important message from the top can be communicated to everyone in
the network within a day."
"Did you have any relationship to these sorts of companies?"
Noriko asked.
"No," Meiko replied, "but Aoki did. She had been involved
with Pola for fifteen years, and was one of their top distributors.
She knew all the other leaders in Pola, and many of those in the
other companies. Our idea was to start the Fujin-tou, Woman's
Party, and pass its message through these networks."
"Now I see," Noriko said incredulously. "I knew that the
Woman's Party was created overnight, that it offered candidates in
93% of all districts its first election, that it elected a
majority to the Diet, and that you were selected as its first Prime
Minister. But it has never been clear to anyone how you achieved
that magic."
"It was so simple," Meiko grinned. "All we did was develop a
woman's platform, taking on the excesses and arrogance of the
Liberal Democrats, and then we made our case to thirty key people
in the network marketing industry, in many companies, of course.
Not all agreed that they should use their networks in that way, but
most did. They understood the power at their fingertips because of
the power of the business approach. The majority were willing to
invest their efforts to see a change in womens' lives.
"Within a month our scheme was being discussed in every
fujinkai in Japan, completely out of the sight of men. It took
them months before they even realized that a Woman's Party was in
the making. By the time they did realize it was a factor, it was
too late. I was making speeches to meetings with thousands of
women, in hotels and convention halls all over Japan. Aoki managed
my campaign for the Diet in Hayama, where I easily won, despite the
fact that I was focusing on the national movement."
"Remarkable!" Noriko sat back in her chair and for the first
time noticed the complexity of the garden outside Meiko's window.
"No one ever picked up on the network marketing connection before.
How can that be?"
"It was very simple," Meiko's eyes twinkled. "After the
movement was ignited, in the first month, the networks became ours.
We were never promoting the products of the companies in any case.
We simply used the leadership to spread our story, by word of
mouth. And it was a story Japanese women were ready to hear. They
were fed up with the status quo. It was nearly fifty years after
the war, and twenty-five years after the so-called "economic
miracle," and most were still living like a third world country.
"Third World? Isn't that a little strong?" Noriko objected.
"Not at all! Oh, the Liberal Democrats had spread the
propaganda that we were ahead of the rest of the world, but women
knew. By then millions had visited other countries in the
industrialized world, and seen how people lived there. When they
returned to their strictly constrained lives, serving husbands and
children, a deep seed of dissatisfaction was planted. It
blossomed suddenly and instantly with our movement."
Noriko was thoughtful for a long moment, breathless. "We
still have a long way to go," she said finally.
"Yes, it is a long road, but not an impossible one. It only
needs a few leaders. Look at the women's movement in the United
States," Meiko replied. "Susan B. Anthony started her first
nationally noticed activities for women's rights in the Lincoln
Administration, about 1863, but it was not until the 1970s when
women first began seeing real change."
"She started that early?" Noriko's brow furrowed in
amazement.
"Yes," Meiko replied. "She worked for decades to win the vote
for women, but it was not until fifteen years after her death that
the United States Constitution was finally amended."
"But we have had the vote in Japan for decades," Noriko
commented.
"There was something more important that Susan B. Anthony and
Carrie Nation began, and that was the fight against alcohol, and
their men staying at saloons until all hours. That's a problem we
still have here. The men think their partying is more important
than their families."
Noriko smiled ruefully, remembering her evening alone last
night, when Akio said that he had to go out with some schoolmates
from fifteen years ago.
"Oh, they blame it on the need to socialize with their
colleagues for business purposes," Meiko went on, "but in most
places in the world that is accomplished during business hours."
"What did they do?" Noriko asked.
"Susan B. Anthony was a founder of the Daughters of
Temperance, a noisy organization which stood up for closing down
saloons. Carrie Nation got frustrated with the progress and in
1900 began breaking up saloons with a hatchet."
Noriko smiled at the image.
"Ultimately their efforts led to Prohibition, about thirty
years later. But we know how that experiment failed."
"What's your point?" Noriko asked.
"The point is that by attracting attention to places where the
society is out of balance, eventually good changes occur," Meiko
said. "Oh, yes, it's true that some Americans still drink too
much, but by the 1980s social drinking was cut back drastically,
much to the benefit of the American family and women in particular,
since they were often abused by drunken husbands. That evolution
was half a century after Prohibition."
"I see," Noriko said. "So you feel that we can gradually
change the status of women in Japan."
"Yes, we can ... and must!" Meiko replied, looking earnestly
into Noriko's eyes.
"But how? What are the steps?"
"By shining a light on the injustices; the male behaviors that
subjugate women," Meiko replied. "I was able to do this some
during my term as Prime Minister, but in the ways of politics, I
had to walk a narrow line to keep my voting block together. But a
reporter ... with a voice ... and with a national journal like
yours ... could have a huge influence on the behavior of Japanese
women."
Noriko's earlobes were hot. She knew that somehow these many
months of discussion were preparing her for Meiko's push. She
sighed and relaxed, realizing that she had months to decide, since
the publication of Meiko's story was still months away. "Well, our
first task is to get this story published," Noriko said, trying to
change the subject. "Did you finish the manuscript you promised
about your resignation?"
"Yes, I did," Meiko said, handing the bundle of papers to
Noriko with a little grin of knowing that her story alone was a
snowball rolled from the top of a frigid mountain.
"At last!" Noriko said, accepting the bundle. "Since you
left Japan so quickly after your resignation, people have always
wondered what really happened. You were very successful at keeping
most of your story private."
"Well then, you will enjoy this," Meiko said with an elfin
giggle.
--
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Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for "subscriptions,"
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Enter Command: N
Article #342 (347 is last):
From: [email protected] (Donald Conover)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: Meiko--Chapter 32--The Ambassador
Date: Tue Jun 21 08:53:00 1994
Archive-name: meiko32
Copyright 1993 Donald L. Conover
Registration No. TXu 585-582
All Rights Reserved
[email protected]
License is hereby granted for this manuscript to be ported to
other systems worldwide, provided no fees are charged and local
laws permit such transfer, but it may not be printed or performed
in whole or in part without the express written consent of the
author. If you wish to be added to the electronic subscription
list, please send me e-mail: [email protected].
MEIKO contains the erotic adventures of the first woman Prime
Minister of Japan. If you are underage or would be offended by
such material, please discontinue reading now.
The Ambassador
"His Excellency, Erik Bjornson, the Ambassador of Norway," the
herald announced the entry of the new ambassador, visiting Meiko's
office to present his credentials.
Meiko gasped as the tanned Viking with the blonde hair hiding
the greys stepped into her office. The name had not registered
when her aide handed her the day's appointment schedule. In fact,
she had not even noticed the fifteen minute appointment allotted
for this event, being totally preoccupied by preparations for a
three hour meeting with the American delegation to discuss removal
of the Headquarters of the Seventh Fleet to Hawaii.
"I have the honor to present my credentials as the new
Ambassador of Norway," Erik said, using the diplomatic formula
demanded by protocol. He bowed deeply before Meiko, who stood in
front of her desk to receive the portfolio and papers signed and
sealed by the King of Norway.
Meiko flushed as she glanced down the line of Erik's back,
remembering his naked beauty when he was sixteen, and new to the
world and the ways of women. Her heart pounded as he straightened
again, his head rising a foot over hers. "I am pleased to accept
your credentials on behalf of The Emperor of Japan," Meiko
completed the formula.
"Madame Prime Minister," Erik said formally for the benefit of
the staff members in the room. "I have the honor to invite you to
our Embassy for tea, on next Thursday, to discuss the visit of our
King to Japan." The slightest curl of a smile lifted the corners
of his mouth.
"What a kind invitation, Mr. Ambassador!" Meiko replied in
spite of the alarmed glances of staff members from both countries,
who were stunned by the breach of protocol when she added, "I
accept." Such matters were normally handled at staff level
initially.
"Please sit down here," Meiko said, indicating an armchair
next to her own. Television crews and still photographers were
admitted to the office for ten minutes, while the two old friends
spoke inanely about economic conditions and trade relations between
the two countries. Meiko's lips spoke the words, but her mind
studied the Norseman, beginning with the absence of a wedding ring
on the dark rugged hands. The formal mourning coat suited his
strong features, though she knew he would look well in anything or
nothing.
"Until next Thursday, then," he said, bowing his way out of
the office, after the press had been given their due.
"Until next Thursday, Mr. Ambassador," Meiko replied,
returning the bow in the imperious manner of a senior Japanese
official.
"Please wait for me here," Meiko said to Hideko, her senior
aide, as they waited to be announced in the expansive entryway of
the Embassy.
"But Prime Minister ..."
Meiko simply raised her hand, saying, "The Ambassador and I
are old friends, from our school days. We have many things to
catch up on, so there is no need for you to be present. If we
discuss matters of state, I will invite you into the meeting."
Hideko's face expressed the strain of such an impolitic
suggestion, but what could she do? She bowed formally, and went to
a stiff backed chair against the wall beneath the circular
staircase and sat down as if this were the best idea that had ever
been proposed to her.
Meiko was escorted into Erik's study. His Japanese butler
indicated the sofa facing two armchairs, and then bowed himself out
of the room. Somehow it seemed unchanged from her visits
thirty-five years earlier, when Erik's father was the ambassador.
A case of carved ivory netsuke was hanging on the wall in the same
place. She was sure. Going over to the glass covered case, she
examined the various pieces, recognizing several.
"Many of those were my father's," Erik said, entering the door
and closing it behind him. "You probably recognize them."
Meiko's heart skipped a beat as she turned to greet her old
friend. Her hand was extended by habit and found itself kissed by
the bowing diplomat. As he straightened up, though, he held the
hand and pulled her toward him, planting a European style kiss on
her cheek. She felt his other hand on her waist.
"Oh, Meiko, it's so good to see you here after all these
years," Erik said, keeping her face unusually close to his with the
position of his hands.
"Yes," Meiko replied, "I have thought of you often. Imagine
my surprise when you returned in your father's position. I never
thought I would see you again."
"But your career is the more remarkable," Erik said. He could
have said more, but Meiko's eyes reflected pure adoration, kept
warm in the corner of each of their minds for thirty-five years.
He pulled her closer, bending to kiss her. Both were transported
to a kiss by the pool in their youth. The years washed away with
the charge of their intimacy.
A light tap on the door, loud enough to displace the great
bells of the cathedral at Chartres, made them jump apart. Meiko
flung herself onto the sofa while Erik opened the door, admitting
the butler with tea service. Cups were placed before them and
filled, while Meiko stared out into the garden and tried to regain
her composure. The butler ignored, in his most diplomatic manner,
her glance back to Erik and her radiant smile. He straightened up
and bowed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
"How did this happen?" Meiko asked, meaning Erik's posting to
Japan.
Erik picked up his cup to relax. "You are very famous now,"
he said. "Even in Norway the name of the famous Meiko is a
household word. When I learned of your election I requested the
assignment. I was entitled to a major posting next, having just
completed a senior assignment in the foreign ministry, but everyone
expected me to want the United States. I was granted Japan because
I said I know you."
"It is thrilling to have you here again," Meiko said. "Is
your family with you?" She asked the question while looking at
several photographs on the desk, including one of a beautiful
blonde woman sitting in a sailboat with Erik's arm around her.
"No, no," Erik said with regret in his voice. "You see there
my beautiful wife, Liv. But she died of a brain tumor four years
ago. It was very tragic. I have two sons and a daughter, but they
all live in Europe. My sons live in Oslo, where they are beginning
in the junior ranks of the diplomatic corps. My daughter is
finishing at the Sorbonne in Paris."
"But you know it cannot be as before," Meiko said.
"What?"
"Between us, I mean," Meiko clarified her point.
"Why not?"
"I have bodyguards now," Meiko said, "and aides who follow me
everywhere. I cannot meet you secretly."
Erik's face showed immediate relief. "You would like to,
though."
"Yes, I would like to," Meiko admitted. "But perhaps the joys
of our past are best left in the past, where we are still young and
beautiful in our mind's eye."
"You're beautiful to me now," Erik asserted.
"You've no idea of the road map that now covers my body in
scars," Meiko said.
Erik laughed. "We all have scars now, Meiko-san. I can love
you with your scars. Come again next Sunday, and plan to stay for
several hours."
"That will never do," Meiko replied. "We are not negotiating
a major treaty with Norway. People will become suspicious
immediately."
"That's funny," Erik said. "I feel like we are in a
negotiation." He winked, drawing a smile to Meiko's face.
"I will meet you," Meiko said, "but not in public." She
recalled being at Disneyland in Anaheim with David one day. They
were holding hands, when suddenly an acquaintance from Tokyo came
around the Matterhorn ride and saw them. He never reported the
incident to Elizabeth, but Meiko knew that if she was not free from
running into people then, she was most certainly not free to do as
she liked now.
"Where can we meet, then?"
"In three weeks I will take a long weekend in Saipan," Meiko
replied. "I have done that occasionally, when I needed to unwind.
Take a room at the Hyatt on that weekend, and I will find you."
Hideko had her instructions, and had agreed to be discreet.
Meiko had arranged for her to be the only attendant in Saipan, on
the ground that a larger entourage would unnecessarily attract the
press. They took adjacent rooms under assumed names. Hideko
called Erik from her room, to get his room number.
Meiko left her room wearing bathing attire, including shower
shoes, a bathing suit, and a mid-thigh length terry cloth wrap.
Her features were obscured by a large hat and the largest
sunglasses Hideko had been able to find. She went to the elevator,
and entered when it came. A pair of honeymooners were inside, with
eyes only for one another. Or so it seemed. Meiko missed the
furtive glance of the woman.
"Wasn't that Meiko?" The woman asked of her new spouse, after
Meiko emerged two floors lower and went to a room across the hall
from the elevator.
"Who cares?" The young man tickled his new spouse. She
doubled over in laughter, forgetting the incident until she called
her mother to report how well the honeymoon was going.
"You'll never guess who I saw at the hotel," she said to her
mother.
"Who?" Her mother had expected that some Japanese celebrity
would be at the hotel.
"The Prime Minister! And she was going secretly into
someone's room."
"How do you know secretly?" The mother asked.
"Because she was disguised so that people could not recognize
her," the daughter said with assurance.
Meiko was oblivious to anyone but Erik. Once behind his door,
her youth was restored with all its glory. He kissed her warmly as
the door clicked shut, and he didn't stop kissing her, from head to
toe, for eight hours.
"You're insatiable!" Meiko observed, during a brief respite.
"Aren't you glad?" He asked the question with a tickle to her
ribs, as they lay with their heads side by side on the huge pillows
of the king size bed.
She closed her eyes again and saw the expanse of the universe
on the screen behind her forehead. She had the sensation of
floating through endless space. Though the room was dark, the
light of her meditation made her feel as though she was closing out
a spotlight. Her mind oozed precious honey, as Erik idly stirred
in measures of ultimate pleasure over the tenderness. "You make me
so WET," she marveled at the flow that made her his willing slave.
They drifted on until they were lost in time and space. "What time
is it?" Meiko asked with her eyes still closed.
"Three thirty," he whispered after checking the digital light
beside the bed.
"I've been here five hours?" She asked in surprise.
"No, you've been here seventeen hours," came his tender reply.
"How is that possible?" She sat up with a start, knowing the
truth from the darkened window.
"Shhh!" He pulled her back down to the bed. "Go to sleep.
We've been in a transcendent trance, with our souls passing very
close to god."
"I'm flying through the universe," she whispered, imagining
his face in the dark. His eyes were closed, and his features
reflected the purity of his bliss. Closing her eyes again, she
realized that each step back toward consciousness diminished the
perfection of her ecstasy. She slept again.
By 7:30 a.m., young Jack Tanihoe had been sitting in the
hallway, just around the corner from Erik's suite, for ten hours.
He had no way of knowing whether the famous Prime Minister of Japan
was still inside, but he knew that if she was, his reputation as a
photographer was made.
Suddenly the click of a lock being released echoed through the
hallway. He delayed in his alcove until he heard whispered voices.
In an instant carved in the history of Japanese politics, he stepped
from his alcove, aimed the camera and fired his flash with a click and
whir. There was the helpless squeak of a mouse caught in a trap.
The next morning the front page of Yomiuri Shimbun carried the
exclusive picture, in surprising clarity, of the Prime Minister of
Japan, scantily clad, in the arms of Norway's Ambassador to Japan.
Her eyes were closed and their lips met in obvious passion.
"How embarrassing!" Noriko commented. "I knew this was coming,
and I dreaded it."
"Oh, it wasn't so bad," Meiko said with Mona Lisa's smile. "Oh
yes, it was the end of my four years in office, but in every other way
it was the beginning of my adult life."
"You married him, didn't you?"
"Yes, we married. Fortunately Erik could retire from his foreign
service, keeping his dignity if not his honor. We moved to his
magnificent home in Oslo, and put Japanese politics behind us. We had
fifteen beautiful years together. And we had the freedom to travel
the world as we liked. My notoriety brought some compensations,
especially my early interviews of my time in Japanese politics. And
of course, I have my pension. It bought this house for me."
"In a way, it is a kind of Cinderella story, to have found such a
prince after all you went through," Noriko said.
"Yes," Meiko said, musing on a caterpillar climbing a leaf in the
garden. "It was."
--
Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to [email protected].
Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for "subscriptions,"
stories, GIFs, or archive sites.
Enter Command: N
Article #343 (347 is last):
Date: Tue Jun 21 08:56:19 1994
not-for-mail
From: [email protected] (Donald Conover)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: Meiko--Chapter 33--David's Letter--(The Last Chapter)
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Date: 21 Jun 1994 11:56:19 -0400
Organization: rec.arts.erotica immoderation
Lines: 173
Sender: [email protected]
Approved: [email protected] (Tim Pierce)
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: amhux3.amherst.edu
Keywords: series
X-Moderator-Review: 6: a little quirky but no more intelligible than usual
Archive-name: meiko33
Copyright 1993 Donald L. Conover
Registration No. TXu 585-582
All Rights Reserved
[email protected]
License is hereby granted for this manuscript to be ported to
other systems worldwide, provided no fees are charged and local
laws permit such transfer, but it may not be printed or performed
in whole or in part without the express written consent of the
author. If you wish to be added to the electronic subscription
list, please send me e-mail: [email protected].
MEIKO contains the erotic adventures of the first woman Prime
Minister of Japan. If you are underage or would be offended by
such material, please discontinue reading now.
David's Letter
There were subtle changes to the house's atmosphere. Noriko
carried a large flat manila envelope as she passed through to their
normal sitting room. She couldn't quite place the change, but
Meiko seemed changed too; more radiant than ever.
"Something seems changed," Noriko commented.
"Yes," Meiko replied brightly, "I'm preparing for David's
arrival."
"Eh?" Noriko replied with raised eyebrow, as tradition
dictated.
"David and Jessica will be here tonight," Meiko continued.
"They're staying with me for a few weeks, until they find a place
of their own."
"This seems very dangerous," Noriko said with a grin. "How
did it come about?"
"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when I mentioned that I'd
had a letter?" Meiko asked.
"No," Noriko replied.
"Well, I did," Meiko said. "David wrote to say that he and
Jessica had decided to live in Japan, now that they have retired.
They will travel widely, thanks to the money they've been able to
save over the years, but they want Japan to be their base."
"It still seems very strange to have them in your house,"
Noriko sounded like a mother hen. "Even at your age."
"Oh, I will be good," Meiko giggled. "It will be wonderful
just to have David nearby again. I know it's impossible; but I
have a parable for the impossible.... Do you know the story of the
Chinaman and the stallion?"
Noriko shook her head, knowing that she was about to receive
yet another piece of peerless wisdom. She put down her notebook
and sat back in her chair with a receptive smile on her face.
"Once upon a time, many centuries ago," Meiko began, "the
Emperor of China placed a burdensome tax on all of the farmers of
his realm. Some couldn't pay. He decided to make an example of
one of these farmers, so he had him brought to the palace, and
prepared for execution. At the last moment before the axe was to
fall ..."
Noriko twisted in her seat and grimaced.
"The Emperor said, 'Farmer, can you teach my stallion to fly?'
"'Of course I can,' replied the farmer. 'My father taught me
such basic lessons of nature,'
"The Emperor laughed until his belly hurt, and then said,
'Very well, I will give you a reprieve for one year, if during that
year you will teach my stallion to fly. ... But mark my words
well. If you fail, one year from now you will die the death of
being pulled into two parts by two water buffalo.'
"The farmer smiled and bowed calmly. He turned to the
magnificent white stallion and admired the spirit of the animal as
he reared against the tethers that held him. Two handlers were
thrashed about as they brought the mass of fighting muscle to the
farmer. He looked into his eyes and saw fire reflected back from
the depths of his soul. The animal relaxed a little, still combing
the dirt with his hooves. The farmer picked up one of the ropes,
released the other, and walked off the palace grounds.
"As he walked, the stallion kicked up one way, then the other,
but always following the farmer down the dusty wheel rutted road.
Near sunset, he passed one of his friends working in a field, and
stopped for a chat.
"'How can you be here?' his friend said. 'I thought you were
to be executed.'
"'I was,' the farmer replied with a smile, 'but I made a
bargain with the Emperor. If I can teach this stallion to fly
within one year, he will release me from my sentence.'
"The friend looked doubtfully at the restless creature,
pulling at the end of the rope. 'And if you don't teach him to
fly?'
"'Then I shall be torn into two parts by water buffalo,' the
farmer replied.'
"'How stupid you are!' His friend was aghast at the choice.
'What could you have been thinking to give up a swift death for
something so horrible?'
"'Oh, I don't know,' the farmer replied. 'I don't think my
fate is as bad as all that.' He was pensive for a moment. 'In a
year, the Emperor might die.... Or I might die.... Or the
stallion might die.... Or, who knows, I might even teach the
stallion to fly!'"
Noriko stared at her friend and mentor in disbelief. "I hope
I can have such spirit when I am your age," she said.
"You will," Meiko replied. "I know you will."
There was a long silence. Finally Noriko said, "If you are
going to have house guests, I suppose we must postpone further
interviews for a time."
"Yes, I would like a week off," Meiko replied. "Shall we
continue again next Tuesday?"
"That's good for me," Noriko said. "I need some time to
collate these materials before we continue."
"Next week let's continue our detailed conversations with the
professional part of my career. Even you can learn something from
that," Meiko teased, leaning forward and touching Noriko's knee
playfully.
Noriko shifted in her seat, turning a little red at her
temples. She fingered the manila envelope she had in the seat next
to her.
"Here are the first manuscripts of that time," Meiko said,
handing Noriko a sheaf of pages.
"And I have a gift for you in return," Noriko said with a
smile of pure admiration and friendship. She handed Meiko the
envelope. "It's my way of saying thank you for what you've taught
me already." She gathered her purse and rose, making it clear that
she did not intend to be present when the envelope was opened.
They went into the genkan.
Meiko looked at her young friend in admiration. "Thank you.
It's very flattering to be thought of as a teacher." A tear came
to her eye. "Next Tuesday at 2:00 then?"
"Yes, next Tuesday at 2:00." Noriko rattled out of the door
of the genkan.
Meiko listened to the click of her heals down the walk. She
looked down at the envelope, tore off the end, and removed the
contents. There were five enlarged nude photographs of Noriko.
They were beautiful. Meiko smiled and went back into her sitting
room, opened the sliding glass door to the garden, stepped into her
geta, and went out to continue her daily routine, leaving the
photographs on the table in the sitting room.
--
Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to [email protected].
Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for "subscriptions,"
stories, GIFs, or archive sites.
Enter Command: N
Article #344 (347 is last):
From: [email protected]
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: Conversation for Two (poem)
Date: Tue Jun 21 08:58:45 1994
Archive-name: conversation.p
This is a poem that I wrote to my girlfriend 7 years ago. Whether it sounds
trivial or trite or not, it is a description of EXACTLY how I felt at the
time. It was inspired by her not being able to emotionally let go of a former
boyfriend. She said that by even speaking to me, she was cheating on him.
Because in romance, it is impossible to separate the intellectual, emotional,
and physical aspects of a relationship. I agree with her.
*****************************************************************************
Conversation for Two
We sat under the stars
Talking about nothing in particular --
Just trivialities -- Ordinary things.
But they were important nonetheless:
Facts that helped us learn about each other --
And ourselves.
...And you were beautiful!
The world disappeared from around us.
We were wrapped in a blanket of intimacy,
Alone in our own private realm.
Time stood still.
I told you of my hopes and dreams,
Of my secrets and desires.
My words flowed with warmth and feeling.
And you accepted them sweetly, with understanding,
With a voice gentler than any I have known.
We embraced without touching.
Entangled in each other's racing thoughts.
And then it was over.
The world returned. Time had passed.
And we basked in the warmth of the afterglow.
Wishing it could happen again,
Wishing we could talk all night.
Perhaps we will -- Someday.
--
Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to [email protected].
Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for "subscriptions,"
stories, GIFs, or archive sites.
Enter Command: N
Article #345 (347 is last):
From: [email protected] (Marie)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: STORY: The Jobhunter
Date: Tue Jun 21 22:16:57 1994
Archive-name: jobhunter
The Job-hunter
© 1994 by Marie McPeak
Frustrated. In a word, I was frustrated.
I hadn't had sex in ages; the past couple attempts had been abortive at
best. I thought men weren't supposed to get impotent until they were
*old*; thirtysomething is not *old*.
I was working like crazy, at two jobs, and barely making ends meet.
Meanwhile the TV told me every night of single moms on welfare who had it
a lot better than me. Too bad I have a sense of pride....
The bills were due, I had no social life (between the kid and the lack of
money, what could I do?), and it was hot and I was tired.
I contemplated this as I drove to the airport. No, not to go anywhere,
to pick up a friend from the Net, if that's what you can call it, who was
going to be in town job hunting for a few days. Sure, he can sleep on
the couch. He sure won't be disturbing my boyfriends; what boyfriends?
It is a point of my desperation that I was actually wondering what might
happen with him, as I drove. He was a *lot* younger than me. I had once
determined that I lost my virginity just before his fourth birthday, and
I hadn't done that until I went away to college. On the other hand, he
was of legal age, and as I recalled, men of that age had a certain
stamina that seemed to fade over time. Could be interesting....
But he was probably like most CS majors: spending all the time in the
computer labs, eating out of vending machines, majoring in the four major
food groups: sugar, starch, chocolate and caffeine, he probably was 5'6"
and weighed 250, with a face like a pepperoni pizza behind Coke bottles.
I was *not* optimistic. Besides, he probably had never spoken to a woman
he was attracted to, let alone made love to one. Sorry, I reached my
quota of virgins about the time he entered kindergarten.
My son babbled in the backseat, and I realized that he would find me
about as attractive. Single mom, thirty-plus, fairly well preserved, but
let's be serious. Anyway, I ignored that and continued to daydream.
Soon enough, we got to the airport. In order to avoid exorbitant parking
fees, we had agreed on a particular entrance to meet at, and that I would
time it very tight. On this occasion, the traffic and airlines
cooperated, and he was coming through the door as I arrived. Of course,
I didn't know that yet, but he did. He spotted the car and walked right
over, opened the passenger door, tossed his overnight bag and briefcase
in back, and settled in.
"Hi, Marie, how've you been?" he commented breezily, as though he were
just coming home like always.
My jaw was in my lap. The audacity! And he was pretty good to look at,
too. Okay, Hollywood is not missing out on the next Robert Redford, but
he wouldn't scare small children either. Sitting down, he was taller
than me, dark, dark eyes, probably Italian or something in heritage.
Okay, so the Coke bottle glasses were there, but they'd been present on
every man I'd dated seriously since the eighth grade. They seem to go
hand in hand with brains, which were really my major criteria.
"You must be Mark?" I raised my eyebrows expectantly.
He grinned. "Don't do that. You look just like my sister. Yeah, I'm
Mark."
"Fine. Have a nice flight?" I pulled out into traffic. He babbled
away. I paid little attention; traffic this time of day would send an
Indy car driver into the pits. But me, I was plunging ahead.
Half an hour later, I pulled into my assigned spot, we unloaded the car,
and had arrived at home. By now I knew that he was the much later child
of older parents, that he identified with his siblings a lot (who were
all my age or older), that he liked all kinds of music (mostly groups I
had never hear of from the mid-80s), that he not only studied CS but
wrote music and stories, and that he could make my son laugh non-stop for
over fifteen minutes, while sitting in a car while I drove through city
traffic in my usual style which normally leaves passengers wishing they'd
taken a cab.
He was refreshing, in other words.
I showed him the living room, and the closet with enough space for his
stuff, and the rest of the house. I fixed dinner while he unpacked (that
is, I put a frozen pizza in the oven and set the table). My son assisted
us each in turn.
We ate.
After dinner, I cleaned up, and the boys played. I put Jacob in the tub;
they played Naval Battles with the rubber ducks. Then I got Jake ready
for bed; Mark watched. I became very conscious of him watching, but
ignored it. Fine, watch me put pajamas on a two-year-old. How
exciting.
Then Jake was in bed, and I was ready to sit down and relax. I got a
soda from the refrigerator, offered one to Mark, and retired to the
living room to watch TV.
Of course, nothing was on. It was a Saturday night in the summer; the
only thing vaguely interesting was a baseball game. But the Cubs were
already ahead 12 to 3 in the fourth inning, and if they managed to blow
that, I didn't want to watch. So I turned the TV off.
He was watching me.
No, he was looking at me. Like a biology major at an amoeba. Like Dian
Fossey at a gorilla. Like a horny young man in the presence of something
female. How to proceed....??
I digested this in about twelve seconds. Certain parts of my brain (the
sexually frustrated ones) sprang into action. *They* could tell me what
I should do, if I had any doubts. Other parts groaned in disgust.
Something about cradle robbing, and people young enough to be my
children....
We looked at each other. We looked at each other looking at each other.
Neither of us said a word. My brain was now seriously at war with
itself. "Just do it." "You've got to be kidding. Even you aren't
*this* desperate." "Calm down, it will be nothing, mean nothing, in
another three days he'll be back in Cleveland or Seattle or wherever he
came from, and you'll be a lot less trouble to deal with." "You mean
*you'll* be a lot less trouble to deal with, and since when has she been
able to have sex with *anyone* that didn't mean anything?! Never, it's
never happened. And it won't happen *now* either." "Aw, c'mon, look at
how cute he is. I'll bet he stays hard for hours. I'll bet he can
wiggle that tongue like a trumpet player." "Yeah, and I'll bet he
vanishes and then she gets all bent out of shape over *that*."
Meanwhile, he was sitting there, and I imagine a similar debate was
raging in *his* brain.
I stood up. Good, I was moving. No decision had been made, my brain
raged onward, but I had stood up.
"How does this work anyway?" He had stood up too, and was looking at the
couch. He meant, I thought, how does it fold out into a bed. I took off
the cushions, and opened it up. He was staring at me. That wasn't what
he had meant. Oh, well, too late now.
In a flash of brilliance, I stated, "Let me get you some sheets." I
moved to the hall, to the linen closet. My brain was elsewhere, having a
philosophical debate on the propriety of seducing one's houseguests,
especially young, unattached, heterosexual ones with good job prospects
in town. Somehow, I got the sheets, and moved back to the living room,
where I put them on the bed. He helped.
Then he was standing beside me, and I looked at him. He was slightly
taller than me, with eyes like Hershey kisses. I opened my mouth to say
something, I'll never know what, and kissed him instead.
He kissed me back, warmly, with soft practiced lips and a quivering
tongue. "I told you so!" screamed one side of my brain, returning the
favor.
Somehow we wound up on the bed that the couch had turned into. Did I
push him? Did he push me? Did we jump together? Maybe *he* knows.
Since we were both clad only in t-shirts and shorts, pretty soon we
weren't clad in anything at all. My tongue was tickling one of his
ears; his mouth was teasing one of my nipples.
I paused. I pulled back.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, looking up. His hands continued to
explore, all the while.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "I mean, ..." I was at a loss for
words.
"You're kidding." He paused. "You're not kidding. Why am I doing
this. Because you're the sexiest woman I've ever met. Because you
manage to do all that you do, raising Jacob, holding your jobs, keeping
the house going, and still look like a model or something, and you gave
me half a chance, and I haven't had sex in months and neither have you."
Which was true. A lot of our email correspondence was about how little
each of us was getting.
"Oh, okay," I said brightly, and pulled his head to mine and kissed him,
then reversed direction, and kissed his other head, which sent him to
gasping as he worked to return the favor.
We lay there in 69 position for a while. I took his cock in my mouth,
sucking gently at first, then harder. I let my teeth scrape against the
underside, finding the spots that made him gasp nicely. I found that he
liked to have the head rubbed against the ridge on my upper palate, and
that I couldn't suck too hard, and also that he liked it a *lot* when I
forced his cock all the way into my mouth, to where it was starting down
my throat. So I did all of that some, in turns.
He was performing explorations of his own, his tongue dancing on my clit
and in my cunt, wiggling, gyrating, finding just how to make me gasp most
deliciously. I began rocking my pelvis into him, all the while sucking
like a vacuum cleaner. And I was rewarded: he began fucking my mouth
with gusto, driving into it, as he forced me over the edge into my first
orgasm of the evening. I had to withdraw: my teeth chatter
uncontrollably when I orgasm, like a naked person in an ice storm, and
that can be unpleasant....
After I had calmed down, he flipped around, and kissed me. I like this,
tasting myself on a man's mouth. Yum. Meanwhile, condom appeared from
thin air, rolled down his shaft, and he sank between my thighs, and slid
quietly inside. I was soaking wet from saliva and coming; he was fully
inside with no fuss whatsoever.
"Ahhhhhhhh......." he sighed. Then he lay atop me, and rolled over, so
that I was on top of him. I rose up and began rocking gently, squeezing
my muscles to make him gasp (another of my favorite things).
He was middling thick, middling long. My pussy enveloped him, and I
could somehow feel every ridge as it slid through me, up and back.
Mmmmm...
I leaned forward, dragging my nipples against his chest, tickling them in
the fur there, finding his nipples. Ooh, he liked this! His back
arched, he was driving into me with gusto. I brought a hand up and
gently rolled his nipple between my thumb and forefinger. More good
noises flowed forward.
I could feel myself beginning to lose control, getting closer, closer to
the edge. I lifted my chin to find his mouth; he found my breasts,
pressing his thumbs into the nipples, squeezing them like oranges, the
fingernails digging in. My hands clenched involuntarily, scratching him
in the process, which sent him screaming into orgasm and me way, way over
the edge, shuddering, shaking, whimpering. Tears were coming from my
eyes as I lay my head down on his chest, trying to calm down, as he
shrank and fell from me.
We sounded like the finish line of a marathon.
I lay atop him, spent. His heart pounded; I could feel his pulse in my
back from his arms tight around me. I brought a hand up to touch his
hair, his ears, to trace his jaw, just to learn the shape of him.
He turned his head to mine, to find my mouth, to rub his lips on mine, to
bump noses like Eskimos, to make me giggle.
I realized that we *smelled* like the finish line of a marathon as well.
I raised up on one elbow. "Want a shower before bed?" I asked.
His eyes widened. "Sounds good to me." He kissed me again. We moved to
the bathroom, collecting towels on the way, groping each other.
Nuzzling, tickling, somehow we managed to get to the bathroom and get the
water running, and into the tub.
Odd, he wasn't seeming like a little college kid anymore. Somehow, we
both seemed to be about 28 or so, the same age at any rate. It helped
that his body wasn't a kid's body in any sense of the word. He had
filled out; his shoulders were broad and strong, if not muscled; there
was fur in all the right places. He was fun, to boot.
So I pointed the shower head into his face, and we were off. I have a
hand held unit; pretty soon the water was everywhere in and out of the
tub. I was beginning to be thankful that my upstairs neighbors were
gone for the weekend; we sounded like the beach at a summer camp.
I poured shampoo on his head, about twice the recommended amount; he
responded with bath oil. In seconds we were as slippery as eels, which
gave us other thoughts, and our mouths met as the various bottles fell to
the floor. His fingers, ultra-slippery from the oil, found my cunt and
started wiggling; my hands transferred the soap from his hair to his
chest, to his belly, to his cock and his balls. His cock was hard again,
sticking straight out; I pulled it up flat against his belly and smashed
my body against his. Ooh, a groan, he liked that! So I did it again.
He tackled me.
Well, not really, he couldn't, not safely. But he pushed me back,
against the wall, and lifted me up (he was *strong*), and shoved his cock
up inside me, roughly. And yanked himself out just as fast, as he
realized that a certain important piece of latex was missing. Being in
the bathroom, this took only seconds to correct. Only, I had time to
prepare myself, and we were a lot more stable as he surged up from below,
my legs wrapped around his waist, one hand gripping the curtain rod (just
in case), the other scraping the skin off his back (ooh, he liked that,
too!).
He had come shortly before, so he somehow manipulated me through a pair
of shuddering orgasms. I thought I would force him out of me, my cunt
was squeezing down so tight. It was hard to maintain any connection,
with the water splashing in my face, me heels in his back, and his moans
urging me on. So I stopped, and the world went away in explosions.
What happens when I orgasm, really good? I don't know. I go away. I
feel like I'm floating, and I forget where I am, and what I'm doing, and
if whoever I'm with enjoys it, fine, and if not, fine; I don't care.
It's very pleasant, to lose all my worries and aches and pains for those
few (seconds? minutes? eternities?) moments. Which is why I keep having
sex with people, even after my years of atrocious luck with romantic
relationships.
I opened my eyes. The Cheshire Cat grins no better than he was at this
point. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked. Smirking. Smart ass. I stuck
out my tongue at him. He bit it. Ooohhh... I shuddered again:
aftershock.
I put my legs down. I pulled away from him, smirking (he's not the only
one who can do that). I grabbed a towel, and headed for my bedroom.
I can only imagine his expression; I didn't look back. Disbelief?
Anger? Silly grin? all of the above? Ask him.
I reached the bedroom, and heard the water shut off. Feet left the tub.
Pause for towel. Continue to the bedroom.
"Boo!" I jumped out at him.
He went two feet in the air. Hee hee hee hee hee. I got another condom
out while he was calming down, and deciding whether to attack me or go
sulk in the living room. He still hadn't decided, so I pulled him down
on the bed, and sat on him. Was he ticklish? Oh, yes, big time. Oohh...
This wasn't going to be fair; I talked myself out of ticklishness back in
high school. He wriggled, he giggled, he fought until he was on top, and
then collapsed.
"You're not supposed to have this much energy," he complained. I grinned
at him.
"Okay," I said, "What would you like? Since I've abused you so terribly,
tired you out..." He was sitting on my legs, kind of lying down on me.
He bit my nose, gently. His cock throbbed against my belly. Was there
really any doubt...? I slid the condom down the length, and began
stroking him again. What had he liked? Oh, yeah. I lifted my hands to
the back of his neck, and played with it, sending shivers through him.
Then I pulled my nails down his back, hard, scraping.
His back arched; he cried out; he forced himself into my pussy, wriggling
from side to side. So I did it again; his reaction was fabulous. I
thought I was going to see his cock emerge from my belly, he drove in so
deep. Screaming.
He pulled back, looking at me, wild eyed. "How did you know I liked
that?" he asked.
"Come on," I said. "You've only included it in every erotic story you've
ever written. Besides, it's pretty standard. It's something to check,
all the time." I began scratching his chest, lightly, then harder and
harder. He liked this too. He pulled us over, so that I was on top.
This protected his back, but not his front, and I continued my efforts,
causing welts to rise so that soon he looked like a map of the interstate
highway system, and then just like a lobster fresh out of the pot.
Then he exploded.
I have seen few men come so violently. His head swung back and forth
from side to side; his hips thrust such that I was lifted off the bed.
He screamed a deep, throaty scream, an animal in full rut. I was taken
aback, and deeply satisfied, at the same time. I forced myself up and
down his cock, forcing it in as far as it would go, as it spasmed within
me.
Then I lay atop him, kissing him lightly on the face, neck and ears, as
his breathing calmed, and his heartbeat returned to a measurable level.
His arms folded around me, and his mouth came looking for mine. We lay
there in contented satiety for a long while.
When his breathing had calmed to the point of sleep, I got up, closed up
the couch, threw the sweaty sheets in the hamper, dried off the floor of
the bathroom, checked on my sleeping son, then crawled into bed beside my
new lover. Contented, I settled in and dropped off to sleep.
Mmmmm.... this could be an interesting three days....
- end -
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Enter Command: N
Article #346 (347 is last):
From: [email protected] (Eric Cash)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: A Medieval Tail, Part 1 of 3
Date: Tue Jun 21 22:19:59 1994
Archive-name: medieval.1
This is my first story post to the InterNet. Feedback is desired and
would be highly appreciated. If you wish to reply, please post
in alt.sex.stories.d or send mail to [email protected].
A MEDIEVAL TAIL
by Eric Cash
My beauteous Lady Maura,
Would that I the courage to declare mine longing for thee! But
alas, I be but a humble bard, a wandering minstrel, and thou surely
art beyond mine reach.
Thou art a kind lady, I wot. Thou favour me with a smile each
time we pass by one another. But each time, I must needs avert
mine gaze from thee, lest thou see the naked longing in mine eyes.
Lady, how mine soul burns for thee! Not merely because thou art
fair - thou art that, certes - but I ken that thou hast within thee
an inner beauty of immeasurable depth.
Many odes have I writ, praising thy beauty and thyself. But I be
sore afeared to openly proclaim mine feelings toward thee.
I harbour an abiding secret fantasy, deep within mine breast, of a
special loving tryst with thee. Certes, this couldst ne'er hap,
but lo, even the lowliest servant hath his dream.
I imagine a time when thy lord is away from the keep, when I might
endeavour to assuage thy loneliness. I gather up mine courage, so that
I might proclaim mine desire for thee, and beg of thee one kiss from
thy sweet lips ere I die. Thy sweet breath upon mine cheek is like
unto a warm summer's breeze. Thy womanly scent fills mine senses with
its wondrous fragrance. I run mine hands through thy silky auburn
tresses and whisper mine love for thee...
But hark! I feel a presence behind me! I turn about to discover that
thou, Milady, hast been surreptitiously peering o'er mine shoulder,
and hast read all I have writ. I be mortified that mine soul hath
been laid bare before thee in this manner. I be also mortally
afeared that I have mayhap incurred thy displeasure with these mine
ramblings.
I beseech thee, dear Lady, prithee be not too wroth with one who
adores thee so...
***
A flush of ruby appears 'pon mine face. 'Tis _I_ that be with shame,
dear Bard. Ken ye that mine heart truly dost pound profusely for
thee, mine Bard. With haste, I run 'round before thee, and fall to
to the floor at thy feet. Bowing mine head, I lay mine cheek to rest
softly on thy knee. Bard, 'tis _I_ who hath loved _thee_ from afar.
Whene'er thou walk by me daily in the town, I have averted mine
eyes, lest thou espy the naked look of lust therein. Certes, must
these feelings be wrong, but thou must ken, mine Bard, that mine
feelings mirror thine.
At this moment, I, although a daughter of the king, feel but as
a lowly peasant girl. Mine wanton thoughts do creep forth, which
wouldst sully me in the eyes of many, but at this moment I care not.
I do love thee, Bard, and mine heart shall stop its beating and
mine chest shalt stop its rise and fall an I do not kiss thee anon.
Take me to thee, dear Bard and let mine ample bosom press 'gainst
thy manly chest. I beg thee, remove me from this castle, carry me
to thy abode and have thy way with me!
I say to thee, dearest Bard, ne'er shouldst thou feel shamed of
the words thou hast writ about thy feelings for me. An they be
true, I be full of joy.
But lo, mine Bard, why art thou silent? Prithee, look upon me.
Please hink not of me as a common slut for being so bold. Have I
offended hee with _mine_ own true feelings?
***
Nay, mine sweet Lady, thou offend me not! I be fairly bursting
with delight when I hear thy sweet voice professing thy love for me!
And thy face flushes quite prettily. I gaze into thine eyes, and
glory at the depths of passion I espy therein. With a trembling
hand, I lay mine hand on thy sweet face, and revel in the satiny
smoothness that is thy skin. I bend down to taste thy sweet lips,
which open invitingly to mine questing tongue. I lay mine hand on
thy heaving breast, and feel the pounding of thine heart, which
rivals the beating of mine own. Thine ample breast moulds itself
to mine hand so nicely, and thy nipple seems to brand mine palm with
its fevered imprint.
I clasp thee to mine breast, savouring thy closeness and the fresh
scent of thy lovely auburn tresses. Mayhap should we seek a more
private place. But alas, I have not a castle to which to spirit thee
away. When I be not scribing ballads for mine Liege, I abide in mine
humble cottage in the woods. I feel that mine modest hovel shan't be
to the liking of such a highborn Lady as thyself. But thou amaze
me yet again as thou suggest we ride to mine cottage this instant.
***
Oh, Bard, thou mount thy steed with alacrity, and then reach
down with a mighty hand and therewith take hold of mine own.
With a strong heave, thou lift me up, giving me place to set
behind thee. I wrap mine arms 'round thee, tightly clinging to
thy body.
With a quick jab of thy thy heels, thy mighty steed jolts to a
fierceful gallop. Onward travel travel to a night of merrymaking.
As I hold tightly, mine only love, I feel the pounding of thy
pure heart. Dost it beat for mine love alone?
On yestereve, I could hardly believe mine heart couldst be filled
with such a passion! But with this new and wondrous day, our
kindred spirits are finally knowing of each other. And once
night falls, dearest Bard, our bodies will know of each other
also.
As we ride, the night dost come, a chill envelopes me. I cling more
closely to mine love. Anon, thy steed halts abruptly and we dismount.
Thou pull me down into thy arms. The soles of mine feet touch the
earth not as thou carry me in thine arms across the threshold and
into thine abode. I be literally carried away! Then, with a swift
kick, thou dost open the door.
What are thy thoughts of the moment, m'love?
***
The feel of thy full breasts upon mine back and the pressure of thine
arms entwined about me as we gallop toward mine cottage enflames me
anew with desire for thee. As we alight from mine steed, I look into
thine eyes, and find mirrored the passion that mine own eyes must be
radiating forth. I hold thee tight against me, savouring the feel of
thy wondrous body.
After entering mine cottage, I set thee on thy feet. I light a few
candles to dispel the gloom, and take thine hand and lead thee to
mine bed. As this is a night to savour, we take our time disrobing
one another. At last, thou stand before me in thy glorious naked
splendour. Mine heart fairly races, as I realize that mine dream of
making merry with thee has finally come. Mine eyes feast upon thy
ripe bosoms, thy narrow waist, and thy perfectly rounded buttocks.
I could die this minute with no regrets, having finally known
perfection.
>>> Continued to next message
___ ___ ___
| __| | | | _| S Y N E R G Y O N L I N E ## [email protected]
|__ | | | | | |_ ## Eric Cash
|___| |___| |___| C O M M U N I C A T I O N S ## 201.331.1797 (data)
[30 lines; 14.4K BPS; 15.0 gigabytes; PCBoard 15.1; New Jersey's Largest BBS]
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Enter Command: N
Article #347 (347 is last):
From: [email protected]
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: From Behind: Seduction Over the Phone
Date: Tue Jun 21 22:24:55 1994
Archive-name: from-behind
"I want to screw you...from the rear."
He whispered the phrase to her over the telephone. Her first thoughts were
not of positions, but of when and how. She was amazed at his ability to say
things that communicated so much.
First she was jealous he could say something, so simply, that she could never
find herself saying.
Just his whisper had a carnal overtone that she could never emulate. And she
knew it was the same whisper she would hear over her shoulder when he would
eventual slide into her.
"I don't think so."
She quivered through out her body, but controlled her voice when she turned
him down.
"Don't you like that position any more?" he asked. She wasn't sure if it was a
game for him. She resisted any temptation he presented, but never completely.
"It's not the position," she said, and took a slow breath. "I can't tonight."
He resisted his impulse to be annoyed. He wondered if there was someone else.
Worse, he wonder if he no longer tempted her. If passion and desire were now
a history lesson.
"Why?"
"Because..." She wondered what the reason should be.
"Do I no longer please you?"
The question seemed contrived, but there was sincerity in his voice.
After a short pause he asked: "What is your favorite position?"
"You know."
"Yes, but I want to hear."
She was tempted to squeeze her crotch, but resisted. "From behind."
"And if I promised to relish you in that position like you were the queen of
Sheba...."
"Funny."
"Remember a week ago? When you were laying on your belly and I had three
fingers in you?"
She waited for a second to see how much of the scenario he was going to
describe. "Yes...?"
"As I wiggled my fingers inside you and worked my thumb into your ass, all I
could think was how beautiful your hips are."
"Yes...?" She hated feeling like this. He made her think about sex more than
she wanted....worse, he filled her vagina with more than a penis. When he was
away she had desire lingering between her legs.
"Oh, you know it too."
She laughed, "I wasn't agreeing, I was expecting you to say more."
"There is more, but I want you to know, I worship your hips."
"And you, the atheist," she said, and resented the fact she had allowed
herself to be moved to humor.
He laughed and thought of how he was on his way.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful your hips are?" he asked.
"Yes."
"But not enough, your hips are beautiful," he said, feeling more than simple
desire swell. "They are like a temple."
She said nothing, but he could feel a smile on her breath.
"The angle and curves of an intimate pagoda..." he paused, trying to control
his smirk, "would drive Buddha insane with passion."
"Stop it," she said with a giggle. "My architecture is on it's way to bed."
"Where all works of art should reside. I'll be over in 15 minutes." He waited
for her to decline, but he had found the silence of acceptance. She, instead,
thought of where her red candles were stored and of changing her underwear.
"See you REAL soon," said the evil Mouseketeer whisper in a throaty.
"Yes," she said, also in a whisper. Already she, mentally, tallied how may
sick days she had left at the office.
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Enter Command: *--* 08-07-94 - 17:45:26 *--*
+---------Best Friends-----------+| || 1. Zmodem || 2. Ymodem || 3. Xmodem-1K|| 4. Xmm-CRC|| 5. Kermit || 6. Text|| || Choose a dwlad method: || || [Cancel ^G] [Choose 1-6] || |+--------------------------------+Receiving file...-/|\Start your capture now...
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From: [email protected] (Bryan)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: Best Friends
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Date: 5 Aug 1994 19:50:45 -0400
Organization: The University of Memphis
Lines: 94
Sender: [email protected]
Approved: [email protected] (Tim Pierce)
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NNTP-Posting-Host: amhux3.amherst.edu
Keywords: mf
X-Moderator-Review: 6: oddly sweet, even for such a simple and direct voice
Archive-name: best-friends
"Maybe you will find a love
That you discover accidentally
Who falls against you gently
As a pickpocket brushes your thigh"
-- Paul Simon
We were walking down the street together enrapt in some consuming
discussion, but playful as always. I would make some relevant point
and then hit him in the arm as if to emphasize my competence in the
matter; he then would make some counter-point and then pop me in the
back of the head. Our discussions were often like this, escalating
until we were only rough-housing and had forgotten the argument
completely. And while I was busy rambling on about something he gave
me a quick slap under the jaw while I wasn't looking. Well, I had no
choice but to jump on his back and ruffle his hair (because I know how
much he hates that) regardless of the strange looks we got from
passers-by. We were both unconscious of anything unfitting in our
behavior and we really didn't care anyway.
And as if just to spoil our fun, it began to rain -- not just rain,
but pour down out of nowhere without warning. It would have been nice
to play in the rain, but the summer days are wet and sticky enough as
it is. He shot a glance my way with that devious grin of his as I
stood in disgusted disbelief -- and he was gone. He was running down
the sidewalk with all his speed already twenty paces ahead of me. I
shot off after him with no idea where we were headed, just wanting to
get out of the rain. He stopped abruptly, catching himself on a light
post and swung himself around to me, and I almost ran into him. He
dashed up some stairs into the railcar cafe in front of which we had
stopped and shook his hair out all over me once we were inside. I
rolled my eyes at him, but he seemed not to notice. He jerked my arm
and we slid into a booth together on the same side. I purposefully
slid a little too hard to make up for his wet dog impression. The
waitress came and gave us some napkins, and we dried ourselves off as
we ordered lunch.
I started talking again, resuming our old conversation, and he paid
more attention this time since we couldn't play too much in the
cramped booth. Actually, he was quite engrossed in what I was saying
-- I had his complete attention. In fact, he was watching so intently
I wondered if his mind was even on what we were talking about. I
can't even remember talking after that. I was just watching his face,
his eyes sparkling with interest was he listened to me, running his
hands through his wet hair, pushing it back as he nodded at the
appropriate pauses, blinking in understanding with those inviting
sensual eyelashes, sweet lips parted in anticipation of my every word
that I could not even hear myself. Drops of water rolled down his
angelic face, skin so smooth and wet. Choir boys and angels stole
your lips and your halo, I almost said, shaking myself back into the
conversation. He nodded thoughtfully and I left it at that, not sure
with what he was agreeing.
Later we tramped through the wet park, feeding the ducks at the pond
on our way, climbing trees, fighting still, throwing each other down
on the damp earth and rolling around. But the rest of the day my mind
was elsewhere, remembering other times that I had seen that look from
him, though I don't think I realized it at those times: a moment of
uneasy silence as we sat in the car before getting out, something
hanging in the air; catching him stare at me from across a crowded
street, lost in thought, yet focused; a night of fever as I burned in
bed, my mind swimming, hearing an opera in my head while he sat there
on my bedside with me.
After he had showered and cleaned off from our mischief in the park, I
stood in the doorway of the bathroom as he dried his hair. He stood
there now only in jogging pants. I think his jeans were ruined by the
mud. My mind was still elsewhere, though as he spoke to me and he had
to pop his towel at me to bring me back again. I messed with his hair
and ran out of the bathroom laughing. He chased me and caught me
around the waist and slung me around and onto the bed. He pounced in
after me and started tickling, but I soon was on top then under again:
the two of us rolling around just like before. I saw the amused curl
of his lips as I growled at him. I felt the laughter through his
body. And the we stopped. But only for a moment. We were kissing as
intimately and intensely as we had ever played. Rolling again, but
slower, his hands running down my sides, but not to tickle this time,
my hands in his hair, but not to irritate, his eyelashes brushing
against my eyelids.
And he stopped suddenly, realizing what he was doing, what we were
doing -- the shock in his eyes. But only for a moment, because I
started to tickle him again, making him forget his reasons, rolling
again, speeding up then slowing down, fighting then kissing, back and
forth, until there was more of one that the other.
--
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