Message-ID: <2648eli$9708051358@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: teej2@aol.com (TEEJ2) Subject: TeeJ: One Time Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <19970804205600.QAA13716@ladder02.news.aol.com> As always, comments are appreciated, and appreciations are commented on. This is fiction, in case you're confused. ONE TIME It was a risk. We knew that. "You never know what might happen," we told each other as we planned and plotted. My wife and I would have a sexy getaway weekend in Chicago. It was a good cover; every now and then we leave the kids behind and enjoy ourselves immeasurably. We go where no one knows us, flirt and touch and carry on as we never would close to home. We book the getaways weeks in advance and the anticipation is as much a part of the weekend as the oversized bathtubs at the hotels we choose. I banded my frequent flier miles together and we got a free room at the Ambassador East. The view out our window was wonderfull, all city lights and the lake looming black on the horizon. As far as my wife knew, we were in Chicago without an agenda. Except, of course, for the plan you and I had worked out. That's where the risk came in. Getting her from Chicago to your place was going to be tougher. Even with weeks of effort you and I couldn't come up with a credible cover story, no old-friend-I-ran-into dodge that would put all four of us - me, my wife, you, your husband - together in one place. After weeks of struggle we came to this: Honesty. Down in the Pump Room, the Ambassador's elegant bar, I began to tell the story to my wife. Over glasses of darkest red zinfandel I explained how we met, how an online flirtation had progressed to this. I said that we wanted to meet but didn't feel comfortable without our spouses present. My wife listened intently, the way she does when she has no idea whether to be angry or simply disgusted, sipping wine occaisoinally. When I finished she seemed relieved that we had not had any sexual contact, though she was not comfortable with our long conversations about sex and the masturbatory sessions that inevitably followed. I explained to her that those nights when I've awakened her from sleep for sex were nights I'd spent with you, and that the lust you had bulit in me benifited our marriage. She wasn't as dismissive of that as I thought she'd be. And then I told her that we'd been invited to your house for dinner, if we would like to go. "I think I would like to meet this woman," she said after thinking about it for a few sips of wine. "So would I," I replied. "So what is it that you tell her you'd do to her?" my wife asked me. "What is it that you described doing to her that made such an impression." I leaned forward and spoke softly so no one would overhear. "I tell her," I said, "that I am going to do to her exactly what I'm going to do to you when we get back upstairs." "Then," she said, picking up the check, "I believe I will pay this tab so that we can get to bed." "Who said anything about bed?" I asked, and my wife arched her eyebrows inquisitively. ** Later, with my wife is naked beside me, I signed on. There was semen drying on the insides of my wife's thighs and I could smell her on my upper lip, the scent of her cunt that always excites me. My cock hung limply between my legs as I booted up my laptop. You and I had agreed: No phone calls. But at the appointed time we both appeared online and the IMs started flashing back and forth. "How'd it go?" you asked. I looked at my wife. "How'd it go?" I asked her. "Fine," she said. "Tell her I'm looking forward to meeting her." I typed it in, explaining as well that she was with me, reading over my shoulder. "Nice to meet you," you typed. "I hope you're not mad at Tom for doing this." My wife pushed me out of the way. "Mad that he masturbates with you while I'm sleeping?" she typed. "Yes," you answered. "You gotta give her points for courage," my wife said. "She didn't waffle even a little." "She's like that," I said. My wife typed: "Not at all. Actually, I think it's kind of interesting. What kind of wine should we bring for dinner tomorrow?" "White," you answered. "My husband is cooking swordfish." "Her husband is cooking?" my wife said to me, surprised. "He must be very well trained, feeding his wife and her online lover." "My husband does the cooking too," she typed. "I know," you answered. "What do we say next?" my wife asked me. I take the computer from her. "How'd hubby take it?" I typed. "Fine. He's confused and interested. 7 o'clock." "Great. White wine. We'll be there." "I'm dropping the kids off at 6. We'll have the house to ourselves." I signed off. My wife leaned over and kissed me. "This isn't going to get kinky, is it?" she asked. "I don't think so. That wasn't the plan." "Good. I want to meet these people, not fuck them." She put her hand on my cock, feeling it to see if it had any life left in it. It did. "You," she said, "I want to fuck." *** We were at your doorstep at 7:15. My wife wore flimsy black silk pants and a gray blouse unbuttoned to her breast bone. She hadn't bothered with a bra or panties. The obviousness of her outfit was out of character. "I've got competition tonight," she said as she puts on redder-than-normal lipstick. "I have no intention of losing." Standing at the door, each of us with a bottle of wine, the time between ringing of the doorbell and turning of the knob seemed hours. You opened the door in a short dress that buttoned up the front. You were beautiful, worthy competition for my wife. She was taller, more angular. You were more petite and somehow more available. My wife is not haughty or snobbish, but somehow next to you she seemed reserved, almost hidden. Introductions all around. You took the bottles to the kitchen, we sat in the living room trying to guage you from the decor. There were not many clues. You returned a few minutes later with glasses of wine and your husband. We all shook hands. He was obviously nervous, a situation not helped when my wife caught him staring at her braless breasts, the nipples poking against the gray silk. "Not as well trained as I thought," she said to me in an aside. When you asked what she said, she answered, "Oh, nothing. A little inside joke, that's all." ** We ate swordfish, which was wonderful. We talked about the online world. We talked about marriage. My wife and your husband seemed to study us, trying to discern whether we were holding something back, whether we had met before. All of us talked about our kids, showed pictures. We drank a lot of wine, and we got along. The talk moved to sex. Online sex first, how it is possible to feel an attraction over wires, and the more convetional kinds of sex after. We joked about the most unusual places we'd ever had sex, the most embarrassing moments, getting caught by the kids. We talked about fantasies. And then we went outside on the patio in the dying light of day and talked about sex some more. Your husband and I went for more wine, and found ourselves alone in the kitchen. "Your wife is lovely," he said, making small talk. "So is yours," I answered. "I hope you didn't get mad...when she told you about us." "If I'd found out on my own, I would have been mad. But the fact that you wanted us...your wife and I...here when you met. It's weird, but how bad can it be?" ** Outside it was warm, a summer night. The wine was cool, and we drank. I snuck up behind my wife and rubbed her ass through her filmy pants. She pushed her ass against my hand and moaned softly. Your husband was talking about cooking and didn't notice, but you glanced at me and at my hand and back at me. I shrugged. You smiled. "I've got some video of my kids if you'd like to see it," you said. "I'd love to," my wife replied, and we went back inside and you popped a tape into the deck. We sat in the building darkness and waited for the video to start. Your husband's nervousness seemed to have returned. "Honey..." he said. "I thought they'd like to see it," you cut him off, hushing him. Your children ran through the screen, dressed in pajamas. Your husband pciked the baby up and showed him to the camera. The older kids put on a little show, and we all laughed at kids and told stories and drank a little more wine and felt warm about each other. "They're adorable," my wife said. "I don't think this is a good idea," your husband said. "I think it's a great idea," my wife argued, waving him off. "I like watching home videos." "Yeah, well," he said, sounding kind of nervous, "we don't want to bore you." "It'll be fine," you said, finishing the argument. We watched the whole ritual of putting your children to bed: The fussing, the complaining, the running around. My wife told a story about our kids, and we all laughed. At last we reached the final scene. The kids were in bed. You were kissing them. It was sweet. And then the scene changed. Without warning, we were in your bedroom. You husband was sitting on the side of the bed in his shorts, looking embarrassed and nervous. "Hellooooo...." my wife said, leaning toward me and putting one hand on my thigh. "What's this?" Your husband looked off-camera and pled, "I don't think we should do this." "We're doing it" your voice said as you stepped into the frame, naked but for a tiny string bikini bottom that covered about a third of your ass. I had never seen your ass before; it's a very nice ass. "I didn't think this was on this tape," you feigned embarrassment not all that convincingly. "I bet," said my wife. On screen, you leaned over and kissed your husband. On the couch your were smiling devishly, leaning into your husband, a hand on his thigh, as he averted his eyes, not wanting to watch himself. "I'm not sure this is going to work," his voice came out of the mall TV speaker. You dropped to your knees in front of him, pulling his knees apart. "I'll make it work," you said. "I think I need some more wine." My wife held her glass out but didn't take her eyes off the screen. I poured from the bottle nearby. "I really don't think they want to see this," your husband said, making a lunge for the remote control. "I don't think I want to show this." You dodged him, hiding the remote behind your body as he grabbed. "Hush," my wife said. "Let the audience decide." You and I looked at each other. We were both wondering if the possible had suddenly become probable. On screen, you took your husband's cock out of his shorts and started sucking it. You were right; it was working. As he hardened he forgot the camera was there. He placed his hands on the sides of your head, entangling his fingers in your hair and groaning against his will. "I want you to come in my mouth," you told him on screen. "I want to taste you." "I'm..." His voice trailed off as you took him deep into your throat. And my wife's hand slipped down, covering my crotch, feeling that I was hard. "You're enjoying this," she said softly. "Yes," I said. "Me too. Life's full of surprises." I was hard as a rock. I reached over and touched her crotch and her wetness was soaking through her silk pants, staining them forever. She adjusted her legs so that I could press harder against her clit. You and your husband were kissing. He touched your breasts lightly, almost shyly. "I 've always wished my breasts were bigger," you said out loud, to the room. "I'm thinking of having...an operation." My wife looked at you, shocked, and glanced down at your tits. "Why?" she asked. "You have a really cute figure." "My husband's favorite fantasy is fucking a woman between her big tits." Your husband ran his hand over your tits, which didn't look all that small to me. He seemed half aroused and half embarrassed. "Honey, I love you the way you are," he said. "You'd love me more if I had bigger tits." You look him straight in the eye when you say it, and he looks down at the floor. I turned to the TV and watched you sucking him off. It seemed, somehow, less intrusive that I would watch you having sex than witness a moment of stark admission, when one mate admits to the other that life is not perfect. My wife and I held each other as we watched. Your husband leaned back, enjoying your mouth, and you threw yourself into the act with vigor, enjoying your work. My wife pointed at the screen. "Doesn't look like he's got a lot to complain about," she said. "Tits or no tits." My cock was so hard it hurt. Watching you suck cock on TV and having my wife getting turned on by it was almost too much for me to take. I shifted around on the couch, hoping that movement would help it but knowing that the only hope is to take it out. "True," you said. "But I still wish I had bigger tits." Your husband pulled you around and kissed you again. On screen, he started to come. You sucked and swallowed and sucked and swallowed and sucked, and he almost folded up from the ecstacy. When he was done coming, you stayed on your knees and he got up to turn the camera off. And there we were, in the dark in front of your TV. "I want to kiss your husband," you said to my wife. "I want to know what he's like." My wife considered that for a moment. "All right," she said. "One kiss." "One long kiss," you said, and you came over and leaned down and not 18-inches from my wife's eyes we kissed, our mouths opening and tasting each other for the first time. You sucked my tongue the way you'd sucked your husband's cock, sliding up and down it and wrapping your tongue around its tip. Your husband shifted, wanting a better view. It was obvious that he was every bit as hard as I was Throughout the kiss, my wife's hand stayed on my crotch, massaging softly, in rhythm with the movements of my tongue in your mouth, a rhythm she alone had felt for so many years. The kiss broke off. You stood up, straightened your clothes, and went back to your husband. You kissed him, too, but not for as long. "How was it?" my wife asked me. "Good," I said. "A little weird." She turned to you. "He says you're a weird kisser." "That's not what I meant," I objected. "It's just...it was weird kissing her...with you here." "It was weird watching you kiss her," my wife said. "He's a good kisser," you said. "You're a lucky woman." "I taught him everything he knows," my wife smiled broadly. She got up, walked over, and planted a hot one on your husband, who was so surprised he didn't even close his eyes. He stared at you, watching your reaction, and glanced at me watching mine. My wife was making a point; this was not one of her regular kisses. This was a no-holds-barred sales call. I remembered what she'd said on the front stoop: Tonight she's got competition, and she's not about to lose. She ended the kiss with a last lick of your husbands lips, came back to sit next to me, and brushed her hands together, seemingly proud of herself. The room was silent for a moment. "Oh, yeah, I forgot," she said, sitting up tall. She unbuttoned her blouse and exposed her breasts. They aren't large, but they aren't small, either. I know from buying her lingerie that they are somewhere between a C- and D-cup, which makes buying bras for her an adventure. I also know from making love to her that her nipples don't harden until they are directly stimulated with finger or tongue, except that, at that moment, they were jutting out stiffly, as hard as I had ever seen them. Your husband stared, his mouth open. You watched him, then looked back at my wife's tits, then at me. I reached around and lifted a breast, touching the hardness of the nipple and the softness of her skin. My wife held her pose for ten seconds, then shrugged my hand away and let her blouse fall back down. "I think we need to talk about what we're doing," I said slowly, suddenly nervous that she was enjoying herself too much. "Yes," you said. "I think we should set some limits." "Seems a little ridiculous at this point," my wife said, reclaiming her wine glass. "But it's your house." "My husband and I have talked about this," you said. "Not about this, tonight, but about...fooling around...in general." "Is that what we're doing?" my wife said, turning to me. "Are we fooling around? Are we swingers now?" I kissed her, telling her with my tongue that I love her. She was drunk not just from the wine, but also from lust and love and being so far from home. Her walls were all down. Rules were the farthest thing from her mind. She sucked my tongue into her mouth and pressed herself against my chest the way she does when she wants to let me know she is horny. "No intercourse," your husband said. "Nobody fucks Anna but me. I couldn't handle that." My wife and I stopped kissing. No intercourse, we agreed, and my wife kissed me again, lighter and shorter this time. Then she turned. "I want to kiss him again," she said, pointing at your husband. "Let's change places." She got up, and you got up, and you slipped past each other between the couch and coffee table. As you passed, I believe I noticed that you leaned slightly forward, rubbing your breasts against my wife's. She plopped down next to your husband, and you sat next to me. She placed a hand comfortably on his thigh. "Rule number two," my wife said. "This is a one-time thing. We're never coming back here." She looked menacingly at me. "Understand?" "Understood," I agreed. "Good." She turned to your husband. "Rule number three," she said. "I'm the best lover in this room. Too bad you're not going to fuck me, buster. My husband tells me my cunt is not to be believed." And they fell together. Your husband's hands found her breasts, squeezing and kneading them a little more harshly than she usually likes but she was not complaining. You and I watched, excited and surprised. I reached up to unbutton your dress. Your breasts were smaller than my wife's, but not by much. They felt smooth and perfect in my hands. We kissed, but could not seem to take our eyes off our mates. My wife's blouse was back over her shoulders. Your husband's mouth sucked one nipple and then the other, switching back and forth greedily until he finally pushed her breasts together and smothered himself between them. You turned to me and we kissed again, longer this time. I was looking past you at my wife, whose head was thrown back in joy as a man she did not know three hours ago reveled in her cleavage. I closed my eyes at last, and concentrated on you. You were fumbling with my zipper, but I was too hard and too constricted for it to slide down easily. I stood up, undid my pants, and you tugged them down to my ankles. Your husband was sucking my wife's nipples, and my wife watched us as you sucked me into your mouth. "I love you," she said. "I love you," I answered. I stood there with you blowing me and my wife watching. Your husband came up out of my wife's tits and watched for a moment, too. "You like that?" my wife asked him. "You like seeing your wife with him?" "I do," he said. "It looks like she's good at it." "She is." "Not as good as me." She pulled him up and took down his pants, and his cock sprang free. My wife pulled her shirt off and kneeled in front of him, holding his cock and studying it. He touched her hair, urging her forward, and she opened her mouth and sucked him slowly in. I could tell that she was enjoying the strangeness of a new cock. She went all the way down, burying it in her mouth and throat and inhaling deeply, savoring a new man's aromas. It had been so many years since she had anyone but me, it is as if she was a virgin again, taking in every sensation. I was so hard, watching my wife suck your husband while you sucked me. Your rhythms were different from my wife's, your application of tongue and lips and breath as distinct from hers as calypso is from Brahms. My wife is classical, a romantic who builds steadily from overture to climax, developing themes of motion and sensation and then departing from them, only to return later at a slightly increased tempo. You, on the other hand, are a tropical beach party. Your blowjob begins with a cry of ecstatic joy and the sudden beating of jungle drums, and it doesn't so much build as it does demand. You give a desperate blowjob, a cock-sucking that is frantic, raw. Your mouth was a fantastic sensation to me, a revelation like Gaugin's discovery of bright colors in Tahiti after years of polite European earthtones. "I don't want to come," your husband said. "I know," my wife said, holding his cock in her hands and runing her tongue up its underside. "You want to fuck my tits." She was, that night, a woman who knew all the answers, a woman without doubts. And she was showing off, proving to an objective jury of two that she was a great lover, that what I had told her for all these years was true. They repositioned themselves so that his saliva-wet cock was between her breasts. She pushed her tits together and he began to thrust. As his cock pushed up toward her face, she leaned down and kissed its tip. Every time it got near her mouth, she licked it or kissed or bit lightly at it, and more than once she drooled deliberately down between her breasts, laciviously moistening its path. Tit-fucking is not somethign we do very often. I am not a tit man; my interest in her breasts is almost entirely oral. But when the mood strikes her she wields her breasts almost as weapons, and when she grasps my cock between them she is brilliant at it. Your husband was enjoying her skills immensly, thrusting and panting and leaning over to watch his cock disappear between her breasts. I took you by the hair, pulled you off my cock, and turned you toward them. You turned, taking my cock with you and kissing it lightly as you watched your husband descend into ecstacy. "Come honey," you said, talking across the room to him. "Come on her tits for me." "I'm coming," he said. "Oh god I'm coming." And he did. He sprayed his thick load on her breasts and face and hair. He came in great spurts, and my wife loved it. She wanted to be covered in his sperm, to feel it run down her chin and neck and tits, and she was turning and getting as much of it on her as she could. You dropped my cock then, got up and walked over to your husband. He was still lost in the echoes of his orgasm, his eyes closed. You ran a hand down my wife's chest, scooping up his sperm, and smeared it across your face. Then you wrapped a hand around his shaft. "That was wonderful," you told him, and you leaned down to kiss him, your cum covered lips open to his tongue. "Oh god," he said, still not all the way back. "That...thank you..." You looked down at my wife. "Thank you," you said, and you leaned down to kiss her. She turned a cheek toward you, and your lips landed on a drop of your husband's sperm. You licked it off her. She licked you back, taking a few drops from your cheek. You licked another drop out of her hair. My wife tilted her head to the side, allowing access to her neck, and you licked a long drop from there, and from the nape of her neck, and from her shoulder. You dropped to one knee, licking her chest and then her tits and her nipples. You turned to lick your husband's cock, cleaning it off, and then you went back to my wife's breasts. My wife gestured to me, wanting me near. I slipped over next to her, kissed her on the lips and tasted your husband's sperm on her. You were sucking her tits, slurping quietly. "I'm so horny," my wife said, rubbing your husband's sperm around on her belly. "I've never been this horny." You heard and moved downward. Your husband sat on the couch, his legs no longer able to support him, watching my wife spread her legs so that you could dive down on her, licking and biting and doing to her what you love having done to yourself. "Ohhhhhh..." my wife moaned, feeling you down there, holding me close. "I'm such a slut. Tell me..." "She's eating you," I whispered into her ear. "You're her first pussy. She's never done this before and you're her first pussy and she's loving you. You taste so good. I know. Your cunt tastes so good to her. You're such a slut tonight and you're so beautiful." "Mmmmmmm..." my wife said, her eyes closed. She pulled me toward her and kissed me deeply. "I love you," she said. "I love you," I answered. I could see that she was about to come. "Stand up," my wife ordered, shuddering slightly as you gnawed on her clit. I did, and you looked up at me and your face was wet with my wife's juices and your husband's sperm. You smiled a little, your eyes filled with evil, and then you went back down on her to lick some more, and as you did my wife pulled my cock into her mouth. "I love you in my mouth," she said, closing her eyes, her voice muffled by my cock. "Come in my mouth." At that moment the classical music that is my wife's mouth was perfect. She ran her mouth slowly up and down my shaft, loving my cock, drawing lightly over it's skin and then back down, her legs spread wide so that you can eat her. She put her mouth around the head of my dick and moved an inch up and down rhythmically, concentrating on the ridge where I am most sensitive, her tongue whirling around my head. Your husband started maturbating on the couch, slowly pumping his shaft back to life. He watched you eating my wife and my wife eating me, and when his cock was hard again he kneeled behind you and pushed it between your legs. Your only answer was to moan slightly and turn your ass toward him, raising it slightly so he could find his way into your cunt. He slid into you slowly. As he bottomed out you pulled your mouth away from my wife, your eyes closed, to concentrate on the sensation of his cock in you. My wife softly touched your head, reminding you that you had work to do, and you went willingly, smashing your face into her wide open pussy, rubbing your nose and cheeks and mouth into her. My wife's mouth increased in tempo, sucking just the end of my cock and sucking it hard. She twitched pre-orgasmically, moaned the way she does when she's close to coming. "Come with me," she said, her hand pumping me low while her mouth sucked me high. "Please. Come. Please...." I was close, very close, and then she was coming, her mouth loosening around my shaft as she let out a moan from deep in her soul, and I came too, my first burst falling across her lips. She covered me then, closing her mouth around my cock and swallowing like she had discovered water in the desert. Down between her legs, we heard you coming, too, as your husband slapped your ass with his hands and grunted into you. Yours was one more in a cascade of orgasms, of fantasies fullfilled as your husband pumped in and out of you, in and out. When I was done, when my eyes opened and my spine straightened, I looked down on my wife, who looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her look. She held my half-limp cock in her hands, and rubbed it back and forth across her lips, feeling my sperm and enjoying the softness of my skin. She pulled it away and a long strand of white stretched between us, and before either one of us realized what was happening you were there, licking the long strand and carrying it over and kissing my wife, who kissed you back. It was a soft and gentle kiss, and I was so consumed watching it that I forgot that your husband was still fucking you, still driving in and out of you and enjoying an orgasm of his own. He pulled his cock out and came on the crack of your beautiful ass, pressing your cheeks together as if they were my wife's tits and holding with his eyes wide open, watching his wife lick another man's sperm from the lips of the other man's wife. ** The next morning, my wife woke up before I did. She stood by the window of our hotel room, naked, quietly enjoying the view, not worrying that someone in a nearby hi-rise would see her. I hugged her from behind. She pressed her ass against my cock leaned forward, her hands pressed on the window frames. "I meant what I said, you know," she said, moving methodically against my cunt, enjoying feeling me harden. "What?" "That can never happen again. We can never see those people again." "OK," I said. "You didn't enjoy it?" "I enjoyed it. But we're married, and I want to stay married, and we can never do this again. We're not swingers." She turned and we kissed. I was, honestly, relieved. Pandora's box had opened and closed again, and no evil spirits escaped. We kissed long and luxurious, building toward something we had shared thousands of times before. She pushed her pelvis against me, her legs opening a little so my cock would slide between them. "I' m glad we did it, though," she said, rubbing her labia along the top of my cock. "It's something I would never have done without you, something I couldn't have imagined myself doing. But I'm glad I did it." We kissed again. "You were wonderful," I said. "I've never seen you so turned on." "You too," she said, turning toward the bed. "And I want to be turned on like that again, but only with you." She pushed me back toward the bed. "Which one of us do you think was better?" she asked I did not quite understand, thinking she was talking about us, her and me. "Who gives better head?" she asked impatiently. "Me or her." I thought about your lips, about your tongue, about the exotic rhythm of your mouth on my cock. I had experienced nothing like it before. She pushed me down on the bed and lowered her lips to my cock. "You're stalling," she said. I layed on the bed in the Ambassador East, watching my wife build a blowjob from scratch, smoothly and lovingly and with a confidence that had not been there two days before. I watched her head bob slowly up and down my shaft, tasting the whole length of me, building slowly toward what she once called her "reward." You were so different from her, and as I watched I thought about asking her to change her rhythm, to eat me the way you had. I knew I would never feel you on me again. I knew that I would never risk what I have for what might be. As my wife moved up and down my length, loving my cock and talking to it and giving the best she knows how to give, I'm not sure that I could honestly answer her question: Who is better? "You," I said, the obligatory answer. "She was good. But you are fantasitc." "I am, aren't I," she said, and then she went back to work on me. I loved it, as I always do when she sucks me. Still, as I filled her mouth once again, constricting in ecstacy, I barely remembered that the name to cry out was hers, and not yours. I hope you can forgive me. END -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /