Message-ID: <11424eli$9805191148@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: dez187lm@hotmail.com (H.D. Meister) Subject: {ASSM} Story: Fuck - fuck.txt [1/1] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6jqib8$em8$1@solaris.cc.vt.edu> Greetings from the edge dear reader. Again... if you are not at least 18 or live in a community where adult material is not wanted, DO NOT READ THIS! Post freely and archive if you desire. Critique as you see fit. All I ask is that you do not make a profit from my work and give the author all due credit. -- Know you this: I am all I am. Nothing more... never less. Live or die, i do not care. So long as another sees and knows and learns, then I am at peace. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fuck By: H.D. Meister (dez187lm@hotmail.com) Fuck. That's all that we do now, and even that is being overly kind. We meet, undress, fuck, get dressed, and part ways. Breathing should be as easy. It is all that we have left. But that was not always how it was. You know it; I know it. There was once a time when we would walk through the park in silence, content to be with each other. There was a time when I could look into your eyes and see the lazy smile of a man who knew that Life was truly well and good. Once... not so long ago, I would lay in your arms and think about the future. With you at my side, I knew that no problem was too difficult. No situation hopeless. I could kiss you and feel your heartbeat as I feel my own. I knew Love. Then... it all changed. I cannot even remember when it happened. I don't know how it happened. But it did; why else do we fuck? we don't even talk anymore. Are there no more words to say? Have we said it all? Have we grown cold to Love's touch in our hearts? Have we grown old and gray, living only to see the end come and remove us from this... thing? When was the last time you kissed me tenderly on my neck? When was the last time I touched you gently on your chest, dragging my fingertips along your flesh? Did none of that matter? Were we going through the motions for each other's benefit? Why do we fuck now? The last time we fucked, you splashed your sperm over my face. I didn't wash it off; all I cared about was that I came. That was all that mattered. Respect was gone. Respect for you. Respect for myself. Respect for the act. We didn't even speak to each other. I walked into your apartment, stripped, and waited for you to join me. You rose from your studies, stripped, and walked your dick into my cunt. I don't even remember seeing you face. All that mattered was that my cunt was filled with dick. I didn't even care whose dick. Why do we fuck? Are our bodies so used to each other that they cannot exist apart? Maybe they are denying the fact, if it is a fact, that we no longer love each other? Why do we fuck? Why? I remember the first time we made love. It was a full year to the day after we had decided to date. I waited because I knew you wanted something more than just a sex partner. You waited because you wanted to be sure that sex was not the only thing holding us together. When the time came, it was magic. I was a virgin; you were not. Yet that did not matter; we both wanted it to be more than special. And it was. I can still remember the concern on your face as you slid your manhood ever so slowly into my untested depths. Joy beyond description filled my when I felt the pain give way to a wave of bliss; I had given my maidenhood to the man I loved with every inch of my being. I can even recall watching you place the condom around the massive extension of your love for me. Every lick is within my mind. I can still smell your sex as I knelt before you. I was about to feast upon your essence, something I had been told "good girls" never do. I didn't care; I loved you and wanted to show you physically. When you hissed, it was because I had pleased you. I felt your legs tremble as you fought to restrain the animal within you that demanded that you thrust into whatever warm cavern your manhood was within. I never once considered bracing myself, for I knew that you would win. The Man would win. The Man I loved would win, and I would share in that glorious victory. Yet now... I do it for no reason. I suck your dick simply for no reason. I don't even remember what it tastes like. It's nothing more than a dick down my throat. Why do we fuck? If there is no pleasure, why? Why even bother with the effort of removing my clothes? Even now, with three fingers deep inside my cunt and two others in my ass, I know you're coming. I know I will fuck. I will fuck you. And I don't care. It's just fucking. It should never have happened. It did. We fuck. Calculus is becoming easier to understand. I guess I am learning. But I wish I could say the same about us. We fuck now. There is no other way to say it, and I should be mad as hell about it. I don't know when it happened. I can't point t one thing and say, "That's when it all went wrong." All I know is that when we fuck, it's not the same as it was before. Worse... I don't know why we continue to fuck. If we no longer love each other, but need the sex, then that would at least be an excuse. But then... I would feel something. As of right now, I don't feel a damn thing. Hell... you just left, and I don't feel anything. Yeah, I can remember the fact that I fucked you, but that's all I can remember. What did you do? What did I do? I don't even know if we even knew we were fucking. Did I fuck your asshole? Memories of the first time we had anal sex still linger, but they do not make me smile as I once did. Then, I would think about the trust you had in me. You were stepping into a realm which had always been morally wrong and filled with things that you just should not do. Oral sex... anal sex... even bondage. And you chose me as your guide, even though I was but a novice. I could have fucked up royally, but you trusted me. It was this trust that astounded me. I felt blessed that you loved me. And now... we fuck. What did I do? What did you do? I can't remember! It's easier for me to remember the ancient mathematical laws and theorems of some long dead man than it is to recall the last seven... ten... twenty? When did you leave me? I don't know. That you were here with me is a fact. I know that much. That we fucked is also set in stone. We fucked; it's all we seem to do. Or do we? even in fucking, I would care about my own satisfaction. I don't. Hell... it's like I simply place Tab-A into Slot-B and repeat as needed. I don't even know if I blew a load. And the frightening part: I don't care. I should. I love (loved?) you. I should care. Yet I cannot get myself worked up to the point of even a mild loathing for what we did. So we fucked. And I don't believe that fuck is the right word. When did I stop looking into your eyes and smiling? At what point did it become the nothing we have now? Did I suck on a tit? If I did, I don't remember what I tasted. Maybe there was nothing to taste. Maybe I didn't even bother. When did I stop? When did it stop? When did we start fucking? Why do we fuck on, like robots programmed to do a task over and over and over and over and over? Hell... we don't even pay lip service to what we once had. Fuck. Movie. Fuck. Part ways. Only one of those things ever changes, and even then it's confined to a set of limitations which are birthed from what? Comfort? Routine? When was the last time I enjoyed having your thighs wrapped around my skull as I slid my tongue over your gateway to Venus? When did it become a cunt? Why did it even gather up that common name and wear it like a identification badge? Was it sweet? Sour? Tangy? Did you moan? Scream? Shout? BREATHE!? When I stop enjoying that most intoxicating of nectars? There was a time when I would have to tear myself from between your thighs. What do we have now? Why do we fuck. I remember that Winter night when I let you strap my body down. I offered you the chance to use me as you saw fit. And I basked in the pleasure that you gave me. Even as I watched your lips travel slowly up and down my hardness, I knew that you would not harm me. There was love between us. Trust. Understanding. When you stood above me, I did not see a soul bent of gaining pleasure without giving pleasure. What my eyes bore witness to was a woman who loved me as I loved her. We made love, even though I was trapped by twine and my best leather belt. We... Made... Love. Now... we fuck. Once I could have told the world when the desire within us had finally spilled out of whatever container was vain enough to attempt to hold it. Once I would have kissed your neck softly, seeking to drain the stress of a hard day from within your body. I would have fought a legion of damned souls for you. Nothing short of the Second Coming would have kept me from you. And even that... is a matter of debate. I would take whatever Time would allow me... for the chance to expose your skin inch by lovely inch to the air. I can still remember the exact shape and size and location of that small birthmark on your left thigh. Now... I don't remember the last time I actually saw you naked. Did we fully undress before we fucked? Or did we simply free the necessary part so that they could do what they do best: fuck. Were you wet? Was I hard? Does it even fucking matter! It should! It should! Damn it, it should! But it doesn't. And that is more horrific that witnessing the first wave of Hell's army crawling their way towards you. Christ. When did it all change? Why do we fuck? a dick and a hole. That's all we have left? Why? What happened? When did I stop feeling every inch of your body? At what point did we stop giving pleasure? Why do we fuck? Even as I think, I do not stop doing calculus. I don't care, but I should. Did you work on a paper and finish it before coming over to fuck me? What was your reason? Did you have a reason? I didn't. A dick... a hole. Is that all that is left? Now that I'm finished with my homework, I find my legs moving. I know where they are taking me, and I don't care. I know that your cunt is there. I know we will fuck. I know this... and I should not. I should care, and I do not. (dez187lm@hotmail.com) -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----