Message-ID: <20953asstr$942268202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <19991109024028.29834.rocketmail@web214.mail.yahoo.com> From: David Wright Subject: {ASSM} {GALAGO} Block of Ideas (BlueWords) (nosex) MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Date: Wed, 10 Nov 1999 16:10:02 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin {GALAGO} Block of Ideas (BlueWords) (nosex) Block of Ideas by BlueWords "He gazed down at the naked woman before him, amazed that they had managed to get together at last. His seduction of her had gone better than he had hoped and " "Dad, Dad! Lookit!" a small but loud voice interrupted him. Quickly, Henry clicked the minimize button, closing the word-processing program down, hiding his latest story attempt from view. "Um, what is it, kiddo?" His daughter came in the room, waving a drawing she'd done. "I made a picture, Dad. It's of our vacation, an' here's the Gran' Canyon and the sun, and me and Mom." "What's this over here?" he asked, pointing to what looked like a decidedly male figure trying to hang on to a branch hanging over the canyon. Jenny giggled. "That's you, Daddy." She snatched the picture from his hands and ran off, out of the room his computer was in. She was certainly in a good mood. "Henry, could you come here a minute?" his wife called. Hurriedly he clicked the word-processor back up and chose 'save', then closed it down. Then he went to search out his wife to see what she wanted. He walked into the kitchen where his wife, Sarah, was struggling with a jar of pickles. “I have tried everything to get this jar open,” she told him, “so I’m giving it to you so you can just pop it off like you usually do.” “Well, you prime it for me and then it’s easy,” he said, taking the jar. The lid was on tight and he had a little trouble, but finally got it loose. “Thanks,” she said, taking the jar back and retrieving a pickle. “Dinner should be ready in a half hour or so.” “Need any help?” he asked. “No, everything’s fine. What have you been up to?” Jenny came in the room. “Can I have a pickle?” she asked, seeing the jar. “No, it’s almost dinnertime,” his wife answered. “I’ve been trying to write a story,” he told her, continuing their conversation. “But I’m hungry, I need a pickle,” his daughter whined. Sarah shook her head at her daughter. The girl turned to him. “Can I read your story, Daddy?” she asked. “No, Jenny, it’s more for grown-ups to read. Besides, it's not done yet.” The girl, satisfied, ran off. “Grown-ups?” Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, it’s just, uh, something I thought of. Don’t know if it will turn out yet. If I finish it, I’ll let you read it.” She eyed him suspiciously, but he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Sure you don’t need any help?” he asked. “I suppose you could cut up the carrots.” He found a knife and grabbed the carrots. What was I thinking when I wrote this? he thought. What was the story going to be about? It had seemed clear before, but know a few days had gone by before he could get back to it. Now the few sentences he’d written sat on the page and refused to go anywhere else. I’ll start over, maybe before the couple meets. He wrote. “He noticed her as she was looking for a book in the bookstore. She had reached up to a high shelf, he came around the corner and saw her and thought she was a glorious vision.” He glanced at the words, but they seemed odd. It wasn’t what he wanted to write. It was a story, but not the story he wanted to tell. THAT one seemed to be hiding back in his brain somewhere, if it was anywhere. Maybe he was just tired. He didn’t have as much time to write as he used to, and when he did, nothing came. Nothing that he cared to complete. He checked his email. Patrick had sent him the latest chapter in his story, so he downloaded it to read later. Why can’t I be as prolific as Pat, he wondered. Henry used to write all the time, but now it seemed he didn’t even have time to read much. If Patrick hadn’t become a good friend, sending him each new chapter of the latest perils of his heroine, Henry figured he wouldn't be reading much of anything. Henry’s wife didn’t disapprove of his reading habits, but she didn’t really approve either. “There just stories, some of them very good. They just happen to have sex in them,” he had told her. “Well, it doesn’t make me happy that you read that stuff,” she had told him. It hadn’t really been a fight, but Henry knew better than to push it. He only read when he could 'get away with it', which was not very often. He had megabytes of stories on his drive just waiting to be read. He decided to check the newsgroups. The discussion group seemed to be getting more civil than they had been just a year or so ago. They also seemed to be a bit bland. The same arguments, same discussions as people always had. Occasionally there would be something humorous, or a question he might respond to, but lately, he’d been feeling more and more like maybe he should just quit the whole thing, take down his web site, such as it was, and be gone from the whole thing for a while. Something kept him around. That new story that was really very good. The one that made him think, or angry, or even cry. Sometimes, it was worth it. But tonight, more of the same. A few spotlights of stories he then went to download, knowing he'd probably not get time to read them anytime soon. He went back to his email and wrote a short note to one of the authors of a story he had managed to read, then logged off the machine and shut it down. Maybe he'd think of a story tomorrow. "Damon wondered how long he had been there, tied up like that. Then he knew. Forty-seven minutes. It had started at 1:58, and now it was 2:45, no wait, 2:46. Forty-eight minutes." Now he remembered why he'd labeled the file "goofy.doc". It seemed like a good start but it was a goofy idea. So the guy's tied up, and he can see a clock. And...? Try as he might, nothing else came. He closed the file and clicked 'new document'. "It felt so good, thrusting into her, feeling her moan and writhe below him. Normally, he'd have come by now, but he'd managed to hold off, and so they'd been fucking for hours" "Shit", he said aloud. Gone were the days that he could just write and write and a story would magically appear on the page. He used to get ideas all the time, and they would be fun to fill out, to almost dump on the screen. The interesting endings, the entertaining characters, they just came to him. Now, nothing. "What are you doing?" his wife asked with a slight yawn. He glanced at his watch. "Sorry, I didn't realize it was so late. I was just trying to come up with a story, but..." "'For hours', huh?" "It's supposed to be a fantasy," he told her, smiling. "Kind of lame, huh? It just doesn't work." Sarah didn't really know about all the stories he'd done in the past and posted to the newsgroups. He'd tried to show her in a roundabout way a while ago, but she hadn't really been interested, and he hadn't just come out and told her about them. "Well, I don't know about the 'hours' part, but..." She gestured back to the bedroom, and then started walking that way. He smiled at her again. "All right, just let me shut this down and I'll be right there." He hit close, shut down, then turned off the power strip. Henry read through the newsgroup and noticed another contest of sorts. Actually, not a contest, but a call for stories. He thought he might email the organizer and tell her he just wasn't writing right now, but he held off doing that and then just forgot about it. In fact, that day he'd had an idea at work, and scribbled the basic plot down. It was another story based on Patrick's heroine. Patrick told him if he ever had an idea that he was more than welcome to write the story. So far Henry hadn't come up with much but it was in the back of his mind. However, now, at home, the idea just seemed like a rehash of something Pat had already done. Well, that was it. He was just going to go into lurking mode. He'd been doing it for the past few months anyway. He had stopped doing reviews of stories a long while back, and hadn't written anything since that contest he'd entered. He still wrote authors email telling them what he thought about their stories, but that was a lot easier than doing a review. He decided he would write the organizer of the call for stories and tell her that he just couldn't, not right now. Oddly enough, that's when the idea hit him. He sat there and typed it out, went back and changed a few of the names, then re-read it and made sure it made sense. Not great, he thought, when he was done, but maybe it shows a little of the frustration of writer's block. Might be worth something. One last thing, a note to the organizer. "I wasn't going to write anything for your ASSM re-launch, but then I came up with this. Use it or not, it's not a big deal, and it doesn't have any sex in it anyway. Good luck on the launch, in any case. Henry" Maybe she would like it. But is did lack the sex that normally came with a sex story. Hmmm... "Alice woke up in the morning feeling wonderful. Sex with her husband the night before had been fantastic. He did everything she wanted, and he paid close attention to her needs. She wondered what had brought about the change in him. Maybe it had been the outfit she'd had on, at least until he had taken it off of her. She was glad she had followed her neighbor's advice. She wondered if Linda had been serious when she had suggested those other things." Henry continued to write for some time. Copyright 1999 BlueWords __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Bid and sell for free at http://auctions.yahoo.com -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. 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