Message-ID: <21709asstr$944723401@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: NewsWatcher!user From: themrlee@hotmail.com (The Mr. Lee) Subject: {ASSM} [*]The Uncertainty of the Meek 3/4 FF, FM (The Mr. Lee) Lines: 262 X-Original-Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Date: 9 Dec 1999 03:55:22 GMT Date: Thu, 9 Dec 1999 02:10:01 -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: Lambchop, apuleius You most likely have already read the introduction to Part One. We will not bother you with redundancy. Read on, enjoy, write us at . Visit us at The Uncertainty of the Meek by the The Mysterious Mr. Lee Organization Part Three: The Secret Language ³Your not in love with Anne.² He didnıt ask, he stated. It was Tomıs usual, calm voice, just like he had said, ³Itıs going to rain.² Perhaps with even less concern. I didnıt answer. Not that an unusual response from me. He seemed to accept that and didnıt say anything as we walked under the forest canopy. My mind, though, raged with words. He was right. As so often in my life, it took the obvious to jar my self-timidity loose and admit a truth I had long known but failed to shape into a conscious thought. Anne was convenient and safe. She was warm and nonthreatening. We could go for a week without speaking, my quick-guide for judging the quality of a lover. But with Anne, as with everyone except Sarah, not speaking usually meant being alone together. There wasnıt the communication of soft glances and subtle shifts in posture. Holding hands communicated only bland affection, and none of the hundreds of things Sarah and I developed a vocabulary for. My need to get comfortable with Tom before we commenced what Anne and I hoped were a few sessions of sexual intercourse lead me to take more and more walks with Tom. It was autumn, and there always seemed to be another park to explore. Anne was getting jealous, although she rarely spoke of it. I began to suspect she wasnıt meek; she was a coward. ~~~~~~~~~~ It wasnıt part of the plan. We were supposed to go from talks to bed and then out of each others lives for nine months, but when he bent his head down towards mine, my lips moved toward his. His kiss was soft. I had expected it to be rough and bristle-y. His tongue didnıt chase after my mouth. It was a brush, as unurgent as every other aspect of Tomıs life. ³Youıre very beautiful, Michi.² He never deflected his compliments. They were statements to be accepted or rejected on their merits alone. My hands found his waist and I pulled myself against his chest. I counted my breaths, knowing that after too few, I would have to return to Anne. Anne will ask me about our walk, and we would spend a few words. Anne will ask me if Iım still comfortable with this. Iıll lie and say Iım having doubts, but I want to go through with it. Anne will take my hand and lead my to our bed. Sheıll pull back the sheets, and pull me under. Weıll swim in those intimate waters for much longer than normal, until the pressure to be alone forces us up for air. Separating, weıll breath in our solitude in great gasps before falling asleep with our backs together. A year before, those gasps would have been greeted with joy, the heady feeling of intimacy and solitude colliding. But tonight, my gasps will be those of the asthmatic. I let his hand gently lift my mouth to his again, and savored the kiss. I allowed my lips to press into his, felt the bristles that hid just beyond his lips. Our kiss continued, my tongue, surprisingly assertive, found his tongue and prolonging the kiss. My skin chaffed as our kiss became more urgent. I heard Sarahıs voice, so rare now, caress my mind. ³Michi, oh Michi, yes² I felt her legs forcefully press into my back as I devoured her for the first time. Tomıs fingers in my hair only deepened my memory, as it was her fingers urging me on. Finally, she came, and slipped away from my mind. I was very aroused and feared that Tom perceived it. As I pulled my lips from Tomıs, he eased away from me, leaving only our hands touching. His smile wasnıt a grin. There was no victory, as I had feared at the beginning of this whole process, at my submission to him, to a male. I hadnıt dreamed that there would be much more than a brief vibrator session to get me sufficiently aroused, him quickly getting off while I imagined Anneıs hand, and then a chaste kiss good-bye. But even that could be taken as a victory by the wrong man. And could I deny him something of a victory? Could I treat him resentfully, as a tool necessary for the job, but hardly tolerable for its crudeness? No, it seemed, in my plotting mind, that my only ethical course was to pretend that it was reasonably good, that he was a fine lover who understood women, as just payment for his help in my quest to become a mother. But in Tom, there seemed no need for conquest, his skills were not in need of proving. We kissed, mutually, and that was all that he wanted or needed. We walked silently in through the forest towards a cliff which overlooked the Columbia. He promised me a sunset there and I suspected we would reach it just in time. I thought about Sarah again. It had been ten years since our break-up. I had managed to mostly forget about her. When I finally took a lover, three years after the break-up, would imagine Sarah when we made love. I imagined Sarah after she left, I imagined Sarah before she arrived. She, and the next two lovers, passed facelessly through my life, supplanted by the ghost of Sarah. By the time Anne came around, I was ready to leave Sarah behind, and Anneıs pretty face and quiet manner was enough to put Sarah in a box which was opened only rarely. But now, walking with Tom, who knew that Anne was just something I used to repress Sarah, Sarah was reborn inside of me. Her athletic legs kicked open the box and she bounded out, fully fleshed out of the most powerful dream-stuff I held within. She took me in her arms and talked to me about nothing, but said everything. I dropped Tomıs hand and fell to my knees, weeping. My mood was dark and bitter as tar, yet I laughed with joy at her presence. It was a presence crushingly large and enveloped me. We argued--you should be happy, No, I should be crying. Where were you all of these years Iıve been with a stand-in, a cheap, plastic model of you? Here, always locked up in here. It was a foolish argument, by a desperately confused codependent. Tomıs arms surrounded me, but did not hold me tightly. His thumb stroked the back of my hand. It sung to me, in the secret language. I could talk if I needed to, but heıd never ask. The decision was mine completely. ~~~~~~~~~~ I had never cheated on anyone before, but had I slept with a dozen women (or men, for that matter), I would have cheated on Anne less thoroughly than I did those moments with Tom. I wish I could have written it off as a momentary weakness, the afterimage of a bad dream, or some meek personıs compliance with the unspoken demands of an assertive personality. But it was none of these. In some way, Tom contained all of the reserve of Sarah I secreted away while I became a proper adult. My memories of Sarah are all memories of a teenager, a girl who was just starting to venture towards womanhood. Certainly, Sarah was remarkably mature and confident for her years, but there were so many things about her that I would now find girlish and undesirable. But how rarely did I let myself glance at her failings. I kept them at the back of my tome of memories, in the pages that stick together, and start to tatter when forced apart. The ink was smeared, so I kept to my favorite parts of the story, where Sarah was always my shining chevalier, my Lady of the Lake, handing me the sword with which I could conquer my world, the sheath to protect me from the wounds the world might deliver. Tom was Sarah born again as an adult. Or perhaps the Sarah of my memory, the Sarahıs whose flaws were hidden. I feared her Phoenix-like rising would cripple me, but if these feelings were for Tom, and not Sarah, my entire sexual identify would be thrown apart. As shy as I was about discussing my sex life, it was a central part of me and I was not prepared to deal with questioning it. I laid next to Anne, silently praying to gods I scarcely believed in, hoping that my feelings would clarify, that I could divine who I was, and what I was doing next to Anne. She slept a troubled sleep, tossing and turning next to me, murmuring untranslatable nightmares into the darknessıs papyrus. Anne had never been able to decipher my secret language, and I, for all of my skills as a translator, could never read hers. But our emotions crept out in English. She knew I was a wreck with doubt, doubt about her, doubt about myself. I knew she feared she was losing me. I knew it, I, mattered to her, meant something eloquent and sacred to her. ~~~~~~~~~~ We drank coffee in silence. We always drank coffee in silence. It was, if anything, the punctuation which held our lives in order. But that morning, the silence was not beautiful, orderly, but raging with uncertainty and mistrust. Her every sip was an accusation shouted from mountain tops to my guilty mind. The following morning, it grew only worse. This new silence drove out our sublime silence, itıs expanding mass crushing the delicate life we knew. We began to make love more passionately--and more loudly--in an attempt to drive the new silence away. We talked more frequently, making small talk about the hummingbirds that had left with summer. We talked about the neighbor girl next door. None of it mattered. It was brittle conversation which snapped in the breeze, settled with an aching crash, and then the new silence returned. My work suffered. That shouldnıt be a surprise. I found words were increasingly awkward. How could they describe my moods? How could a business document about import duties at DeGaulle push aside the crumbling of my life? I flipped idly through a thesaurus, looking for the right word, but thinking only about Sarahıs kisses, and then Tomıs. At some point in the middle of the ³R²s, my hand came to rest on my thigh. My fingers traced words--ancient, lost words--against my skirt. I licked my finger to turn the page, but instead of turning, my finger dwelt on my lip, slowly caressing its surface, turning the sensitive inner lip out to the world. My other hand found sentences that took it towards the edge of my skirt and slipped under it. My tongue found the finger at my lips and pulled it in, and I pushed my thighs together. I closed my eyes and rolled my head around my shoulders sensually, my hands creeping slowly, gently towards my venus and my breasts. My tongue danced over my lips. My thighs rubbed together with increasing energy. My self-kisses became blended in my mind with Tomıs kiss, with Sarahıs kisses. They fused as my hand found my nipple. The separated when my fingers began pushing against my panties. Those fingers had to be Sarahıs. There were no fingers like hers. But it was Tomıs hand on my breast, and--I realized almost with an unerotic start--his mouth pressed against mine. I slowed my pace down, rubbing the sides and top of my breast, my belly, my thighs, keeping away from the danger zones, while I let my mind undress Sarah. It was a provocative strip-tease. Her t-shirt coming up just enough to expose her navel before dropping down while she undid the top button on her jeans. Then the shirt went up again, her wonderfully strong abdomen showing. She held it there and kicked off her flats. She pulled her shirt up over her bra, exposing the outline of her erect nipples. She left it half-off while she walked over to me and kissed me on the mouth, a glancing kiss. Then her jeans crept down her legs, as she shifted from right to left, left to right. Her tan, powerful legs shimmering in the light. The t-shirt was off and she kissed my cheek, and then my neck. ³Michi, Michi.² Her breathy voice always the most powerful aphrodisiac Iıve known. My hand became more bold. Sarah removed her bra, exposing her perfect little breasts. She teased me by hiding them with her hands, exposing then one at a time, or even a nipple at a time. ³Michi, Michi.² I was ready to come. She pulled her panties off rapidly, and jumped on me. It was her hand driving between my thighs, her fingers on my breast. I came harder than I had in months. I sat in my chair, slowly recovering. My eyes still shut, my breathe shallow, broken. I pictured Sarah next to me, holding my hand. But there was Tom, naked now. His cock was full, and he stroked it slowly while he watched Sarah and me. The idea that Tom was watching us excited me, and my hands returned to my rumbled, soaked clothes. I made love to Sarah again, but watched Tom stroke his cock. I kept his eyes while they bored into my own. I saw his face, red, clinched in orgasm, as I came again, even harder than the first. I took me a half an hour to recover. I straightened my clothes as best I could, told one of my coworkers I was ill, and left. I walked in the park Tom had shown me the sunset, trying to figure out who the hell I was. At seven that evening, I called my office and left a message that an emergency had come up and that I wouldnıt be back until Monday. I got my car and drove up to Seattle. ~~~~~~~~~~ I was in Seattle for a week and a half. My good work had bought me the time for my ³eccentric little jaunt.² It didnıt buy my anything from Anne. I think we talked more during that time--all over that horrid invention, the telephone--than we had during our five years together. It isnıt fair to break up with someone over the phone. After Sarah left me, I certainly promised I would never do it to anyone, but I told Anne I had to move out. It wasnıt technically breaking up, but, well. . . Tom helped me find a place when I returned. I stayed at a hotel, afraid of spending the night with him, even if it was in another room. He held my hand when I cried, and let me talk with my secret language of touches. I told him everything, but the secret language is not a precise one, so were you to ask him, heıd be able to offer only a rough outline of emotions. Anne and I met for coffee or dinner with increasing infrequency. We no longer had intimate silences. I had killed the relationship. Three months later and Anne confessed she had a date. I saw them at the opera a month after that and they seemed quite content. -- This story is copyright 1999 the The Mysterious Mr. Lee Organization. Reposting is expressly forbidden, except with permission. We at the The Mysterious Mr. Lee Organization adore feedback. Tell us what you liked, tell us what you hated, or just tell us you read the story. e-mail us at: TheMrLee@hotmail.com Visit our wonderful Website at -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | ASSM Archive site +-----------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | | --- | +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | This newsgroup is moderated by ASSTR, an entity supported by donations. | | If you enjoy this newsgroup, please consider making a donation to help | | Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository keep providing this free service for you.| | Donations: | \_________________________________________________________________________/