Message-ID: <35353asstr$1014351005@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel) X-Original-Message-ID: <20020221133515.01999.00000036@mb-mn.aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 21 Feb 2002 18:35:15 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel -- Past Lives Date: Thu, 21 Feb 2002 23:10:05 -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: hecate, kelly Past Lives Mat Twassel =========== The man and woman and boy came to a clearing a few feet above the stream. It was just twilight, and the air was a muted, peaceful blue, and the stream was wide and quiet, no current at all. The three of them stood on a slate-colored slab of rock for a few moments, looking out over the stream, and then the woman bent over and picked up a flat chuck of stone and flung it sidearm into the stream. The stone skipped across the surface of the water, long leaps at first, two, three, four of them, then shorter hops, five, six, seven, eight, before disappearing. "Your mother is an expert stone skipper," the man said. "See if you can find some good rocks for her." Most of the rocks were the wrong shape, too round, or the wrong size, too big and heavy, too small and light. But amid the pebbles the boy discovered some stones that looked okay. He handed them to his mom. "These might work," she said with a smile. She sidearmed one gracefully across the water. It skipped and skipped. So quiet was the evening, the boy thought he could still hear the little plips long after the stone had disappeared from sight. "A new record," the woman said. "You're a good stone picker-upper." "Can I try one?" the boy asked. Trying to emulate his mother, the boy gave the rock a mighty sidearm heave. With a plop it surrendered to the river. "Try another," the woman said. The same thing happened. The river gulped it down. "It takes practice," the woman said. "Or maybe you're meant to be a gatherer," the man said. "You try some more," the boy said to the woman. "No, we have to be getting back now," the man said. "Why?" the boy asked. The man was already walking out of the clearing. "It's getting dark," the woman said. "The others will miss us. Come along now." ~ ~ ~ My mother was sitting up in bed reading a book. It was a little bed, like the kind a girl might have. My mother's tummy was so big and round--probably no more than a month until I would be born. She was happy. Content. Maybe I had just kicked her. I think she had a good feeling about me. I remember her hair was dark and thick. It's quite different now, thin and silvery gray. She put her hand on her belly, and that made me feel good. I could feel the comfort of her hand from the inside and out. The other hand kept her place in the book. I was curious what it was she was reading, but I couldn't tell. "What about the birth?" No, nothing much. A somewhat flat metal tray, like the kind a doctor would put the surgical instruments in after they'd been used. The doctor turned away and put a metal instrument into the tray. That's all I could remember about that. I don't think it was a knife. Something dull. I didn't like it. "But you were there, that's the main thing." Is it? I don't know. I mean when he asked me to remember a pleasant meal I'd eaten recently, I couldn't. Of course the food here is a joke. "But you're eating okay?" The less said the better. "Okay. Did you go back further? Into any past lives?" We tried to. I don't know if it really worked. It was interesting, though. I found out I don't feel relaxed going down stairs. "What happened? What did you see?" I was wading through a stream. There were small animals about. Or maybe just the threat of them. Snakes and rats. Jaguars waiting in trees. "Was this the same stream as before?" No, I don't think so. It was more of a swamp. Not a murky swamp, but the river was brown. Lots of mud. And it was hot and sunny. Quiet but for the buzz of insects. I could feel the water below my waist. Cool and pleasant. And the sun on my back and shoulders. I didn't have any clothes. My hair was dark and thick. Ropy and wild. When I waded the water would make my ... my penis roll and slosh. It felt good. I didn't tell the doctor that. About my penis. Just that I had been wading along, and now I was stopped. Then I was in a tree, lying along a dead limb which stretched out over the stream. I lay on my belly, quietly. My skin was caked with mud. Maybe this kept the insects off. Maybe it was camouflage. "Camouflage?" I was waiting for the deer to come. At twilight they'd come down to the stream to drink. If a small doe or a fawn would happen to pass underneath my bough, I'd jump down, wrapping by arms around its neck. Twisting. I'd also have my stone. A sharp stone. Just heavy enough. The bucks were too big and hard. The does, too, really. I preferred the fawns, if possible. "You killed them?" I guess so, although I didn't see that happen. Just the waiting for it. It wasn't sport, you know. It was a basic necessity of life. "Anything else?" A canoe of some kind. I was paddling it down the stream. So swiftly I went. I guess that skill didn't carry over very well. Now I couldn't keep a rowboat straight if my life depended on it. "Where were you going in this canoe? Did you get anywhere? Was someone chasing you?" I don't know. I was just rowing, just streaming along. Then the doctor asked me to go to the end of that life. "And?" I did it. I didn't really want to. I was happy being in the tree. Now I was in an enclosed space. "A coffin? A grave?" No, maybe part of a cave. Or a primitive room. There was light, like from a campfire, but not where I was, lying on a shelf or a slab of raised rock, somewhere out of the way. Other people were around, over by the light, but no one I knew, no one who cared about me. They just went about their business. I was alone, no family, no friends. A loner. I would have liked to have had a family, but it didn't seem strange that I didn't. I was just a loner, dying a lonely death. Very appropriate. "That's sad." When do you think you might be coming home? "Home?" You know what I mean. "I don't know. I'm not even thinking about that now." Something just occurred to me. When I was going into the trance, I had in my hand that heart-shaped piece of wood you gave me. I have it with me all the time. I like to hold it. I think it helps keep the stress away. Anyway, maybe that's why I thought about the stone skipping. That wood is just the right shape and size. But I wasn't thinking about that at the time. I wasn't even aware I was holding it. "Okay, well, I'm glad. I'm glad you had it." I wish ... I wish we could be together again. "I know." Maybe in some past or future life, huh? "Maybe." ~ ~ ~ Barely twilight. The river was quiet, almost still, smooth and serene. He lay upon the dead limb stretching over the water, and he watched and waited. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the girl was there, small and pretty, kneeling at the water's edge, staring at her reflection. She must have strolled away from the others. Out in the stream a fish jumped, and the girl looked up at the splash, at the small ripples circling outward. When she looked down again her blond hair shimmered as the final ripples reached the shore, and then from out of the quiet stream her eyes fixed on his. Silently they stared at one another. When she blinked he fell upon her. The struggle lasted only a few seconds and then she went rigid and then she relaxed. At first it was like trying to fuck a piece of tightly stretched leather, but finally something gave way, and he was inside of her, pushing through her slick inner skin, streaming and flowing. Pleasure came fast in explosive jolts, the first one big and tight and obliterating; those that followed sharp and fleet and almost as full-- five, six, seven, eight of them, throb after throb, until finally they stopped, and he could breathe again. =========== Past Lives Mat Twassel -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+