Message-ID: <36885asstr$1024607406@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel) X-Original-Message-ID: <20020620110438.02998.00001283@mb-fa.aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 20 Jun 2002 15:04:38 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: Still Life (MF rom flowers) Date: Thu, 20 Jun 2002 17:10:06 -0400 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: gill-bates, newsman I'd originally planned this story to be a part of The 2002 Summer Rom Erotica Festival, but I've two other festival stories already, and from the sound of it, the festival is well-supplied. If you'd like to see a photograph of one of the inspirations of this story, look for the "illustrated" version of "Still Life" on http://calendar.atEROS.com Still Life by Mat Twassel ============== I wasn't quite getting there with my erotic story for the Summer Romance Story Festival, so I thought I see what Laura was up to. I found her in the dining room. Spread out over the table were the birthday flowers from the bouquet our daughter Annie had given her last month, and Laura was snipping with the big shears--scattered everywhere were stems and stalks and bits of brittle leaf. I watched as Laura selected a few of the dried blooms and arranged them in a clear vase with a bed of glassy pebbles on the bottom. A tweak and a touch and she was done. "That's beautiful," I told her. "You're so talented." She smiled. "That's me. Talented and beautiful." "Really, it's nice. What do you call it, a still life?" Laura laughed. "I don't know. 'Still Life' is more of a painting term. But I'm glad you like it." "Mm," I said. Moving close behind her, I put my arms around her and whispered, "It makes me want to fuck you." Half-turning, she said, "Everything make you want to fuck me." But she had that naughty look in her eyes. "Not everything," I protested. "Dead puppies on the highway make you want to fuck me." "That's not because ... I mean it's just ... I don't know ... sometimes sad things ...." "Sad things like these dried up flowers?" "No, no, not just sad things. Happy things, too. Beautiful things. Ordinary things." "Everything," Laura said. She smiled at me. A triumphant, mischievous sort of smile, but there was a little touch of sadness in it, too, and it was that touch of sadness that made me want to be fucking her right that instant. I couldn't help it. My hands found their way under her tee shirt and up to her breasts. My fingers and thumbs caressed her nipples. Light pinches fattened them fast. My middle began pushing against her bottom. But she brushed me off. "Your mom and dad are coming over soon, and there's too much to do. Not even time for a quickie." The way Laura said quickie made me want to fuck her, too. We hadn't had a quickie in far too long. "Not even a really quick quickie?" I pleaded. "Nope," Laura said. "I'm way way behind as it is. You clean up these scraps." But she kissed me. It was a nice kiss. It left me wanting more. A lot more. The dinner with my parents went well enough, except that Laura's flower arrangement was in the center of the table, and whenever I looked at it, I couldn't help thinking about having sex with Laura. As soon as my parents left we'd do it--maybe right there on the table. Such thoughts made it a little hard to concentrate on food or conversation. I was really glad that my parents always like to leave early to get a jump on traffic. By six-thirty they were out the door. "You get to clean up," Laura said. "Don't forget I have that Shakespeare class." I was at the desk with my laptop when she got home. I had made some progress on the erotic story. I knew the start and I knew the middle. Getting to the end was the problem. "How's it going?" Laura called from the hallway. I could hear her rustling around. "Okay," I answered. "Maybe I'm a little stuck. How was Shakespeare?" "Okay. A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears." "Come again?" "It means close your eyes." "Close my eyes?" "Yes, close thine eyes, honey bunny, I have something for you, but I don't want you to see." "Oh." I closed my eyes. "Okay, mine eyes be both doth shut." "Keep them closed." "I'm keeping them closed." "Don't peek." "I won't." "Don't open them until I tell you to." Her voice was closer. I could tell she was in the room now. I listened hard. I thought maybe I could hear her breathing. She seemed to be drawing things out. Testing me. Finally I couldn't keep quiet. "What do you have for me?" "You're so cute," she said. "Come on, tell me." "So impatient," she said. "Can't you guess?" "Give me a hint." "Okay, a hint. It's not a puppy." "Not a puppy. Hm. A kitten?" "Close," she said. "Open your eyes." It wasn't a kitten. Laura was standing next to my computer desk holding the vase with the dried birthday flowers. They were especially beautiful. Maybe they were especially beautiful because she was holding them, and she was beautiful, and she was naked. "These are for you," she said. She set them on the corner of the desk. "Are you disappointed it's not a kitten?" "Oh, no," I said. "I really like them." "Maybe I could be your kitten. Your little sex kitten." My cock lurched. Laura leaned over to adjust the vase, the angle of a stalk. Her breasts were like perfect pears aching to be picked. She swiveled slightly, and the swell of her ass made me swallow. "I think they look nice here, don't you?" she asked. She'd turned to face me again, and for a moment I couldn't answer. In truth I found it hard to focus on anything but Laura's pussy hair. Fluffy but trim, the soft little patch of auburn wool pranced and played atop her plump mound, then tumbled swiftly to the shy furrow below. "Um, yes, very nice." "I can see your reflection in the glass. Can you see my reflection? Mat, look in the glass." "Yup, I said. It was true. Because of the curve I could see both of us, but all my attention was on Laura, her bare breasts, her adorable belly, the tip of her delta dipping into the bed of pebbles--a glorious still life of gentle slopes seeking secret crevices, smoothly grooved stalks flowing towards pale blooms, shy buds peeking bravely out, and softest petals waiting for fresh dew. "I do like," I said, "but I like you more." I started to reach for her. "No," she said. "Not so fast. You have to finish your story first. I thought maybe my flowers would inspire you." "Oh, they have," I said. "They have." I closed the laptop lid. I pulled her to me. "This story's done." ============== Still Life by Mat Twassel Mat's Erotic Calendar at http://calendar.atEros.com -- 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: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+