Message-ID: <37122asstr$1025507402@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Sent: 30 Jun 2002 21:50:08 GMT From: Joyce Melton X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 30 Jun 2002 14:50:58 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} Daily by Erin Halfelven Date: Mon, 1 Jul 2002 03:10:02 -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, dennyw My first new story to ASSM in a long time. Hope everyone likes it. More of my stuff appears on http://Calendar.atEROS.com, and http://NaughtyWords.com. ====================================================== Daily by Erin Halfelven Everyday he stood just inside his shop door, waiting for her to walk past. Her brown hair swayed loosely or bobbed in a ponytail. In the summer, she wore shorts and sneakers and her legs glowed with a golden tan. In the winter she wore leggings and a coat and sometimes high-heeled boots that made a distinctive sound as they clicked and clacked on the sidewalk. She's thirty years younger than you, he told himself, hell, maybe forty. But she smelled nice and her voice was warm and friendly when she greeted him. In the spring she smelled like flowers and the whole world smelled like flowers. In the fall she wore mini-skirts. Maybe he liked the fall best. The windows of the old junk shop had served her as a mirror more than once. It's always dark in here, he thought, but I like it that way because I can see out better. She came down the sidewalk carrying the colorful soft-sided lunchbox and a tan canvas purse. In the middle of summer, her shorts could not be shorter. Hot pants, he thought they were called. Hot pants indeed. Her long shapely legs scissored her closer, her face lit up in a smile as she saw him standing there. He wanted to speak to her, sometimes he did. But he'd never found out her name or where she worked that she could dress the way she did, or why she was so punctual, every morning, five days a week, right at 9:35 a.m. she walked past his shop. She never came home this way, though, and he never saw her in the neighborhood. He didn't know her name. But she knew his, after all, it was on the sign. He wanted to tell her that his first name was William and he was never called Bill, tho sometimes old friends called him Tick-Tock because of his passion for clocks and an ancient joking reference to a comic book character no one remembered anymore. He wanted to say she was beautiful. He wanted to invite her in for tea and homemade biscuits with blackberry jam. He wanted to touch her skin and find out if it was as soft and smooth as it looked. He wanted to see under her blouse and inside her panties and maybe get his fingers damp in her young pussy. "Hi, Mr. Teller," she called as she swung past, "Beautiful day, ain't it?" He nodded, unable to speak to her today because, as usual, his hard-on was just too intense. =========================================== Copyright 2002 Joyce E. Melton, all rights reserved -- Everyday Erotica -- 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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+