Message-ID: <42528asstr$1053375002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: 53ab2750!not-for-mail From: Hammon Wry Reply-To: hammonwry@nospamyahoo.com X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 19 May 2003 10:31:19 EDT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 19 May 2003 14:31:19 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Hammon Wry's Words of the Day for Monday March 3, 2003 X-Original-Subject: Hammon Wry's Words of the Day for March 3, 2003 Date: Mon, 19 May 2003 16:10:02 -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: dennyw, newsman Hammon Wry's Words of the Day for Monday March 3, 2003 Note: Due to copyright laws, I am hesitant to include the definitions and pronunciations of the words of the day. I have provided the websites for each so that you can look up the words for yourself. This is an exercise in writing discipline. I am trying to get into the habit of writing something every day. I figure if I use the words of the day from two sources in a sexual context, I will have inspiration and motivation. And now, on to Hammon Wry's Words of the Day! (C) E. Howe 2003 All rights reserved Dictionary.com's word of the day: stormy petrel http://dictionary.reference.com/wordoftheday/archive/2003/03/03.html M-W.com's word of the day: career http://www.m-w.com/cgi-bin/mwwodarch.pl?Mar.03 Seabirds wheeled and turned, then would career headlong into the waters of the bay. Arising with a fish wriggling in their beaks, they would mount the sky with fast strokes of their wings, reaching the cliffs within moments. The birds would bank, then settle on the edge to gulp their meals. One bird continued to wheel, circling widely over the cliff and sea. The woman on the strand below watched the stormy petrel with a weather eye. She hugged her shawl about her in the evening chill. It was an odd shawl, a seal's skin, dark and luminous with the dense fur. As she listened to the song of the birds, she discerned the approach of her lover, the fisherman with whom she'd spent the last 18 years. She turned to see his stooped form move toward her on the strand. His hair was hoary, his hands curled in on themselves from the crippling winter winds as he worked the nets. She stood straight and slim, her breasts and belly that of the woman he'd captured so many years ago. She had not aged a day. He stopped before her. "Moira, are ye leaving me then? Will ye nae stay one more night?" She watched him through eyes that had no whites. Darkness ran from edge to edge, like the creature whose skin she wore. "Tomas, I mean to leave on the tide. I will take my sons with me. Dinna try to stop me, man. For 18 years, I have been your captive. You held me here against my better wisdom. I have to return to my home. My people need me." He reached out a hand to touch her, and she flinched. How many times had this happened before? She'd find her shawl, and mean to leave. But he had always managed to meet her on the strand, and convince her to stay, "Just one more night, luv, once more to comfort my sorrow?" He'd take her in his arms, smelling of the sweat of the land, and the salt of the sea. His root would burrow between her thighs, and yet again, she would conceive. Another two years would pass before she could leave. The nights in the cabin were heated with their loving. He'd turn her this way and that, and she, as lithe and nimble in bed as the otters of the rivers and the seals of the sea would arch beneath him. She stood on the strand, trying to row the boat of her mind away from memory's shore. She stepped away from him, and turning, called out in an odd barking sound. It was returned by three voices in the water. Deftly, she moved down the strand, as quick as sandpipers running from the waves. She dropped her shawl to the sand at her feet, then tore her dress from her shoulders. It fell like rain around her ankles. She kicked it free. Stooping, naked, she retrieved her shawl and wrapped it about her. The moon rose as the sun set over the land behind them. With tears in his eyes, he watched her form in the moonlight. The tide was turning, and she walked with an oddly stiff gait toward the water. His heart contracted at the sight of her, naked but for the ragged skin about her shoulders. Pains shot from his chest to his arms, and the air turned thick in his lungs. He was drowning in air as she entered the sea, the skin covering her entire body now. She returned to her other form, and he sank to his knees in the sand. With a final leap, her body now elongated and sleek, the selkie returned to the sea. The fisherman closed his hands on the sands, and began his return to the earth with his final breath. Hammon Wry The story of the Selkie always fascinated me. It's a Scottish tale of the folk of the sea who wear the shape of a seal in the water, but could become human on land. A fisherman captures one by stealing her sealskin, and they live as man and wife. She bears him 3 sons, and then one day leaves him for the sea after locating her sealskin. She takes their children with her. To learn more about the Selkie, go to: http://www.orkneyjar.com/folklore/selkiefolk/ -- 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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+