Message-ID: <45245asstr$1068444606@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Sent: 24 Oct 2003 02:09:36 GMT Reply-To: From: "Katie McN" X-Original-Message-ID: X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1106 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 23 Oct 2003 22:12:20 -0400 Subject: {ASSM} [Blanket - Flash] "A Purple Yesterday" by Katie McN (MF Rom Flash ASSTR Festival) Date: Mon, 10 Nov 2003 01:10:06 -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: dennyw, RuiJorge My inspiration is the picture called A Purple Navaho Blanket by Jonathon Earl Bowser. It's been on the Home Page of Alt Sex Stories Text Repository since the beginning and this year it's the theme for the ASSTR Anniversary Festival. Katie McN *** A Purple Yesterday (MF Rom) By Katie McN November 2003 "It's you. I can't believe it, Meg. It's you." My husband was running around like a small child with a new toy. "Why haven't I seen this before?" He'd been snooping. Finding my secrets. Exposing my past. "Put that away. It makes me feel old." I was two weeks away from thirty-five -- ten years of marriage, three children, a few extra pounds, tiny wrinkles, a body showing signs of wear, life taking its toll. I was tired and felt every one of those thirty-five years. I didn't need a picture to remind me of a distant past. December 1991, Calgary Snowfall so light only frozen mud covered the ground, but the bitter December cold and hectic crowds said Christmas was fast approaching. My son remembered Santa had promised something special. I was a waitress at a little place near the University. It wasn't a prestige job, but I took home as much money working evenings as I'd make downtown at a full-time clerical position, and I got to be with my son during the day. A single mother tries to do the best she can, even if it means living with parents. My mother stopped me at the door and said, "Where are you going, Megan? I thought you started work at four?" "I told you I found a part-time job. I start today." "I don't like what you're doing, Meg. You could get hurt." A protective mother and her only daughter. She thought working for some long-haired hippie wasn't a real job. What did I know about him? Why would he pay so much money? What kind of woman would work in a single man's home? "You're going to be sorry, Meg. He could be a pervert." He could be a lot of things and I hoped he was, but not that. "You know I need the money, Mom. I have to do it." Jonathon had been coming to the restaurant once or twice a week for months. Good looking with long hair, full moustache, and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. I thought he was a student - - battered guitar case shoved under the table, pencil making lines on a pad of paper, and a look that said there was much more to be done. His smile, and his dollar tip for a five- dollar-meal, made me trust him. But following through with his proposal took more courage. "I'm Eve. I live with Jonathon." Eve was younger than my twenty-three years, beautiful and tiny, with an impish smile ready to cover her face. "I'm Megan." "You look nervous." "I've never done this before." "Taking off your clothes for the first time is the hardest part. After that it's just work. I can stick around if you like. Jon won't mind." "I was surprised when he asked me to pose. I'm not a model." Eve pointed to a portrait hanging on the living-room wall. "I wasn't a model either, but it didn't matter. Jon sees things, surprising things. It's his gift." Auburn hair pushed back over delicate shoulders. A blanket draped across her lap. She was undressed but not naked. Face, hands, perfect breasts, long legs and impossible details. It was her and it was someone else, someone lost in a dream of another time and circumstance. "It's beautiful. You're beautiful." I looked again at the picture and focused on her erect nipples. I wondered if she'd been excited, wondered what was going through her mind. "Did it bother you to be like that?" "Naked? No, I live with him. Not moving for hours? Yeah, that bothered me, but I got used to it." June 1992, Calgary, the start of summer Green and sunny and a perfect place for my little boy. His Christmas bicycle wasn't new anymore, but it still could fly down the sidewalk in front of our home. Summer, a perfect time for a mother starting her new life. Santa was gone with the winter, but his presents would last for a long time. "You've got a package, Megan." "What is it, Mom?" "I don't make a practice of opening my daughter's mail. I did notice it was from that artist. You know, Jonathon." "Can you believe this is a picture of me?" The Purple Navajo Blanket almost covered my naked body. A print, signed by the artist from a painting of me, timeless and forever. Long blonde hair and incredibly young. A reminder of a wonderful Christmas and a hundred hours of work. "It's lovely, Meg, and not at all what I feared." November 2003 "You don't need the blanket now, Megan." He was holding me, kissing my neck. "You're even more beautiful today." "Stop lying. Twelve years and two more children, I don't look like that anymore." His hand was on my breast, teeth nibbled my ear lobe, his breath warmed my cheek. "You're more beautiful now, you're a woman, a mother, my wife." He pressed against me. Insistent and demanding. I felt his hardness. How nice to be wanted. How nice to be loved. The touching and feeling ignited sparks someplace in my mind. Kissing and caressing fired the secret between my legs. Desire and lust from the man I loved. He wanted me. Soon we'd be in bed, together, naked, touching. Maybe I wasn't getting old. The End Let me know what you think of my story: katie@katie-mcn.com You can read more of my work here: www.katie-mcn.com This story was written for the Alt Sex Stories Text Repository (ASSTR) Anniversary Festival: www.asstr-mirror.org ASSTR has been the home of the Katie McN Erotic Story Collection for more than three years. It's the home for stories by many authors of erotic fiction and a wonderful place for readers who are interested in this type of literature. The festival rules require a story inspired by Jonathon Earl Bowser's pastel and watercolor painting, The Purple Navajo Blanket which is found on the home page of ASSTR. You can see the picture here: www.jonathonart.com My story is submitted to a category where the story can't be more than a thousand words. I think there may be more to this story and perhaps I'll finish it someday. I wrote something special for the first ASSTR Festival called "A Letter To Vanessa". I doubt I would have written the story except that I felt my Festival offering needed to be more than my typical hard-core porn parodies. "Letter" is the start of my fictional autobiography and the first time I dared write a realistic lesbian story. I think it's a good part of the reason I won Best New Author of the Year for 2000. This year I decided to write a story that violates many technical rules of fiction. It's always allowed to do this, but risky. I wanted to break some new ground again to honor the Festival and hope this story does the job. I had some exceptional editing help from Desdmona and her Fishtank writing group, a place I recommend to all writers of erotica: www.desdmona.com The most amazing input came from my long term editor and good friend PeeJ. He knows me too well -- a good thing since he won't let me be lazy and makes me finish my stories. This is the time of year to remind readers about two important things. First, authors posting erotic stories to ASSTR or to alt.sex.stories.moderated are not paid for what they do. If you like the stories you read why don't you take a moment and let the author know? It doesn't have to be a long email -- "Good Job!" is enough to let the author know you like what he or she wrote. Your note certainly will encourage the author and could mean another wonderful story when the author finds that there is someone out there who cares. The second important thing to remember is that the stories posted on alt.sex.stories.moderated are kept free of spam and other objectionable things by ASSTR and the volunteers who moderate the newsgroup. ASSTR also maintains an archive of every story that is posted to ASSM. It hosts websites, author tools, collections, awards, festivals and so much more. It does all this for no cost to any reader -- No pop-ups, no advertising, nothing to get in the way of the reader's fun. Of course there is a cost for this service and this is the time of year when someone like you or me can join in and help keep ASSTR online and thriving. If you have some spare change or big bucks laying around that you can part with, why not send it off to ASSTR to help keep our writer's website strong and ongoing? It's easy enough to do as you can see here: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/donations.html Why not send in a couple of dollars now while you're thinking about it and be one of the people who make a difference? <1st attachment begin> <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- 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: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+