Message-ID: <46356asstr$1074895806@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20040123165356.69700.qmail@web40404.mail.yahoo.com> From: Planet Dweller X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 23 Jan 2004 08:53:56 -0800 (PST) Subject: {ASSM} Sobriquets Unchallenged (MF, romance, regret, petite memoir, menstrual sex), My Weekly Story Vignette For Jan 23rd Lines: 201 Date: Fri, 23 Jan 2004 17:10:06 -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, hoisingr ===== *** Please visit my completely free online adult erotic story site of my original stories at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/PlanetDweller/www ~~~ Stories about menstrual sex, sex therapy, sex surrogacy, lesbian sex, incest, alien abductions, and more. __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free web site building tool. Try it! http://webhosting.yahoo.com/ps/sb/ <1st attachment, "weeklystoryvignetteJan23.txt" begin> PlanetDweller's Weekly Erotic Story Vignette ~ January 23, 2004 Sobriquets Unchallenged (MF, romance, menstrual sex, regret, petite memoir) By PlanetDweller Dammit. Should have known better. Yeah, should have definitely known better than to get my hopes up. Mother, God bless her departed soul, warned me she had the occasional "curse" until she was fifty-two. Now at the backside of fifty-three and not having "one" for close to a year, more importantly not having used any birth control at all for the past six months because I thought I was over and done with "it", damned if "my friend" hasn't shown up again. "Here's your change, Mrs. Gartner, can I help you take these to your car?" "Yes, Brian, that would be nice of you." I wish the dampness "down there" was the result of my mind wandering to the sometimes fantasies about my favorite bagboy - Brian, but after a lifetime of dealing with "the drips" I knew what "Auntie Flow" felt like once it hit my "lower lips" and panties, dammitall. If we can send a man to the moon and if men now have cures for baldness and impotence, why can't someone, some woman doctor somewhere since no male doctor gives a flip about women except how much money they can make off of them find a cure for "the monthlies" except in my case now it should be called "the yearly" and hopefully "the lastly". Do need to write myself a post-it note to call my Gyn and make an appointment to have this checked out just in case, but, no rush, I just know it's Mother Nature's last little joke on me that for the past six months after I thought I had been "safe" for the prior six months , Robert plowing my sometimes dry and often sore but still accommodating "field", that I had been taking the huge risk of assuming way too much just because I had been at the threshold of oldhagdom for the past couple of years. Now, where was that last pack of maxis? Oh yeah, in the linen closet, behind the guest towels. I swear, just two Kotex Overnights left, and one old Tampax regular so many years old that I didn't want to touch for its heavy coating of dust. I was just at the grocery store, shit, oh well. If I had bought a new box of Tampax and a new bag of Kotex, maybe it would have given my favorite fantasy toy, Brian, a hint that I was still a viable woman, hell, a hint that I was still a woman at all and not a dried-up old prune? A brand-new, well, just three months old pair of Olga panties too, ruined. Maybe not ruined, but definitely not wearable again, except. Cold water running in the lavatory for soaking. At least I didn't have to worry about the kids seeing them in there and asking questions I was never comfortable in answering, not even to Charlene, my one and only daughter, now adult and grown-up and giving me my first grandchild five years ago. Billy, he never paid me any mind, even after accidentally seeing my old Kotex filling to the brim the wastecan time and again over the years in the our then one bathroom three bedroom old house over on Grand Avenue that he and his sister grew up in when they were kids before we moved over here to Killain Morrow Road when they were both teen-agers. Kids. Kids. Two I had given birth two, four I had aborted. Each time, my womb shed its bloody tears when our household economics more than Robert's and mine love for each other dictated I break the bond of matriliny that only another woman could possibly understand. The four children I really wanted then and now long gone, gone to the pressures of life. Flushed down the toilet like so many egregious pre-menopausal clots dripping from not my womb but my heart. Four chances at the roulette wheel of feminine destiny that came up double zero. In the end, "the house" and not "the player" always wins. Drip, drip, drip. At least I had saved my best pair of old "period panties", "just in case". Just in case a miracle happened and I "accidentally" got pregnant. Yeah, I had been hoping. But today's "accident" made it clear that my last chances for a last chance had come and gone. Drip, drip, drip. Tears, not blood. Composing myself sitting atop the toilet, then blood, not tears. A cramp, and then another, and then, both, the salts of clear and the salts of red. "Honey, I'm home, you here?" "Yes Dear, in the kitchen, I'm fixing your favorite, poached salmon with almonds" if the fish and almonds both were from cans, my dear husband never would say a word to me other than "thank you". "What's the occasion? You didn't wreck the car, did you?" Silly man, but my man. Not the best man in the world, not the best lover, not the best provider, not the best anything else, except my best friend in the world. I couldn't help myself. "Don't cry, Honey, it's okay, the insurance will take care of it, that's what we carry it for, don't cry" as my sobs became wails for a split-second before I finally composed myself a little, both upper and lower "flows" "flowing". "It's not the car, the car's fine" he giving me a game show quiz look as he held me close to him. His funky old Paco Raban aftershave filling my nostrils made me realize how truly lucky I was to have 'him'. "Then what? Tell me, you know you can." "I know" his eyes meeting mine, his lips kissing me as a husband should. "I, I; I 'started' again today. I'm sorry, Dear." He broke his embrace to pull back just enough to look deeply in my eyes to make sure I was telling the truth. "I thought you were way past 'that'." God bless him, at least he thought before he spoke and didn't say I was "too old" for "that" to happen. "I didn't have any idea" my arms holding him closer to me as I kissed him "it just happened, out of nowhere, didn't have any pings or pangs or bloat and anything 'before', it just happened." "It's okay, Hon', it's okay." "I know you were planning on using one of 'your pills' tonight and ravishing me, now we can't. I'm sorry." "And why can't we?" a sweetly evil grin, his horns popping through his recovering Rogained scalp. "Because; because we never have, 'during', that's why." "No, in thirty-one years of marriage we never have, so this might be our last chance 'to'. Whaddya say, Dear-y? You know I love you. What's a little blood between husband and wife?" his breath fresh, his face a little rough from his five o'clock shadow scratching me a tad, reminding me he was my "man" and not just my husband. His lips kissed the smears of my tears away. Many reasons to cry, many more reasons to be happy. Lord knows he wasn't perfect. He was and is perfect for me. "Nothing. Nothing at all. A little blood's nothing at all." "Then cut the oven down to warm and let's go turn up the heat in the bedroom to high" he almost throwing his back out, damn his sometimes too-romantic soul, as he somehow managed to lift up and cradle me in his arms, thumping my head against the frame of the kitchen door as he captured my heart all over again making me see stars from the impact but that was okay, I was seeing stars, real stars of our universe past present and future together, anyway. <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------ ------- ASSM Moderation System Notice-------- This post has been reformatted by the ASSM Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting. -- 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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+