Message-ID: <46871asstr$1077667804@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: by_jane@literotica.org (jane) X-Original-Message-ID: <80045de.0402240654.6f7dd989@posting.google.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 24 Feb 2004 14:54:36 +0000 (UTC) X-Spamscanner: mailbox3.ucsd.edu (v1.4 Dec 3 2003 15:07:19, 0.0/5.0 2.63) X-MailScanner: PASSED (v1.2.8 88902 i1OEsaEK000165 mailbox3.ucsd.edu) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 24 Feb 2004 06:54:36 -0800 Subject: {ASSM} Glimpses 18/94 by jane Lines: 254 Date: Tue, 24 Feb 2004 19:10:04 -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, newsman Author: jane Title: Glimpses 18/94 Summary: Rebecca redefines her relationship with Marsha. Keywords: none Length: 1388 words Copyright: c. 2004 *9 January 1997, Thursday - part one* _no ... i didnt meet her ... not yet, adrift in cyberspace, i didnt ... i was busy wednesday, and there are thousands out there cruising every night ... destiny had other plans ... a detour on its journey ... id have other roles to play ... marsha would remember it, a scene from william shakespeare ... toronto ..._ *§* "Okay? Yatta, yatta 'a lover's quarrel.' Got it?" Rebecca capped her pen and read the photocopy, "'Number six. Define "plight my troth" as it is used on page 72.' Sucks or what?" "Right. Last one, eh?" "As if. Would you believe five more?" "No way! What was that one? 'Blight' something?" Marsha dabbed candy-apple polish on her big toenail. "'Plight my troth.' Are you writing these? I'll look it up." "No, no. It's cool. I got it." She focussed on the outline of her cuticle. "You're not the only one who reads, Rebecca. Let's see ... plighting troths." Tufts of Kleenex spread her toes as if they grasped for thoughts among the rumpled papers and the clothing on her bed. "It's like ... a totally polite Elizabethan way to say licking ... licking actually a person's 'nether regions,' especially a female person's. So a troth is like your cunny." "Stop." Rebecca, sitting on the floor, leaned back against the bed and let her face relax in laughter. "I read it somewhere, Bec. If you 'plight' ... well, the best way is to curl your tongue around it. Are you getting this? So I could plight your toes before I polish them?" "You're nuts!" "Hey! Don't rock the bed; just write. I'll get them later. Stafford's such an ass. I'm sure he doesn't read these anyway. He's so perverted. It prob'ly does mean that." "Marsha." Rebecca propped her chin atop the worn chenille. "We'll never finish if you keep this up." "I'm serious. We did half. We need a break. Put down whatever; it's just a stupid worksheet. Maybe _plighting_'s just 'touching' or 'gently rubbing and like making little circles.' Please. Let's break. My troth needs plighting really badly." "Be serious. We need this mark. You always change it into sex." "Not! It's Stafford's questions. Anyway, you're always horny, too." Marsha stopped the polish bottle and reached across the bed to touch Rebecca's blouse. "Is everything up there okay?" Libby's voice inquired from the bottom of the stairs. "English finished?" "He's got us reading porn now, Mom. It sucks." Rebecca launched herself across the bed, an outstretched hand cupped Marsha's mouth. They struggled, Marsha relishing the weight that pressed her chest and pinched her nipples. She barely caught her mother's parting comment, "I'm sure. Just get it done, okay?" "She's kidding, Mrs. Carmack. We're almost finished." Rebecca pulled her leg across the now compliant Marsha, careful not to touch the drying toes, pinning Marsha's arms against the mattress with her knees. She kept her palm on Marsh's mouth; the sound of footsteps faded down below. She whispered, "Please. Don't tease me with your mom. Behave?" Marsha's eyes said, _yes._ Rebecca didn't move. "I mean it, Marsh. I'll leave." The eyes said, _yes,_ again. "I will." Marsha bucked her breasts into the thighs that bound her. "When we're done, okay? I want it, too," she promised as the gag came off, but threatened, still, to muffle any shouts. "Just don't." "Okay. But, stay like that. First, make me cum. Then English. Or better, tie me up." Rebecca blushed and rolled away. "Five more questions." "Okay. At least, let me get comfortable. I can't concentrate in clothes. I think better in the nude." "And when your mom walks in?" "You can be so boring, Bec. The risk is all the fun." She frowned. 'Kay. I'll stop. Let's look it up." "We need eighties, Marsh, for U. of T." "Not for Art." "For anything." "Okay. The dictionary?" Rebecca curled back close beside her friend and splayed the large black paperback on thighs between them. "I let you win. Being pinned was cool, Bec. I know you're just as wet as me." "I'm not. Now stop! Here it is. 'Pledge' plus 'honour.' Like getting married. So if you really want to plight my troth you'll have to marry me." Rebecca paused before she wrote. "Number seven. 'Explain why lovers today feel plighting a troth is less important than it was in Shakespeare's day.'" "I don't get it." Marsha fanned her drying toes. "It's not that hard. Before they fucked, I guess, they promised things. Not like today." "What's wrong, Bec?" Rebecca shook her head. "I could've got it. They're clueless, anyways, the _lovers_." "That's not the point. They had commitment. Like saying it in public." Rebecca capped the pen and stared out Marsha's window. "Back then," she added. "Retro, Bec." Marsha waited. "What? Like you're into this? It's bullshit, Bec!" "Love's bullshit?" "This is like some Soap." Marsha felt perverse, angry at the questions, impatient for a kiss. "He only wants to own her. At least it's honest now. Sex is fun." Rebecca smiled an answer. Marsha started writing. "Does your mom suspect about us, Marsh? You ever wish she knew?" Marsha tossed her pen onto the litter. Made contact with her eyes. "It's not her business. Why?" "She's nice to me," Rebecca argued. "She's like a friend. I hate it, lying. We lie to everyone." "That's really stupid, Bec. We have to. Let me finish this." Silence in response. _Concentrate. Get the questions finished. I'm not ashamed. I know it's shitty sneaking everywhere. Not like the groping, pawing heteros at school. It's making me insane. We can't just fucking out ourselves. I know exactly what they'd do._ She looked REbecca in the eye; Rebecca pursed her lips. "I'll finish seven later. Okay. What's eight?" Rebecca's voice was sullen, "I want to tell my dad. Just him. I've never held things back from him before. He'll understand us, Marsh." "Like you _know_ he will? He'd _never_ let it slip?" _Fuck, we're almost done. I want to hold you. This fucking re- run conversation is taking all our time._ "We keep getting stuck on this." "Marsh, I have to. You're the most important thing to me. Ever. I can't keep it from him. It's dishonest. Please." "You _have_ to?" Marsha's voice was hard. "It's both of us, you know." Rebecca bowed her head. "Maybe. _Maybe_ he'd be cool. Or maybe freak and ground you? What if he calls here? What if Mom stops letting you come over? How many times do we go over this, Rebecca?" Marsha moved her notebook from her lap and stood beside the bed. She forced a calm into her voice. "Just one slip. If they find out at school? Want 'dyke' in nail-polish on your locker door one morning? Remember what they did to Lynn? What _we_ did to Lynn? Or Glegg? No." The final syllable was whispered. Rebecca's shoulders slumped. "You're right. It's just not fair." She started gathering her scraps of paper, zipping shut the binder on the bed. "What're you doing?" "I just feel weird. That's all." "You're pissed. I know you, Bec." "No, I'm not. I understand it. I'm all mixed up. I can't do work right now." "What?" "Everything. I need to think." Marsha sensed the immanence of tears, hated her for weakness. "What things?" "The rest are easy; you can do them by yourself. It's getting late. I'm sorry." "What things? Fuck. You're going! Why? What did I say? Then, go ahead and tell your daddy if that's what this is all about." Head down, Rebecca only slipped the pen into the pocket of her bag. Marsha almost ... _Fuck it! Go then. See what I care. Because my fucking mother's nice to you? Blow our chance to be together? Fuck all the kids at school. Fuck the whole damn screwed up world._ She clenched her fists, and watched Rebecca pack. She followed to the narrow hall, watched the way Rebecca's hair fluffed out each downward step toward the landing, listened to her mother's careless voice below. "Finished so soon? Shakespeare's getting easier? Or Mr. Stafford's getting soft? Good night, Rebecca." Libby laughed. _Bogus, Mom. You'd shit if you knew what we did up here. Fuck both of you._ Marsha didn't hear the door swing closed and latch, heard nothing but her heartbeats and the wind outside her window. This story cannot be reposted or published without the author's permission. 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