Message-ID: <47171asstr$1079748605@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: by_jane@literotica.org (jane) X-Original-Message-ID: <80045de.0403171219.5b750311@posting.google.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 17 Mar 2004 20:19:43 +0000 (UTC) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 17 Mar 2004 12:19:43 -0800 Subject: {ASSM} Glimpses 36/94 by jane Lines: 192 Date: Fri, 19 Mar 2004 21:10:05 -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: hoisingr, dennyw Author: jane Title: Glimpses 36/94 Summary: Relatives descend on Marsha's peaceful weekend. Keywords: none Length: 1131 words Copyright: c. 2004 *Chapter Five Early Summer, 1997 16 May 1997, Friday* _did tina know what she was doing ... thats my question too ... a question difficult to look her in the eye and pose with candour ... well, if she did, she didnt run to her computer ... didnt send me mail and tell me any news ... didnt write that mai was leaving, not till she was gone ... not a word that she had patched it up with peter, i didnt dream him in her bed ... we chatted still ... about raku and pulling handles for her mugs in muddy workshops ... we still were friends ... we fooled around ... we sometimes 'came' together ... eg ... while winter waned and spring was indecisive ... marsha, masked as horny_teen, used cyberspace to fill the evenings that rebbeca couldnt sneak an hour away from prying eyes ... i understood ... i empathized ... youd think a parent, rebeccas doting father, might especially be swayed ... youd think that love would overcome ... that common sense might finally have its day ... youd think that times would change and prejudice would fade ... youd be a fool to think those things, i told her ... it made her angry, yes ... and, yes, it hurt ... but libby stood beside her, and tried to lend support ... still marsha had it easy when comparing her to bec ... oh ... and happy birthday queen victoria ... toronto ..._ *§* Marsha hesitated, sulking, in the foyer at the doorbell's second ring. _House guests. They'll wreck the whole long weekend. Aunt Rose. Her little brat. Let them wait another ring. It's just not fair. If Bec could get a chance, she'd sneak out after supper. Just chill, down by the river. Now this. A fucking "opportunity" for Mom to see her hotshot lawyer sister from the Coast. A goddamn pain at daddy's funeral, especially after, with the legal yatayata. And I'll be tapped as baby-sitter. No. "Just stopping-over" on their trip to Montreal. What a fucking lucky break for us._ She spread a plastic smile across her face and turned the cut-glass knob. _I won't see Bec till Tuesday now. Forever. I'll die by then._ Her arms extended toward her aunt. "Hi! Nice trip? Sorry no one met your plane." Rose Lindstrom hugged her niece a little stiffly, not unlike their parting hug now nearly five long years before. Marsha, then, had been an angry teen still in denial that her father could have let some drunken driver on a sunny Thursday morning, on the picturesque Don Valley interrupt his trip to work, interrupt it for forever. Aunt Rose had forced her niece to listen to the reading of the will, explained the trust fund, each provision twice in simple words that she'd refused to understand. Rose didn't know that daddy still was living; there'd been a terrible mistake. He'd still come back somehow. He'd promised. "Marsha! You've grown! How are you?" The voice was something from a microwave, reheated. "Mom's on the way. She called. She stopped to get dessert. Your bags?" She took the biggest one from off the porch. _Fucking short and fat. She must have been adopted._ But, in the warm brown pools of eye and unaffected grin, she recognized her mom. "I wouldn't even know you, dear. The same with Jennifer. She was only nine when ..." Marsha focussed on her cousin to give her aunt the time to plan an ending. "... when we were here the last time. It's such a leap to thirteen, eh?" Six inches shorter, skinny, Jennifer was waves of thick black hair that hid her pretty mouth and fell across one shoulder to a well-developed bust. Shy, her eyes drooped to the hardwood foyer floor. _Cute. A dork._ Marsha herded them into the living room, and set their luggage near the bench beside the stairs. "Happy birthday, by the way! A few days late, I know." "That was in December." "Really? No. I'm such a dud with numbers. I can't believe you're eighteen, dear." Her aunt, then, stood them side by side to picture them together. "It all goes by too quickly." Libby saved them. Her car pulled up the drive before her daughter lost control. She assigned the task of making tea, arranged the guests in comfy chairs, and tried to ease the tensions. "Use the china, love," she cautioned. "Rose finds it civilized." Then, trapped along the edges of the grown-up conversation, Marsha eyed her cousin critically. The girl was winding and unwinding stands of hair around a finger. _Just like Lib. Why's she so tense? She looks okay. Just stiff as hell._ "Marsha? College?" "Sorry. I was thinking. What's up?" "Your plans? Next year, sweetheart?" "Yeah. Grade Thirteen, at Raye. Then U. of T., Fine Arts. Or maybe, O. C. A." Supper was no easier. They droned about _dumb flowers_ in the Lindstrom's B. C. garden. Jennifer was silent. _Not stupid, just not talking. Just a "yes" or maybe "no." Just shrug your freaking shoulders. Nod. "Geeze, I dunno." A mouse that didn't touch her salad or her broccoli or milk. You likely live on grease and Coke. It won't be long, Mouse, till those satin cheeks of yours are purple blotches. Mouse! What if I can get a splitting double migraine after supper. Slip out and meet Rebecca. Somewhere private. Feel her lips on mine. Just once. Before I die from being horny._ "Marsha. Be a dear. Show Jennifer around the neighbourhood while Rose and I wash up? Over by the Humber." "Mom ..." Libby's glance derailed her. "Sure, that's cool." A nod from Jennifer, and that was that. It wasn't a disaster. The air was warm; sweater weather soothed her. The stately sway of elms and maples and smell of spring was calming. Their pace was lazy, scuffing runners on the sidewalk cracks in lieu of conversation. _Three more days inside this prison. Make the best of it. Say something nice to Mouse._ "So, what's so cool in B.C., Jen?" "Swimming." "Like the ocean?" "Sometimes. Mostly pools. I do meets. Butterfly. And lessons." "Yeah? You're good?" "I dunno. I guess. My coach keeps telling me to try the Nationals." "Holy Shit! Like do the Olympics?" They finally looked directly at each other's eyes. "Maybe. If I make it. Three years. Who knows?" Dew condensed onto the cooling parkland grass at twilight. They chatted, slowly and in spurts, about their favourite things and coolest friends. Marsha talked of basketball. Jenny talked of mountains. Marsha spoke of casting bronze and sculpting clay. Jenny talked of water. Then, Marsha said the name Rebecca, kept it neutral, described her warmly as a friend, did not betray the sweetness of her lips or softness of her hands. Jennifer: a boy she liked, a name inside a riff of giggles. As night enveloped them, the tension eased. _Not a dork exactly. Still, a mouse._ This story cannot be reposted or published without the author's permission. 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