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Subject: {ASSM} {NEWISH} Mark Aster: Partially Stable Carbamides <*>
Date: Tue, 11 Apr 2000 14:11:03 -0400
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This isn't ENTIRELY new, since it's been appearing gradually on the website
of Parents Strongly Cautioned (http://pastca.pitas.com/) for awhile. On the
otherhand, it's not a repost, since it's never been on a.s.s.* before. This
"volume" of Parents Strongly Cautioned and the next ("Park Street Cafe") are
both complete, and can be found in the archives
(http://pastca.pitas.com/archive.html);
the current volume ("Patience, Steam, Cable"), is just getting underway. Stop
by and let me know what you think!
I'm posting this here just in case anyone didn't see it on the web, and to
have it archived in one more place, and to see if anyone will review it or
write me nice letters about it. If you have any comments at all on this, or
on the other volumes of PaStCa, post to alt.sex.stories.d, or send email!
(You can read it normally, top to bottom, or the order in which the entries
originally appeared, bottom to top. Or any other way that strikes your fancy!)
.. Mark
PARTIALLY STABLE CARBAMIDES
Paragraphs for Grownups
by Mark Aster
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, February 29, 2000
Vitamin C
She's drinking orange juice, from a big plastic cup. She has her
head back, and she's drinking in long slow gulps, without coming
up for air. She's wearing a loose demin shirt, my shirt in fact.
The muscles in her neck move, pulse almost, with her swallowing.
I want to nibble on those ridges in her neck, kiss the smoothly
rolling muscles, follow her throat down to where her chest
vanishes under her shirt, my shirt, unbutton it and slide it back
and down her shoulders.
But she has a cold. She says I shouldn't kiss her, or I'll get it
too.
"Nothing tastes as good as orange juice when you have a cold."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, February 28, 2000
from "Familiarity"
"They're fucking, aren't they?" Pat whispered in my ear, her head
still cradled against my chest. I touched her neck. "Do you want
to be inside me?" I kissed her again. Her lips were soft and full
and receptive, and my cock was awake and swelling in my pants.
But Pat had torn slightly when the twins came, and I was afraid
that even as sleepy and slow as I felt, I might hurt her.
Julie began to rock up and down over Jake's lap, his long wide
cock sliding familiarly in and out between her strong young
thighs. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened; the glowing square
of the screen reflected perfectly in her deep quiet eyes. She
moved slowly for a long time, her breath gradually becoming
louder, Jake's body beginning to tense, his head rolling from
side to side as her pussy caressed his cock. Pat put out her
tongue and gently licked my lips.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday, February 27, 2000
A day of rest
In the quiet light,
Only touch your cheek to my skin
And breathe.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, February 26, 2000
The aliens among us
Invisible, I go from room to room, planting my devices and
caressing the smooth cheeks of the sleepers, the bathers, the
woman coating her breasts with oil, the man standing before the
mirror tensing in turn every taut golden muscle.
If I make a sound, they may hear me. If I stand too long in one
place, someone may see my shadow. The child in the red silk robes
is lying in the corridor, in my path, playing with a ball and two
glass mice. Shall I step carefully over her, or stand here and
wait for her to move?
From beyond the door to my right, soft sounds of ecstasy. The
child turns and looks up, directly at my face. But she cannot
have seen me. Her eyes are deep and wise.
The door opens.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, February 25, 2000
Tuna for lunch
She's lying on her stomach on the bed, sound asleep, naked, the
sheet across her back, one leg hanging off the matress, the clock
on the floor, the shades down against the relentless sun.
The cat is on the bed next to her, sniffing at the sheets. It
reaches out with its rough pink tongue and begins to lick at the
outside of her thigh.
The room is very hot. The fan is lying on the dresser, on its
side, switched off.
I'll be home any minute.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, February 24, 2000
Mark
Yeah, well at the beginning I just sat down one night and started
to write down the first thing, the first intense sex fantasy,
that sprang to mind.
That was "The younger of the Allen sisters..."?
Yeah, my very first adventure with Pat and Julie.
Then came "French Kiss"...
Daphne Bouchard!
...and "Julie Bound".
Our first little taste of bondage and teasing. It was still all
fiction at that point, of course. But, God, just the idea of
fucking those sweet horny women...
And when did you discover that you'd actually made contact with a
conspiracy of bisexual nymphomaniacs from another dimension?
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, February 23, 2000
Metallurgy I and II
In the silence of the lab, he takes off the white coat, takes off
the shirt, the pants, the shorts, sits naked on the cold stool
and touches the samples on the table, touches the cold spheres,
the shiny chilly cylinders. He tastes his fingers; his tongue
finds the sharp tang of metal. He holds one stiff copper rod in
his hand, rubs it down between his thighs until it's warm, feels
it pressing the hairs against his skin, rubs it against himself
slowly slowly until he comes, the hot white flowing out of him
and splashing on the ground, sliding off the untouched metal.
In the silence of the lab, she takes off the white coat, takes
off the sweater, the bra, the skirt and panties, piles them on
the desk, sits naked on the cold stool and touches the samples on
the table. She rubs a hard copper rod across her chest, over her
breasts and across her nipples until they stand stiff and she
feels the melting inside herself. She takes two bright steel
balls and opens herself, rubs them in the moist pink until they
are warm and she is hot, slides them slowly one at a time into
herself, feeling each one stretch her and fill her, knocking
together inside her, and with the perfect metal held inside she
touches herself, her head back and her hair pooling on the table,
her fingers touching hot flesh and dipping in to stroke the
smooth metal and her muscles tense around the hard knobs and she
comes, legs apart and gasping in the quiet room.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, February 22, 2000
Is this seat taken?
She's pregnant!
She...?
That woman!
...?
The woman I told you about, that I keep seeing in the cafeteria?
That I don't have the nerve to talk to? With the reddish-brown
hair, the blue eyes, the smooth pale skin with freckles across
her nose? The woman that sat at the same table as me at the
seminar in March, and I didn't hear a word they were saying
because I didn't want to stare at her shoulders and her sweater
and the way her hips curved in her jeans, and how she slipped her
shoes off and crossed her ankles under her thighs on the chair?
and she's pregnant?
... and my God she's so beautiful!
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, February 21, 2000
At the bazaar
I'll take one of those, and one of those.
Mmmm, and one of those, and maybe a couple of those.
The big ones.
And one of those silken flowing things, with the abstruse
semantics.
Oh, and some sex toys, please.
Vibrating ones.
For the long golden afternoons.
I love you.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, February 19, 2000
En Route
For the first few minutes of the drive, they sit an inch or two
apart in the back seat, just holding hands. But they move closer
together after the tolls, and by the entrance ramp to the
Interstate they're locked in each other's arms, mouths pressed
hungrily together, hands groping, breathing heavy.
Her knees begin to part at exit six. By exit twelve her skirt is
bunched up around her waist, and his fingers are stroking her
thighs and pushing at the edges of her panty. He kisses her eyes,
and she moans, and presses against him, and whispers "oh, oh,
oh!".
In the driver's seat, Cindy rolls her eyes and grins over at Theo
as the sounds from the back escalate toward orgasm. He smiles
back at her and puts his hand on her leg, just above the knee.
When she takes her foot off the gas for the curve at exit
sixteen, he can feel the muscles move under her skin.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, February 17, 2000
Teresa
Teresa is sitting in the clean hospital lounge, waiting for Rick
to come out of Sammy's room. Waiting for Belle to stop talking.
Sammy ran his truck into an overpass yesterday, and has a broken
rib, lacerations, and a possible concussion. Under the bandages,
his skin is torn; inside his skin, things are wrenched or
bruised. Belle is acting cheerful, really bubbly, about the whole
thing.
"Are you and Rick doing well, dear?"
Belle, Teresa thinks, is not really a friendly person. Teresa
squints and imagines her scowling, eyes angry, hands on her hips.
Much more natural.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, February 16, 2000
Easy Street
Ooh, the music is so loud!
I'm lying on the floor. She's tossed her sweater to the ground,
and it's lying across my shoulder and my neck. I could move, or I
could move it, but it's easier just to lie here.
She and Sammy are fucking again on the bed. She's still wearing
her bra and her skirt, straddling him and bending down toward him
while they do it, rubbing the cotton cups of her bra against his
face and making her gasping noises, her mewing noises, her "fuck
me harder Sammy you bastard" noises, and he's rubbing his hands
up and down her legs and sometimes squeezing her tits.
Now she's holding his face and throwing her head back. I think
she's coming.
Her sweater smells like smoke.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, February 15, 2000
Cindy
Keep your eyes forward!
Shoulders back!
Sit up straight!
Don't slouch!
Straight, straight!
Come on!
Sit up -- oh, God -- up STRAIGHT!
Sit -- AH!
Just like that!
Oh, straight! Straight, straight, straight!
Ohhhh...
...oh straight...
ohmygod
Oh!
YES!!
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, February 14, 2000
Power Ties
We spent that long autumn and winter in the house by the shore.
Most days, she wore corduroy pants, a cotton camisole, a man's
dress shirt over that, and a heavy wool sweater on top. She left
the shirt unbuttoned and untucked, and the tails came out from
under the sweater and flapped around the tops of her legs.
She showered twice a day, morning and evening.
Even now, all these years later, when I see the tails of a dress
shirt flapping I think of the clean soapy taste of her skin.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, February 12, 2000
Dale
I've only every made love to one woman, to one person, and I
expect to be with her for the rest of my life.
Still, I do sometimes wonder how other women taste, you know?
What they say in bed. How their lips feel. What it's like to,
well to fuck them silly! I look at the women in the grocery, and
in the health club, and sometimes I look at their breasts and
wonder what it would be like to rest my head on their chests, or
to suck their nipples. To spread their legs apart and fit my hips
in between. I can get hard just waiting in line at the deli, that
way.
Lately I've been thinking about men, too. Just out of curiosity.
I guess I'm secure enough in my identity that it doesn't bother
me to think about touching another man's penis, or having a man's
mouth around my cock. The idea of kissing a man's lips doesn't
really appeal to me. I do like smooth skin over male muscle,
though, and some male bottoms are appealing. Not the hairy ones,
though.
I can't really imagine, I guess, what it'd be like to make love
to a man.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, February 11, 2000
Excuse Me
Is the lady of the house in? Is she hungry for love? Is she in
the shower?
If she is in the shower, I could go quickly up the stairs, not
bothering anyone, and I could go into the bathroom and close the
door, and naked I could get into the shower with her, under the
warm water beside her pale fleshy body, and while I imagine she
would be somewhat startled at first, I would reassure her, tell
her that she is not at all fat, that her breasts are still
wonderfully round, that her nipples are as succulent as ever,
that her neck is firm and elegant, that standing there over her
with my palms on her breasts and my body pressing against her, my
mouth open on hers, that life is still ready to open out before
her, to spread her thighs and whisper to her of Heaven, to
finally tell her the secret she almost heard that August so long
ago, before the marriage, the children, the little lines at the
corners of the eyes. On the floor of the shower, engulfed in
bliss, she moans under my hands, and I love her helplessly.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, February 10, 2000
Early Morning
His head on Benjamin's broad muscle-soft chest, Alex cries. It is
warm under the sheet, warm with the comfortable scent of their
bodies.
"I only wanted to be kind," Alex says, pressing his damp pale
cheek against the smooth brown skin.
"I know, Baby, I know." Benjamin's big hand gently strokes his
hair. How ordinary, he thinks; how ordinary and how very
beautiful.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, February 9, 2000
Fantasies of the Doomed #27
He knew it was a mistake as soon as he finished the sentence. Her
eyes opened wider, and she turned on the barstool, swivelling her
incredible body around to face him.
She was amazing, even better than his first impression. Her eyes
were sharp and challenging, her hair like a cloud of copper, the
bare upper slopes of her breasts tan and firm and smooth in the
push-up bra. Her skirt was very short, and her legs spread
slightly apart; he didn't dare look down at her thighs.
"That's got to be the dumbest pickup line I've ever heard," she
said, her voice like honey. She sucked at her full lower lip for
a moment, holding him immobile with her eyes and the smell of her
perfume. Then she smiled. "You want to go into the back room and
fuck?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, February 8, 2000
The Lie
They are standing, Teresa and Mary, side by side in the kitchen.
Not meeting each other's eyes. Not talking.
Teresa is holding a napkin in one hand, down by her side,
forgotten. Mary is still holding the letter, although neither of
them are looking at it anymore, and Mary's hand, very slowly, is
closing around it. It may be starting, just slightly, to crumple.
Mary's eyes are wet. Teresa shakes her head slightly, side to
side; she is smiling, a tiny unreadable smile that could mean
anyting.
In the bedroom, Rick is asleep on the bed, face-down, in his
underwear. He is snoring gently.
The sky is grey and the wind is still. The letter carrier goes
from house to house, from lobby to lobby, her bag over her
shoulder, her hair in a bun, humming to herself and thinking of
nothing.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, February 7, 2000
Pat
The man with the grey fedora has turned out to be something of a
disappointment. All he really wants to talk about is sports, and
he has no deep insights to offer even there. He assumed she would
undress herself. He paid decent homage to her breasts, her belly,
her thighs, but now that he is on top of her, his thick penis
buried in her, he is showing little reverence and no imagination.
He thrusts mechanically, his eyes closed and his face turned
away, and her attempts to vary the tempo of their fucking along
more interesting lines, with gentle circles of her hips, have
been ignored.
She smiles to herself and relaxes, enjoying in a vague and sleepy
way the feel of his bottom under her hands and the rhythmic
thrust of his flesh between her legs. She hopes he'll come before
she starts to chafe, and she tries again to remember the syntax
for the referrer tag in PHP3.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, February 4, 2000
Julie and Midori
Midori stands at her easel, in a green silk top that gracefully
outlines her torso and loose flannel shorts that reach almost to
her knees. She is sketching Julie, who lies naked on the divan
across the room with her eyes closed.
Julie's skin, a pale pink to Midori's warm golden-brown, is
lightly goose-bumped from the cool air. Her chest, her small
round breasts, move evenly up and down. She may be asleep. You
can picture Midori kneeling by her and kissing her, picture
Midori's lips moving over Julie's naked body slowly and lovingly,
but that's not what's happening. Midori's just sketching lightly
in charcoal, a stroke at a time, letting her eyes rest on the
calm pink body across the room, taking her time.
After awhile, Midori puts down her pencil and walks to the divan.
She reaches down and touches Julie's chin with one long
fingernail. The girl's eyes open after a moment, and she looks up
at the artist and smiles.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, February 3, 2000
Jake
I go over to Jake's place, to see if he's up for like a game of
handball or something, and he's sitting up on his bed,
butt-naked, with his back against the wall and his knees up in
front of him, holding a pad of paper on one leg and looking down
at his cock, which is poking up at about half-staff between his
legs.
"What're you doing?" I say. I notice there's a hand-mirror lying
on the bed next to him.
"I'm drawing my cock," he says, and sure enough he's got a
charcoal pencil in the other hand, and on the paper there's this
drawing of his cock. It's a pretty good drawing.
"Why are you drawing your cock?"
"I dunno, I just thought it'd be cool to draw my cock."
"Is it getting bigger?" I ask, because it looks like it's getting
bigger.
"Yeah, well," he says, and he turns back to the paper and his
cock.
I sit down on the bed below where he's sitting, and watch him
draw for a minute. His cock is all the way up now. Jake's cock is
big, very big and thick, with prominent veins under the thin
outer skin. I reach out and sort of stroke the side of it with my
fingers.
"You're forward as hell today!" he says, this not being the kind
of thing I'd usually do.
"Yeah, well," I say. I cup his rod in my palm and close my
fingers around it. It's stiff and hot.
Jake draws a sharp breath. "Unh," he says, "that's perfect. Just
hold it there," and he tears off the piece of paper and starts
another drawing, this time of his cock with my hand around it.
I squeeze the shaft with my fingers, and move my hand a little up
and down on it. He grunts and keeps drawing. In my hand, his cock
is hot and alive, hard and pulsing, like a tree branch under a
hot towel. Or like a cock.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, February 2, 2000
Working hours
When we are both naked, she walks to me and puts her arms around
my neck. Her body, warm and fecund, presses against me. She
kisses my mouth and licks my lips; I take her breasts in my hands
and squeeze and roll the nipples between my fingers. My stiff
cock presses against her belly, and she moans.
She lowers herself backward onto the bed, spreading her thighs.
She takes my staff in her hand and rubs the length of it between
her legs, over her moist slit. Then she presses it into herself.
I lean forward, and my penis slowly slides into her; the
tightness of her cunt caresses every throbbing inch.
For the first few strokes, she pushes up with her hips, staring
into my eyes, grabbing at the sheets with her hands. Then her
body tenses, and she lies motionless, taut, her torso arched, her
head thrown back, her fingers gripping my upper arms. The only
sound she makes is a strangled gurling deep in her throat that
becomes more urgent as I pump in and out of her.
Fucking her is utterly delicious.
Her fingers grip my arms tighter, her mouth opens even wider, and
she gasps. I raise my body up to stroke her clit harder with the
top of my cock, and orgasm begins to rock her. Her breasts heave
and her head thrashes helplessly; I bury my cock as far as it
will go, and hold myself there on top of her as she writhes. The
sweet muscles of her cunt pull at my swollen hardness, and I come
deep inside her in a rush of pleasure and release. Her body
tenses and relaxes, and her arms pull at me.
I fall on top of her, my cock softening between her legs, and I
kiss her mouth, holding her face in my hands. She screams and
bucks, but my body is heavy on hers; I slide my tongue into her
mouth and run it along her teeth. Spent, she relaxes utterly, her
thighs wide, her arms around me, her mouth under mine.
I raise my head and look down at her. Her eyes are closed, her
face calm. I put out my tongue and lick the tip of her nose. She
smiles and presses her hips up against mine. We are content.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, February 2, 2000
Al
This big black-eyed woman was dancing naked in the crowd at the
Sausage Factory. She'd taken off her jeans and her shirt early
on, and worked up a sweat stomping and writhing to the music. She
was drinking beer. Eventually she shook herself out of her bra
and her panties and stood there with her feet apart for balance,
moving her head and her arms and her torso, her breasts swinging
to the beat, her mouth open. I didn't know her, she didn't really
seem to be with anyone. I didn't go over to her and take her
breasts in my hands, suck on the big dark nipples, run my tongue
over her panting mouth.
I saw her again last night, in tight jeans and a sweatshirt,
sitting waiting for a table in Dennigan's, with two little kids
and an older man. Her little sisters? Her nieces? Her back was to
me. I stood there looking at her bottom, her thighs, the curves
of her heavy body and remembering her bare flesh under the
lights, until my table was ready.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, February 1, 2000
Teresa
Rick came home that night with a bandage on his left shoulder.
He'd been in a fight at the Oyster, he told her when she asked,
and Sammy, the son of old Dick the harrier, had stuck him with
his knife.
It was no big deal, he said; he and Sammy had made up after, and
had a beer. She helped him off with his shirt. He winced a little
when she undid the dressing and cleaned the wound, just a deep
scratch really, with soap and hot water. They didn't have
anything in the apartment to bind it up right again, but he
didn't want her to go out. She put on the biggest Band-Aid they
had.
He was rough with her in bed, tender-rough, rough the way he was
when he wanted her to fight back, and they rolled and tussled
together on the bed and kissed and scratched and beat at each
other until he pinned her down and had her, had her deep and hot
and for a long time. Afterward, he fell onto her and was asleep.
In the morning, she woke with his arm heavy across her chest. She
lay looking at the stream of blood from under the Band-Aid,
looking at it for some time before she realized what it was. The
cut had come open in their lovemaking, or during the night, and
thick red drops were oozing, one at a time at long intervals, out
from under the sticky pad and down Rick's shoulder.
She pressed her face lightly against his arm and let the blood
trickle across her nose and down over her lips. She closed her
eyes and listened to his breathing.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, February 1, 2000
Ignition
Start 'er up, Frank.
Think it'll work this time?
Only one way to find out.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, February 1, 2000
Day Six
The dice passed to Mrs. Chalman. She took a deep drink of whiskey
and rolled. Eleven. For a long moment she considered the pages in
her hand, pursing her lush red lips outward and breathing the
smoky air. Then she put all but one of the pages down, face up,
in front of her.
"Shapiro," she said, "Arthur Shapiro."
There was a stirring in the audience, and a pale young man stood
up and walked hesitantly to the dias. He mounted the stairs, tall
and thin in his trunks and loose t-shirt, and stood before the
big table, biting his lips. Mrs. Chalman took another swig of
whiskey and nodded.
"You'll do."
The youth walked around the table and took his seat on the
ground, in the orange-marked hexagon behind the matron's chair,
with the others. He shivered, the look on his face indrawn and
calculating.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, January 31, 2000
Donnerwetter
He expresses himself so slowly that she is in pain, in an
ecstatic sort of pain that could for all of her continue all
afternoon; as long as she keeps her eyes closed, and just humms
and smiles to indicate attention, agreement, he is content.
The sound of his voice, she decides, is like something sour and
sweet, something sharp but soft, something that penetrates her
mind like a stealthy cloud.
In April, they will be married.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, January 28, 2000
Teresa
She's sitting in the car, at a traffic light. Her hair is dark
and thick. She hasn't washed it today.
The car smells like coffee. It needs a new muffler.
She looks out the window, waiting for the light. She's wearing a
blue knit sweater over a pale yellow cotton shirt, and dark blue
slacks. Her earrings are thin gold hoops.
There's a song stuck in her head, and she whispers it to herself
as she waits for the light.
Hello, hello, hello, hello
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, January 28, 2000
Madrid
I've bought staples here before.
Oh, sure.
No, really, I mean it. I've been in this place before, doing this
same thing.
In Madrid. You've never BEEN to Madrid before.
I know. It must have been like in a previous life or something.
Uh-huh.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, January 27, 2000
Alex
It feels good to be outside again, this late at night, standing
next to the stream, in the dark. I probably shouldn't have drunk
so much. Or I should have eaten more.
I wonder what they're doing back there.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, January 26, 2000
The Doorway
They are standing there, the two of them, waiting for something.
Waiting for me to make a move, waiting for the cock to crow.
Perhaps waiting for one of the others to return, to return with
an answer, a message from the Front Office. I know that if I am
quiet, if I wait patiently in silence, they will either become
bored and move on to the next doorway, or they will fall asleep,
there in the doorway, slumped against the jambs. If they fall
asleep, I will be able to creep softly up on them again, and take
the candy from their pockets.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, January 25, 2000
Striking
Don't want no other lover
Baby, it's just you I'm
Dreamin' of
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, January 25, 2000
Rita and Kate
I love the snow! Snow and ice and sleet and the big bunny
slippers and the fire in the fireplace and after dark all the
crisp little sounds and my blue mittens and that boy named Joe
with the big ears sticking out shovelling his driveway and old
Dale in his suspenders and wool pants and his hat walking up the
street just to see what's going on, and snow falling off the
roof, and eating icicles.
You love the snow, you don't have to drive in it, do you?
Some people love driving in it, too, I know they do.
Oh, come kiss me on the nose, you kitten.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, January 24, 2000
Roland
Roland turned the small furry stone over and over in his hand,
thinking. They had come up this morning from the camp under the
little box-canyon, and found the house deserted, as they had
expected, but in the center of the livingroom floor was this odd
thing, this small red furry stone, and a blue button.
Marie's buttons had been blue. Hadn't they?
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday, January 23, 2000
Another
Walking past the marina, he saw another one. Then another. They
were all over the place!
He wondered what to do.
What to do?
PARTIALLY STABLE CARBAMIDES
Paragraphs for Grownups
by Mark Aster
The End
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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