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Subject: {ASSM} Allison by Lord Malinov
Date: Sun, 28 May 2000 21:10:03 -0400
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<color><param>0100,0100,0100</param><FontFamily><param>Times New Roman</param><smaller>Allison
by Lord Malinov
<<malinov@ev1.net>
~~~
I spent half my life, waiting for this moment. Wondering if all my
dreams could come true. Allison smiled as she sat down across from
me.
I had known this woman well, a dozen years ago, a blossom in the
springtime of my life. If I think back on those days, my thoughts
swim around Allison's kind face, her pretty blue eyes, her soft
golden hair, creamy smooth shoulders, slender, sigh, arms. And after all
these years, Allison looked nearly the same; a little harder, perhaps,
faint wrinkles tickling the corners of her eyes, a little less glimmer and
bounce in her hair, a few pounds filling out her womanly curves.
Lovelier, in a way, than the day we first met.
When I first met Allison, I spent almost a year completely obsessed
by her. I thought about her constantly. Just fourteen, I was very
much a boy and my heart raced pubescently. I blush to
recall wandering in shy, slow circles around our neighborhood,
desperately hoping fate would let me catch a glimpse of this pretty
girl as she made her way home from school. There were days when I
would stake out her path, lying hours in wait, just because I thought I
might earn a single sweet "Hello." Even at fourteen, I cut a sorry
figure.
As it does all things, time eventually cured me of my unrequited
infatuation for Allison and I soon aimed my heartache toward
other girls wandering the streets of our small town. But through them all,
I always kept a fond eye on Allison. I don't think she ever knew I was
watching her. Allison had a busy life and hardly looked my way.
High school swept us along and I never had the chance to forget
Allison. We both enjoyed a modest talent for singing and so we spent at
least one hour of class together every school day during those four years.
She was in my Spanish class, too. Anyway, we always sang together, but
we really couldn't have been more different. I became a shy bookish
baritone and Allison rose to the rank of marvelously popular alto.
Teenage politics being what they were, I kept a respectful distance,
although I did venture to spend a few lusty daydreams ogling her during
dull moments of our choir's practice.
Making our way to the state college, where I studied physics but kept
singing for the sheer pleasure, a lucky turn of events made us friends.
During the first week of the spring semester of our sophomore year, I
grabbed a cup a coffee and somehow found a seat in the crowded student
union cafeteria. Two minutes later, Allison was wandering the same dining
room, looking for someplace to sit and eat. Catching sight of a familiar
face, she asked if she could join me. I almost choked on my coffee,
trying to agree. Allison laughed and sat down.
Allison's schedule that semester included an hour break between her
music theory classes and our choir's daily rehearsal. I had no
academic reason to be on campus just then, but sentimental affection
drew me into her path, and led me to grab a table for us before the
wave of students could steal them all. Our little conversation soon
turned into a daily ritual. Before a month went by, I had grown
overly enchanted by Allison's smile, once again.
The brief hour we shared became the high point of my day. We took a
break from the rigors of study with laughter and gossip, especially
poking fun at the pompous tenors and gaudy sopranos who raged during
practice as if nothing else mattered, a pastime frequently shared by altos
and baritones world round.
After a few months, Allison seemed to really warm up to me, filling
me in on the juicy details of her social adventures, her complex web
of friends and foes, and eventually let me into her private
thoughts. I soothed her constant worries about her perpetually wayward
brother, and wisely counselled her through struggles with her tightly
laced parents. I even dared to listen when she complained about her
oafish boyfriends, gnashing my teeth jealously while smiling
sympathically.
Our relationship managed to grow beyond our habitual cup of coffee,
and from time to time I would go shopping with Allison at the mall.
She said she liked my taste in clothes. Once, I even loaned her
twenty dollars when a cute blouse went on sale. Allison never paid
me back and I loved her for that.
But through it all, I remained a friend. Allison had blossomed into a
truly ravishing coed at twenty and dated only strong, handsome, witless
young men who always drove fast, expensive cars and wore Italian shoes.
One day, with a little edge on my attitude, I asked her what they talked
about, she and her fashionable brutes.
"We don't," she confessed. "That's why I have you."
I gnashed my teeth, jealously, and smiled. By this time, I loved
Allison dearly and refused to let pride make me relinquish the crumbs she
offered. I needed my time with her at any price.
Then there was a dance, something truly special, some Kingdom by the
Sea cotillion, and I accompanied Allison to the mall to help her
pick out her gown. Rod, who drove a Stingray, I think, had asked
her to the ball and Allison nearly swooned every time she said his
name.
I fought waves of nausea, as we walked the aisles of the department
store looking at the racks of satin and chiffon. I knew I was being asked
to wrap my love in finery that some other man would open, sacrifice my
tender feelings so that she could squander them on a brute. But I was
also powerless to deny Allison anything she asked.
She picked up two dresses and tossing them over her shoulder, Allison
motioned for me to follow.
"Stay right there," she ordered as she closed the latticed door of a small
dressing room. My stomach ached as I listened to the rustle of fabric.
"Here," she said, opening the door. Her blue eyes shining, beauty struck
me hard. I wanted to fall to my knees and swear my love. "Zip me," she
said smiling, turning around.
I could hardly move a finger. The breach parted down the full length of
her back and as I pulled the zipper toward me, I could see the swell of
her bottom hugged by a pair of cotton yellow panties. I stared at that
intimate vision for only a second, but burned it so deeply into my mind
that I can still recall the soft curve with technicolor brilliance.
"What do you think?" she asked, turning a quick circle. I tried to
breathe and swallow.
"Stunning," I said, finally.
"I think so, too," she said with an eye on her image in the trifold
mirror.
"Wow," I said, a sincere ejaculation.
"All right," Allison said. "Let me try on the other one."
Again she slipped into the dressing room and I stood where I had been told
to stay, obedient puppy that I was. The door swung close but then drifted
slowly open, a few inches at most. Allison had her back to me as she
stepped out of the gown. I felt flush with a lusty fever as I drank the
illicit vision of her full pantied bottom, the supple bend at the small of
her back, the long stretch of her legs. Allison turned to retrieve the
second gown. She wore no bra and a supple breast hung heavy below her
outstretched arm, as a faint nipple tightened slightly. Allison stepped
into the gown and finally looked through the gap between the door and
frame. She blushed and I blushed. Stepping toward me, she turned her
back.
"Zip?" I raised the zipper. "Well, what do you think?" she asked
calmly.
"Beautiful."
The night of the dance, I sat at home in the dark with some angry
rock roaring from the stereo while I started on a bottle of Scotch I had
borrowed from home. I remembered the half-dressed vision of Allison I had
managed to steal. I tried to forget. I remembered the long talks we had.
I tried to forget. I remembered wandering the streets of our home town,
ready to give up everything, only to hear her greet me. I took a long
drink and tried desperately to forget.
The phone rang. I didn't want to talk to anyone, but after the third ring
I picked up the receiver.
"Steven?" Allison said.
"Allison?" I replied. She burst into tears. I tried to calm her
down, tried to get some reason out of her, but she cried harder. I
listened to her sobs for a long time, patiently, repeatedly saying,
"It's all right," like a mother rocking a crying baby. Finally she
calmed down a little.
"Can I come over?" Allison asked, sounding more like a little girl
than the bold confident woman I had come to know.
"Sure," I said. She hung up the phone. Ten minutes later, she
knocked at my door. Allison was a sight, her make-up smeared by the
damp tissue in her hand, the gown exchanged for a grey sweatshirt and
jeans, her golden mane still floating angelically in a well-arranged
coiffure.
"You all right?" I asked.
"Can I have a hug?" she replied.
I wrapped my long arms around her. In the six years I had known her, I
had never seen Allison look so fragile. She held me tight, resting her
cheek on my chest. I patted her back and told her it was all right.
The story was old and the details depressing and after I poured her a
drink, Allison walked me through the whole ordeal - the argument, the rude
phone call, the gossip, the other woman, the jilt, the wait, the final
cruel realization that Rod wasn't coming. Allison spit nails, sobbed
relentlessly, laughed with a demonic fire in her eyes and shrank into
fear, pain and loneliness. By two in the morning we had extinguished half
the Scotch and she was nestled in my arms. A pregnant pause caught us
looking into each other's eyes and the magnet's pull of an overdue kiss
suddenly drew us together.
I'm not exactly proud of what happened next, for it seems clear in
retrospect that I took advantage of Allison. I never planned
anything, or even considered what I was doing. I held a beautiful
woman in my arms, one I had loved for many years. The scene that
followed remains one of the best moments of my life, one I have
treasured for twelve lonely years, poring over each perfectly
memorized detail with an archeologist's particularity. Sometimes I
wondered if she remembered any of it. At any rate, I did.
We kissed for hours, like adolescents who think they have invented
the sport, and eventually my hand found the bare flesh of her waist
under her loose grey sweatshirt. My fingers curled around the
warmth as I drew her closer still. Allison's eyes were closed and
she exhaled heavily, sad and surrendered as I started to fondle the
soft swelling of her breast. She laughed when I tickled her nipple.
Actually, I remember several versions of our motion from the floor of my
living room into my bed. Sometimes I think I picked her up and carried
her. Other times, I led the way and she followed. I think my favorite
pseudo-memory is of following her into my room, smiling hungrily as she
stripped off the sweatshirt and pounced into bed. Dawn was just beginning
to color my bedroom window.
"Come here," she said, excited and happy, kneeling on the mattress and
unbuttoning her faded blue jeans. I crawled onto my bed, grinning
madly.
Allison fell back and stuck her legs toward me. I started pulling on the
frayed cuffs, drawing the denim from her uplifted limbs. Allison laughed
as the jeans slid past her feet, twisting with the last release to lay
down on her stomach, her bare ass forming a plump little hill. I kissed
the back of her thighs, ascending slowly. Allison moaned and then rolled
again to let me kiss the tops of her thighs. I stole a peek at her soft
brown muff.
"You know what I really like?" she asked with a shy giggle.
"No," I said, still kissing, "but I can probably guess." Allison
spread her lean legs and I quickly worked my way to the junction, to kiss
the soft pinkness of her blossoming flower.
Licking Allison's pussy sorely affected me. A thousand night's
fantasy suddenly erupted in the unfolding of her pretty sex. I
nearly came in my shorts, taking that first long lick between her
swollen lips, drinking the dew that tasted of pure Allison, feeling
the shudder of excitement as I teased her stiff clitoris, her ass
cupped in my hands, her laughter and moans mingling in my head. I
pushed my tongue deep into Allison's cunt, wild with devotion and
lust, stroked steadily while a river of her desire, desire Allison
felt at my touch, poured over my chin to drench my hands, my sheets, my
soul.
"Oh, God, Steven, Yes," she groaned, pulling my hair to force my lips
against hers while my tongue tormented her clit. Allison squealed and
shook and ground me down hard against her shudders before she finally
yanked me away to let the orgasm fade.
"Roar," she said, rubbing her spread pussy between aftershocks. I
pushed down my shorts and pulled methodically on my throbbing hard
prick, staring at the naked goddess before me, illuminated by the
glowing fires of dawn. Allison moved herself around to kiss the
crown of my cock. At the first touch of her lips, I baptized Allison with
six years of wanting, thick streams pouring over her cheeks, over her
lips, down her bare breasts, into her hair.
"I'm sorry," I said, horrified. I still don't know why the sudden
release mortified me. Allison laughed hysterically as she wiped her face
with my t-shirt and nestled herself in my arms.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word," she sang, resting against my
chest. I tried to find the harmony, but grew confused. I
quickly drifted into sleep. When I awoke, Allison had gone.
I called her, but she didn't answer. I waited at the Union, but she never
showed. I saw her at choir practice but she kept away, never looking at
me, always keeping people between us. I cornered her once and she
shook
her head, her face flush with shame and dashed away at the first
opportune
moment. I gave up, knowing what had happened. A moment's ecstasy
cost me
more than I could bear to pay.
Once the semester ended, I didn't see Allison. I stopped singing. I
focussed on my other studies and graduated at the top of my class. I
took
a job doing research, published some papers, patented some inventions,
started a company and in a decade built a small empire.
A late night at the lab left me hungry. I stopped at an all night
restaurant and ordered a steak. Two minutes later, Allison walked
in. I recognized her at once. She sat down across from me.
"How have you been?" I asked. The touch of sadness in her azure
gaze spoke more than the simple, "All right."
"You?" she asked, the single word touching a forgotten chord in my
heart strings.
"I've been getting by," I said.
"Did you ever . . . ?" Allison asked, her voice trailing off before
she finished the thought. I knew what she wanted to know by the coy
smile that followed.
"No," I said. "I haven't had time. I haven't let myself get close
enough for that."
"Oh," she said.
"Surely you've been married," I said, noticing her naked ring
finger.
"Twice," she replied. "Catastrophe's."
"I'm sorry," I said. She smirked, a rude smile of hers I had almost
forgotten.
"You haven't changed," she said. "Well, you look older and smarter."
"Thanks," I said. "I think."
"So what have you been up to?" she asked. I traced the long trail I had
travelled, holding back a few of the details. I didn't want to make
Allison feel bad.
"That's great," she said when I reached the end. "I always knew
you'd make something of yourself."
"That's funny," I said. "I never did."
"No, you didn't think much of yourself back when I knew you."
"No, I guess not."
"I always thought you were a genius. You want to know how I knew
that? You intimidated me. No one else could. Not a soul," Allison
said, seriously. I laughed with a snort.
"Me? I was a buffoon."
"No, don't even say that. I thought you were incredible."
"But," I started and stopped. Allison looked at me quizzically.
"What?" she asked.
"But then why did you leave me?" I asked.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I couldn't stand . . . I just had to. I
was afraid. You would have left me."
"Never," I confessed.
"No, you would have. You had these ideas, that I was some kind of
princess."
"You were."
"No, I wasn't. Don't you get it? That wasn't me. That whole
thing you had was just you, thinking about me. You kept looking at
me, but you never saw me, not for me. Once we, well, you know, I
knew you were bright enough to figure out that I was just a pretty
girl and that you deserved more than I would give you."
"I don't buy it, but maybe," I said, "you could have stuck around
to find out."
"I know. Don't you think I know that. I've thought about that
night with you for years, regretting the fact that I acted like such a
stupid bitch. Everything was just a mess for me that semester. Nothing
was working out and then this thing with you and I couldn't bear to get
dumped again."
I paid the check and we left together. Neither of us said anything
about it, we just did. She smiled as I opened the passenger door
of my car, a fast sports car, just her type. Now that I think
about it, my shoes are Italian, too.
I took her back to my place and poured us a drink. Allison wandered
through the apartment, ten times the size of the last one we had been in
together. She walked back to my bedroom and I followed. She sat on the
bed.
"Come here," she said, laughing. I crawled up beside her and we
kissed. Memories competed with passion as I tasted her sweet lips.
Pausing, Allison pulled my shirt over my head and fiddled the button of
my
trousers.
"I didn't get very far last time," she said, pushing down my briefs.
"Think you can hold back for ten seconds?"
"I don't know," I said with a smile. "You still excite me."
"Mmm," said Allison as she slipped my prick into her mouth. So much
had
happened, so much had been lost and her tongue teased the length of my
staff while I knelt on my bed and wondered if this would just be another
night for us both to regret. I caressed her golden hair as she suckled my
senses, remembering the pain, thinking about what she'd said, that I
would
have left her, that she was just a pretty girl, that I deserved something
better.
Allison lifted her skirt and I saw the thin yellow cotton panties
that covered her firm bottom. The orgasm welled deep within and I
said her name over and over as I poured my soul into my Allison.
"How's your brother?" I asked as I laid back to catch my breath.
"He's in jail," she said. I laughed and then apologized. Allison
kissed me gently and laid her cheek to my chest.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word," I sang softly. Allison picked up
the song, in perfect harmony. "Daddy's going to buy you a
mocking bird."
~~~
Allison
by Lord Malinov
<<malinov@ev1.net>
Power belongs to those who dare... Sapere aude
<nofill>
Power belongs to those who dare . . . Sapere aude
<http://users.ev1.net/~dccain/malinov/>
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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