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From: "Krystoff Vagabond" <kvagabond@lycos.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Alyssa's Story: Every Morning at 4am (MF FF self-discovery subtle)
Date: Thu, 17 Aug 2000 14:10:05 -0400
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REPOST - Originally posted to alt.sex.stories in Feburary 2000
The following story may contain some explicit sexual material.
Though not blatantly pornographic, reader discretion is advised. Were this a movie, it would probably gain an R rating.
This story was written as an exploration of character and while
it might be considered erotic, the intent was to delve into
the minds of the characters rather than to sexually arouse the
reader. If you are looking for that you should look elsewhere.
However, if you are offended by sexuality, you should look
somewhere else as well.
This story is Copyright 1999, Krystoff Vagabond.
It may be freely redistributed as long as it remains completely
intact and unmodified (including these headers). I welcome
comments and criticism.
Please send any thoughts you have on the story to
kvagabond@mailcity.com
------------------------------------------------------------
Alyssa's Story: Every Morning at 4am
Two minutes. That's all the time she needed. Two
minutes and fifteen feet and Alyssa would be out of there.
Find all of her clothes, get dressed and get out and she
would never have to see whatever-his-name-was again. That's
what she kept telling herself as she fastened her bra and
pulled on her jeans. It's so much easier this way. So much
better than the awkward moments the next day when you try to
keep smiling as you tell each other what a wonderful time
you had last night and make empty promises to call each
other in a day or two. Things are better this way. Get
dressed, sneak out at four in the morning, hop in your car
and drive home. So much better than playing the game. Lying
because it's the thing to do. This is better.
That's what Alyssa kept telling herself the entire
drive home. It was warm for October, and she had the top to
her convertible rolled down. The fresh air helped to clear
her head - hopefully, it would be enough to fight off the
hangover that the gin wanted to give her. But, the wind
coming off the lake made her wish that she hadn't lopped off
so much of her hair three months ago when she broke up with
Ken. It wasn't long enough to tie back into a ponytail, but
there was still enough of it to blow in her eyes and be
generally frustrating. Fuck it. Maybe she should have cut it
all off. Okay, that's just stupid. The new look was hot.
Sexy. What kind of guy would give a bald chick the time of
day?
This is better, she thought again as she entered her
bedroom and tossed her keys. They missed the dresser
entirely and made a muffled clang as they hit the carpet,
but she didn't care enough to pick them up. Three seconds
later she was face down on the bed, her nose buried in a
fluffy down pillow. She fell asleep without even bothering
to take off her shoes.
She didn't dream that night. She never really did
anymore. Not that she could remember anyway. Better not to
dream at all than to wake up in a cold sweat in the middle
of the night. Better to feel nothing at all than to feel
constant fear. That's what used to happen. For weeks after
she left Ken she woke up at four o'clock in the morning,
still thinking he was there. Sometimes, she would wake to
the sound of a car door slamming outside, sure that it was
Ken coming home in a drunken stupor. She'd lie in bed
crying, waiting for him to stumble in and climb into bed
beside her. She could almost feel his warm, alcohol-soaked
breath burning at her neck. Muscles throughout her body
would tense as she imagined his fingers, sticky from beer
and yellow from cigarettes, reaching between her legs. But
he would never come. An hour would go by and the bedroom
door would never open. It was a dream. Ken was gone. He
wasn't coming back. She would cry until she fell back to
sleep.
Alyssa was past that now. She didn't think of him
anymore when she slipped between the covers of her bed. She
didn't think she heard his voice in the hallway or that she
smelled his pot in the next room. She didn't think of
anything more than getting a good night's sleep.
Every night was the same. She'd get off of work at five
and be home by six. By nine she was at Jack's and by eleven
she had usually decided who she was going home with that
night.
Men are easy, really. They don't require much coaxing.
Seduction isn't the right word for it. Seduction implies a
certain amount of effort. All Alyssa really needed to do was
pick out a guy from across the room, stare at him until he
noticed her, nod him over and he was snared. The man would
then do all the work. He'd buy her drinks all night. He'd
compliment her. He'd try to feel her up on the dance floor.
Around one A.M., she'd whisper into his ear, ask him to take
her back to his place and fuck her brains out. It was always
the same. A sly grin would spread across his face and he'd
take her by the hand and lead her out of the bar, winking at
his friends about his new "conquest," firmly believing that he had seduced her.
It varied of course. Sometimes they wouldn't actually
make it to his apartment. Sometimes she'd go to his car in
the parking lot, or maybe into a nearby alleyway.
Occasionally she had them rent motel rooms. Every once in a
while she'd try something really kinky: handcuffs, a hot
tub, the men's room in the back of the bar. Three weeks ago,
she had even taken on two guys at once. It all depended on
how adventurous she was feeling that night - how horny. The
one thing she never did was bring a man back to her
apartment. That would just be messy. It was hard enough
trying to get out of some love sick puppy dog's bed before
he woke up in the morning; much worse having to wait for him
to wake up and leave. And then she'd have to worry that he
would try to come back again.
It was just another night. It had started like the
countless nights before. She had put on a sexy outfit. She
had ordered a White Russian from Angel, the only drink she
intended to pay for that night. She had taken her seat at
the bar. She had turned down an advance or two by Gino, and
it was nearing eleven o'clock. There were at least three or
four possible prospects in attendance tonight. All that was
left was for her to make her choice. Then she saw Ken.
It shouldn't have bothered her. After all, it had been
over three months. It wasn't as though she hadn't seen him
in the bar before. But tonight it was different. There he
was, across the bar, hitting on some Hispanic girl.
She had been trying. She really had. All night she had
tried to keep her mind off of him, to find some other guy
who'd get her drunk, get her laid, and help her forget for
another night. But she couldn't. She couldn't stop feeling.
It wasn't jealousy. Not exactly. It wasn't anger. Not quite.
It was fear. Fear of being replaced.
Alyssa was never special. She had always believed that
she was. For nearly three years, she had convinced herself
that she was special to Ken. That he loved her. It was this
love - this specialness - that made her stay for so long. It
made her put up with the drugs. It made her put up with the
cheating. It made her lay awake in bed waiting for him to
come home from a bender. It made her spread her legs when
he'd finally arrive so that he could drive himself deep
inside of her. It made her fight back the tears and smile.
But, it had never been love. It had been fear that she
felt all those times. The fear of being alone. And now she
felt it again. She felt it as she realized that all she ever
was to Ken was a good lay. Maybe not even a good lay. Maybe
just a convenient one. She felt the tears welling up in her
eyes again. She felt cold. Scared. Alone. And then that all
changed.
It was such a simple gesture. So fast, and yet so
perfect. So significant. The girl lifted her drink and threw
it in Ken's face. She stood up and walked away. That simple.
Ken's friends, B.J. and Chaz, laughed as he approached their
booth. Alyssa felt vindicated. She felt as though this
stranger had somehow gotten him back. Done her a favor and
exacted some revenge.
The stranger was now sitting on Alyssa's side of the
bar, only a few stools down. More importantly, Alyssa
realized that Ken was now looking at her. He must have seen
her when he was looking at the girl. The fright returned for
a moment. The powerlessness was back. She looked away from
his cold stare. Looked to her right - to the stranger. The
power returned. If the stranger could do it on her first
interaction with Ken, then after all this time, she should
certainly be that strong. "Jack, two White Russians please." "Right away, Alyssa. Who's paying?" The bartender looked around her to see which of his patrons she was toting
along.
"I am." She tossed a couple of bills on the bar counter and took the glasses over to the stranger. "Here you go," she said as she extended one of the drinks forward. She
could feel Ken's eyes digging into her back and she couldn't
help but tremble slightly. A single drop of her own drink
jumped out of the glass and splashed on the floor. The
stranger didn't seem to notice. Hopefully, neither did Ken.
"What's this for?" The young, Hispanic stranger sounded cautious, somewhat untrusting, but she reached for the drink
anyway.
"Well, you looked like you needed a new drink since my ex-boyfriend is wearing your old one."
You never know what you're missing until you find it.
That's what Alyssa thought to herself as she ran her fingers
through the silky black hair of the head on her chest at
four in the morning. This was anything but the way she
expected this night to turn out. She had never even
considered being with another woman before, not even with
all the experimenting she'd been doing lately, and certainly
not before her relationship with Ken. Eighteen years of
strong catholic upbringing had taught her better than that.
As for the four years with Ken - He had actually suggested
it a couple of times, but it was never something she could
agree to do.
Now look where she was. Sharing her bed with the girl
that Ken had been hitting on. It was wonderful. Being with
Elena was different than anything she had ever experienced.
She was comforting. She was gentle. The sex they had
together was something shared. Until that night Alyssa had
always thought of sex as something to be taken. Something
you do to someone, not with them. Last night was different.
Last night was wonderful.
Alyssa woke up a little after eight in the morning and
crawled out of bed. She was halfway through her first cup of
coffee when she finally realized that Elena was gone. She
looked around her room. Clothes, shoes, jacket, purse. All
of it gone. No note. No phone number. Nothing. Alyssa put
her face in her hands and began to cry.
---
-Krystoff
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|| http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/kvagabond/www || kvagabond@mailcity.com ||
|| "Booze, sex, prayer -- whatever gets you through the night." ||
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