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Message-ID: <28077asstr$978019804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Jane Urquhart" <janey98@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP: Y2K (FM rom, strange)JU
Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2000 11:10:04 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Y2Kpost.txt" begin>

WARNINGS:  This story includes explicit descriptions of sexual acts.  If
reading this might involve you or another  person in an illegal act, or you
are offended by the exploration of adult themes in literature or on the
Internet, do not read further.  Copyright 1999, 2000 Jane Urquhart.

The author is a member of the Net Authors and Creators Union (NACU),
which defends the rights of  Internet authors and creators.  NACU intends
to bring suit against any person or corporation infringing copyright.
Specific permission is granted for publication in the newsgroups
Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for archiving by the
Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and Deja.  All other rights are reserved.
Do not repost or distribute by any other means without express permission
from the author.

Note: Anniversary Repost.  I thought it might remind some of us how it was 
last year at this time. J.U.

NOTE:  In olden times, a little story like this was called a "fancy,"  which
meant a tale not subject to all the strictures of reality.  I am aware of 
the
controversy over the starting date of the new millennium, and I know that
it will begin somewhere in the Pacific and not in Times Square.  But this
is a fancy.


Y2K   (FM rom, strange)

by Jane Urquhart

      "Martha, what's bugging you?"

      Should I tell him?  I thought not, but I knew I would.  I've never 
liked
New Year's Eve much.  It's like a birthday.  What's to celebrate?  You're
glad you're getting older? That's when you're a kid, not when you can feel
the bad back and the sore knees and have to wear reading glasses.  But
even when I was a kid I thought New Year's was scary. All these people
partying, drinking, having fun.  What are they celebrating?  That they've
survived another year?  They certainly can't be celebrating what's coming,
because they don't know.

        "I'm scared, that's all," I said.  "Haven't you noticed?  I'm always 
that
way on New Year's Eve.  And Y2K is worse.  I don't know why, but it's
worse this year."

       I smiled at him.  He certainly wasn't one of my problems.  Well,
maybe he was, because he's getting older, too, and he's older than I am.
I'm forty-two.  He's fifty.  Or will be next month.  So, yes, he's a
problem.  Works too hard, plays too little, getting around to heart attack
time.  But he's cheerful, and fun, and he still says I'm beautiful.  I love
him.

       "Dear old Martha,"  he said, smiling that "I care about you" smile he
has.  I know that one, just as I know all the others.  That one is the best, 
I
think.  "I wish I could kiss it and make it better."

      "You could," I said.  I smiled again.

      So he did.  It wasn't time, yet, for the regulation New Year's kiss, 
but
he set his champagne glass down on a lamp table, took mine out of my
hand and put it down, too, and put his arms around me.

      "It's early," he said, looking into my eyes, still smiling. "Fifteen
minutes to go.  But I believe in starting early."

      He pulled me hard up against him.  My breasts pushed against his
chest.  I could feel his thighs against mine. He leaned down and put his
lips on mine, gently, at first, then harder.  I could feel his heartbeat.  
He
tasted sweet, of champagne.  I opened my mouth and took his tongue
inside, and he squeezed me harder.  I didn't know it would be like that,
there at our own party, with all those people around.  But he was in
charge, not me, and I was more than willing to go along.

        He didn't pull away, he kept on fondling me with his tongue.  I was
smiling to myself.  "Hoo-Ha!" I thought. "This is getting interesting!"  And
the kiss went on and on.  He pulled back just a little and brought a hand
around to put it between us on my breast.  Right there in front of all those
people!  It did feel good!  And the kiss went on and on. And then he pulled
away, bowed, and kissed my hand.  My goodness!  I was smiling, then, I'll
tell you!  People were looking at us and they smiled, too.  Floor show!

      "We could just leave and go to the bedroom,"  he said, quietly.

      "And miss seeing the ball come down and all the people yelling?"  I
was still smiling, and my pulse was getting stronger and faster.  "And
leave them all to wonder why the hostess wasn't there?"

      "We could do that, yes,"  he said, smiling the way he does when he's
daring me to do something.  I know that one, too.

      He was still holding my hand, so I gave him a little tug and turned
toward the door.  I looked over my shoulder at him, smiling.  He came
willingly, and we almost ran up the stairs.

      In the bedroom somebody had left the TV on.  As I entered I could see
it showing a small crowd of people in what looked like a park.  They were
carrying signs that said, "Repent!" and "This is the End!" and things like
that.  Poor things.  Then it was back to Times Square and people yelling
and milling around and a man going on and on about the New Year.  I
went over and pushed the mute button.

      We didn't have to talk.  I had only to glance at him to see this 
wasn't
one of those nights when he'd tease me by taking my clothes off one thing
at a time and kissing me all over and saying dumb things about how
beautiful I was.  This was one of those times we just stood on opposite
sides of the bed and zipped and pulled and got undressed as fast as we
could.  This time he had that little smile that said,  "Get ready!  I'm 
going
to squeeze you and push you around and kiss you and make you scream
with joy!"  I was ready, oh, yes!  So was he.

       Then we were in the bed and I was holding him tight and he pushed
his leg between mine and pushed me over on my back and that was fine
because I wanted him and he wanted me and what could be better?  So I
reached down and put his penis right where it belonged and he began to
suck at a nipple and I put a hand on his head and he pushed and pulled and
I met his every thrust with one of my own and he put his mouth on mine
and yes, I screamed with joy, but not very loud.  I was feeling so
intoxicated by all this that I didn't think about anything at all and then I
began to feel the great shock wave building and it hit the top and crashed,
leaving me ready for more, and he kept right on going and then he
stiffened and started moaning and I could feel his warmth filling me and
then he collapsed on top of me and I held him gently for a moment or two
until he raised his head and kissed me, sweetly, and I held him tight and
then I let him go.

      He lay next to me so our hips could press together and he looked at me
and smiled the one that only comes at times like that and tells me he feels
so good because he loves me and he can give me pleasure and I can do the
same for him and of course it's a miracle.  And I smiled, too, of course,
because it *is* a miracle and I love him.

        Then he propped himself up on an elbow and looked across me at the
TV and I looked at it, too.

        "The ball is coming down, "  he said, which made it official even
though I could see it, too, and I smiled.

        "Happy New Year!"  I said.

        "New century!" he said.

        "New millennium!" I said.

        And then the ball hit the bottom.

        The TV blanked out; the lights went off.

        "I guess they missed a chip somewhere," I said.  But I was scared
again.  He'd taken that away for a while and I was grateful.

        We couldn't hear any traffic.  It was deathly quiet.  I rose and 
went to
the window. There was a little ice in one corner of it, but I could see
outside.  It was a clear night. Then I saw a star go out.  And another.

        "The stars are going out," I said.  I was scared.

        He came over behind me and put both arms around me and looked
out the window himself.

        "I didn't believe you," he said.  "But they are."

        Then the big tree out by the road disappeared.  Just like that. Then
the house across the way.  Just gone.  Nothing.  Oh, my!  Those people on
the TV, they were right.  But he was holding me.  I trembled, but I wasn't
really scared.  He was holding me.

        "I love you," he said.

        "I love you," I replied.

        Then the walls of the room began somehow to shimmer. They gave
off a low, strange light.  Then they disappeared, too.

                                            -----THE END----

NOTE:  My thanks to Miles Naismith, who always helps me; and to
Spline Duck and Old Rotorhead, who are very good critics.  Faults are all
mine.

Please write to Jane Urquhart at janey98@hotmail.com

The author is a member of the Net Authors and Creators Union
(NACU), which defends the rights of  Internet authors and creators.
NACU intends to bring suit against any person or corporation infringing
copyright.  Specific permission is granted for publication in the
newsgroups Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for
archiving by the Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and Deja.  All other
rights are reserved.  Do not repost or distribute by any other means
without express permission from the author.







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