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From: "Kenny Gamura" <turtlemeat69@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} RP: Beggars Can't Be... Part 1 {Gamera} (MF rom no sex)
Date: Tue, 13 Nov 2001 21:10:04 -0500
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                        Disclaimer

  This is piece of fiction. Its characters have not even
contemplated  such things, mostly because said characters
do  not exist.  Any  imagined resemblance to people living
or  deceased is either the result  of non-
sobriety/dementia/stupidity on the reader's part or that
the  reader is, in fact, a character this story.  None of
these are  conditions to be proud of, and it would not be
wise to draw attention  to one's self by claiming any
similarity.  Any science in this story  is so wrong as to
get me expelled by my professors and laughed at by a
science fiction writer.

   It is assumed that readers of this story have the
permission of the  state, mom, dad, and pastor and are able
to tell the difference  between real and make-believe.
Furthermore, the writer is fully aware  that he is bound
for  hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well  thoughts
out,  humourous insults on his writing skill.  Note: he
already  knows he cannot spell warth shet.

   The events and descriptions of this story are the sole
property of  Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded,
reposted, or profited from  in anyway without express
written permission of the person hiding  behind that pen
name. Reposting and free archiving will be tolerated  given
the writer's name and address remains attached.  Archiving
by Deja.Com and ASSTR/ASSM is assumed and encouraged.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera
turtlemeat69@hotmail.com

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera/Beggars_Can't_Be

                   Beggars Can't Be... Part 1
                 Cute but Just a Tad Too Thin
                             by
                       Kenny N Gamera

   I was between the lab and work (guess who is a grad
student) with  about forty-five minutes more than I would
need to get from one to the  other.  Naturally, this meant
that I would go to enjoy a double latte  at my regular
coffee stop and `enjoy' the latest piece of earth
shattering science from _Geochemica,_Cosmochemica_: a
speedball of  sorts (simulate, coffee; depressant "Recent
advances in the use of  extra-terrestrial barium isotope
signatures in paleobathic  reconstruction: The Rhaetian-
Norian transition in Ruritania").   Fortunately for that
remnant to my sanity, Liz was working, Liz being a  sweet
co-ed with long auburn hair and a button nose over whom I
wanted  to make an ass of myself.

   Fortunately for Liz, I had given up making an ass of
myself for  lent.

   Double fortunately for Liz, the weather tempted me out
to the  patio.

   After I had gotten my coffee and used the rest room
mirror to get my  tie done up for work, I choose a sunny
spot at the far corner of the  deck, sat at an umbrella-
less  mesh- top patio table and started to  enmesh myself
in the tangle of jargon I had brought to read.  I like to
read at this shop versus the library because there are just
enough  distractions to keep me from going stir crazy, but
it doesn't have the  commotion of the places around campus.
It takes about a five-minute  drive to the stripmall that
gives it the business needed to stay around  (but not
enough to attract the evil Starbuck's).  The view is, thus,
limited  to the storefronts, the parking lot they surround,
and a bank  across the way.  Oh, yes and the occasional
babe.

   Speaking of which....

   The woman stepped from a white car, which she had parked
so the  first view I had of her would be her legs, encased
in hose/stockings,  and a pair of simple, black, short-
heeled pumps.  I watched, I admit,  even though they lacked
the  full sweeping arch I most adore in a  woman's calf.
Why? because there was just something that caused that
little bad part  of me to say, "Tayka look at dem gams, Mr.
Gamera."  I  have given up at trying to guess or figure out
or brood about  the  aesthetics of girl watching; I have
learned to just enjoy the feelings  that an attractive
woman inspires.

   And she did inspire such feelings.

   Her dark gray skirt fell to a reasonable spot, just
below her knee  by maybe a centimeter, tailored to be not
loose, yet following the  shape of her body without
clinging to it. This gave a just tempting  hint at the
shape of her butt, which I guessed to be slim, yet still
high and curved.  I wished for a moment that she had worn
shorts or a  pair of tight jeans.

   Definitely tight jeans, I thought, as she smoothed her
skirt a tad.   She was built to wear tight jeans.  (Yes,
guys are pigs, but you seem  to like us anyway, ladies.
Don't  ask me why.)

   She turning away from her smoothing just as the former
thought went  through my head, and as the gods of
perversity would have it, she  looked right at me.  I don't
mean that she looked in my direction, but  that she looked
right at  me. We made eye contact at a distance of two
healthy non-asian built car lengths.

   There is a feeling that at least I get as I pass a cop
on the  interstate; my heart will speed up and I quickly
look down at the  speedometer though I have my cruise
control set to the limit.  That  feeling that the state
trooper somehow knows what I want to do and as  if somehow
I have been caught.

   I was caught.

   Big time.

   And she knew I knew.

   She smiled a smile that a screenwriter would have called
`knowing'  with just a tad of bemusement.  I think.  I
don't know for sure because  I quickly averted my eyes and
went back to my reading, in the moral  equivalent to the
causal walk of a thief as he saunters away from a
burglary.  I resisted the urge to whistle.

   That would have made it too damned obvious.

   Not that it wasn't already.

   I glanced up by moving only my eyes to take just a peek.
She was not  watching me (sound of held breath being
released), but instead she had  closed her car's door and
began to strut to the bank (sound of  additional held
breath being released).  Her skirt swished back and  forth
in that way a tight skirt just won't even try to mimic,
amplifying the rolling gait of her retreating behind.

   I looked at my watch to see that I had just spent twenty
minutes to  have only succeeded in embarrassing myself and
to read  "Sedimentologists have long looked for evidence of
the depositional  depth of sedimentary rocks lacking either
fossils of organisms that  provide adequate paleoecologic
information of depth or fossils  entirely.  Additionally,
even when the proper organisms are preserved,  taphnomic
conditions may not..." about five times.  And I had not
drank  enough latte to ensure that I would need to grab a
to go cup for the  drive to work.

   With a mighty sigh, I proceeded to knuckle down and
actually begin  reading the paper I needed to read for at
least the time I had before I  needed to leave.  I did
well, and I had made it to the end of the  methods section
and finished half my coffee, when a voice from the seat
next to mine startled me from my concentration enough to
make me jump.

   I looked up and I saw her.  Yes, that her, the woman
whose lower  anatomy I had written about above.  While she
was sitting on her fairly  nice hind end, I recognized the
gray skirt, the white blouse, and the  long, brown hair I
had noticed, but hadn't gotten to admiring, which  are two
very different things.  I could now see that her eyes were
also  brown, but a very light brown like that of oak wood,
not  the dark,  almost black of some people's eyes.  Still,
they  shone as if they were  darker and reflected the same
light that shone on her smile.

   "Sorry," she said in a soft voice.  "I didn't realize
that you so  absorbed in what you were reading."

   "Uh," I said in the most suave way a startled,
embarrassed, and  guilty guy could manage and still sound
like a dork.

   "I hope you don't mind my joining you, but I thought
that you might  like some company"

   "Uh," I again replied as different parts of my brain
went to find  where the clever, witty part was hiding.

   She stretched to look around my hand at the photocopied
pages it  held (you honestly don't think I could afford to
subscribe to  _Geochemica_Cosmochemica_?).  "What are you
reading that is so  interesting," she asked.

   "Uh," went that part of the brain not occupied with
looking for the  witty, clever part, before it found a
store of words with more  syllables.  "A science article."

   "What is it about?"

   I glanced down at it, then looked at her with a sheepish
grin.

   "About twelve pages," I replied while I thought to
myself that I  may have been better off with `uh' and that
her dentist deserved a  prize for that smile.  Her pouty
pinkish red lips framed those  beautifully white teeth.  A
vision of my penis sliding into that mouth  popped into my
head (see above note re, men, pigs, etc.)

   She giggled.

   "I apologize," I said as I shook my head.  "I was just
caught off  guard, and I am sometimes a little too goofy
for my own good."

   "That's fine."

   "Besides, I don't think you'll understand it."  Her lips
turned down  just a tad.  "'Cause, I don't understand it
and I'm a trained  professional!"

   She laughed, again.  "You are goofy.  Besides bad comedy
and staring  at women, what do you do?"

   I blushed.

   "I'm a grad student at the university."  She shifted
herself so that  her chin rested in her right palm with her
arm resting on the tabletop.   She leaned toward be just a
tad more. She looked right at my eyes.  I  wanted to play
with my collar, ala Rodney Dangerfield, but resisted the
urge.  "In Geo-chemistry."

   "That's interesting.  I teach science at Gil Thropp
Junior High."

   "What subject," I asked as I did not look with all my
will at her  left leg, which swung back and forth as it
rested over her right.   Instead, I glanced away from her
gaze.

   "A little of everything, mostly biology."  I wondered to
myself if  she was available for an anatomy lesson. "We
have a half day today so I  thought I would go to the bank.
Maybe, get a late lunch as well.  Is  the food good here."

   "Avoid the cornbeef.  And get chips instead of the pasta
salad; it's  kinda bland."

   "Are you eating?"

   "No," I looked at my watch.  "In fact, I need to go to
work."

   "At the university?"

   "No," I replied as I took a huge swallow of coffee and
threw my  stuff together.  She followed as I went inside.
"I'm an assistant  manager at Mr. Slot's, at the Towne
Mall. Grant money ran out."

   "Well, I'm Jenny." She presented me her hand.  I took it
and  introduced myself.  She than removed a small
Dayplanner (c) from her  bag.  "What's your number, Ken?
I'd like to give you a call sometime  this weekend."

   "Sure, no problem," I said before I rattled off the
digits to my  number.  "Can I have yours too?"

   She gave me hers after explaining, "I like to get the
guy's number.   They don't always call me after they
promise," she winked at me,  "especially after I catch them
checking me out."

   At that note, she went to the counter to order from Liz,
while I dumped my cup in a bus tub and went out the door.


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