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Message-ID: <34591asstr$1010509823@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "empath :{)" <empath69@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "It Gets Funnier Every Time I Hear It"[Dancer] (MF pett humor)
Date: Tue,  8 Jan 2002 12:10:23 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Warnings:
1) Driving and other activities don't mix well.  I don't JUST mean 
cellphones - shaving/applying makeup (same thing, really), eating, READING - 
all these activities draw your attention from the road...and risk turning 
you from a living, breathing human being into a marker in a field and a few 
statistics.

2) Everyone who makes a fortune on the stock market did so on the money of a 
bunch of unfortunate people who LOST everything there - where do you think 
that money came from?!?  They say "Buy low and sell high" but who are you 
buying FROM and selling TO?  The last time this much of the population got 
this involved in the stock market was the 1920's...

3) And having/reading pornographic stories before you can vote will get you 
in trouble; don't bother with this until then.:)


Copyright: This magnum opus is the intellectual property of my wife who goes 
by the nom de plume of 'Dancer'.  It is HERS; you can read it, and download 
a copy to keep for yourself or read offline, but please contact us if you 
wish to do anything else with it.

Oh, and since ASS* authors do this solely out of the goodness of their 
hearts, it's considered BAD form to read a story, enjoy it, and make no 
attempt to tell the author so.  We've had many good writers quit this forum 
simply because they couldn't be bothered putting their body and soul into 
works that do not even get a
                 'Hey; liked it - you gonna do more?'
from someone.

You can reach Dancer through the email address I post these stories - I'll 
ferry any kudos/praise/plaudits that I receive.  Heck, you can even copy and 
past the 'model fanmail' message I put above, if you're busy! :D

Best wishes, and enjoy!

_________________________________________________________________
Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: http://mobile.msn.com


<1st attachment, "funnier.txt" begin>

SUBJECT LINE:

{ASSM}"It Gets Funnier Every Time I Hear It"{Dancer}(MF
pett humor)

==========


It Gets Funnier Every Time I Hear It
Dancer 2001 (c)


I felt so special, so awestruck, in his presence that I
said nothing as I sat down at the table. Graham was totally
gorge: a mix of Aussie good looks, Stephen Hawking smarts
and Hilfiger chic. Translated into plain English for the
males - blonde, buff and brainy.

Of course, I wasn't the only female who had the hots for
Graham. Ninety percent of them fell for his cool accent,
six percent went for his rippling physique, three point
nine for the sexy, wire-framed glasses which gave him the
allure of intelligence and I, the point one percent, wanted
desperately to find out how it felt to kiss a guy with his
bottom lip pierced.

None of the other ladies had mentioned the tiny, silver
ring near the right corner of his mouth, so I figured I was
the first to zero in on it. While I watched him covertly
out of the corner of one eye, this line from my fave TV
show popped in my head - 'gonna get it'. ('Buffy the
Vampire Slayer' fans know what I mean and James Marsters'
voice saying those words...mmm-mmmm!) I moaned a whimper
and chewed on my lips in frustration while I flipped
through the local paper.

On page two was the headline: Ex-Beatle George Harrison
Dies. "Damn," I grumbled under my breath.

"What?" Graham asked, glancing at me over his bottle of
spring water.

"George Harrison died yesterday," I replied and sighed.
"This means I have to update my Beatles reunion joke."
Graham slitted his silvery-blue eyes at me and I rolled my
eyes, unsure of how he'd take the humor. "Okay, the old
joke was: how do you reunite The Beatles? Three bullets.
Now I have to make it two bullets." He snorted and hid his
mouth behind the back of his wrist, trying not to laugh out
loud. "It wasn't -that- funny."

"It is to me. I love that kind of joke," he answered after
controlling his fit of the giggles.

"Really?" I queried, thinking maybe I found a way through
his defenses. "Want to hear my dead baby jokes?"

He dropped his head onto the table and buried it in the
crook of his arm. Occasionally, he'd slap his palm against
the top. Finally he looked up at me across the table and
said, "Okay. Hit me, Mandy."

"All righty then," I replied and tossed the front page
aside. "How do you fit a hundred dead babies in coffee
cup?" He shook his head side-to-side. "Put 'em in a blender
first." It didn't make him laugh but he did smile from ear
to ear. I continued, "How do tell a live baby from a pile
of dead ones? It's the one eating its way to the top."

"That's it," Graham stated, cutting me off with a motion of
one hand. "I draw the line at cannibalism."

I threw my hands up. "It's not cannibalism. It's survival."

"Pass."

"Well, how do feel about nuns?" He rested his chin in the
cradle of his left hand, body language for 'tell me' and I
did. "What's black and white and black and white and green?
Two nuns wrestling over a pickle. I have two more but
they're more story type jokes and not really appropriate
for the workplace."

"We could meet for drinks at Joe's after," he said
casually. "Sevenish sound good?"

"I can't," I demurred in a bummed out tone. "I gotta watch
one of my shows and it really isn't the same if I tape it."

"Let me guess. Ally McBeal?"

I cringed and threw a couple fingers together in the
semblance of a cross, hissing. "Yelk! Get back, hellspawn!"

He held his palms out toward me in mock surrender. "Don't
like it?"

"Oh God -no-!" I answered quickly with a shudder. We sat in
silence for a second or two, then I said, "It would be a
great show if Calista Flockheart wasn't in it."

"Not even the lure of the dancing baby calls you?" he asked
me in a seductive whisper.

"I have no knowledge of any plot lines of that show," I
replied haughtily, then changed my voice to mimic his
accent. "Ain't no way, Colonel. You ken throw in me in a
den chock-a-block full of death adders and I still won't
admit to nuthin'."

His face brightened at my thick drawl and he jabbed a
finger in my direction. "Ahhh, Croc Hunter, I'd know you
anywhere."

I felt my cheeks grow warm and hoped the blush wasn't a
livid pink. "Oh. What gave me away?"

"The sparkle in your eyes when you said death adders," he
responded and touched his extended digit along the tip of
my nose. "I haven't seen one of his documentaries for a
while now."

"You could come over tonight and watch it with me," I said
gleefully.

He smacked his right hand flat on the table. "I will then.
It's a date." He got up from his seat reluctantly and
walked around the table to stand next to me, a hand on my
shoulder. "I'll bring the blindfold."

"Don't bother," I told him nonchalantly and traced a
fingertip over the face of his wristwatch. I switched my
voice to a John Cleese-French accent. "I've already got
one, you see?" Patting his hand, I resumed my normal voice
and said, "Just bring your dinghy instead." Graham grrr'd
like a big pussycat and gave my shoulder a squeeze before
he left to go back to work. Man, I couldn't believe myself!
I've got a date with Graham! I pumped both fists toward my
stomach, mentally congratulating myself.


=======
Later that evening...
=======


Graham arrived shortly before a quarter to seven. I held
the door open and stared at his ensem. "I was kidding about
the dinghy," I stated, tipping my head toward the red,
plastic, toy boat in his left hand. I stepped back and
signaled for him to come on in, eyeing the large, paper
sack under his right arm. "What's in the bag?"

"Supplies...that I won't need now," he mentioned with a
shrug.

"What kind of supplies?" I asked covertly, wondering if I'd
gotten in over my head. He unbuttoned his denim jacket with
his free hand while passing the boat and bag to me, then
slid the material down his arms. I yelped at the image
emblazoned across his chest, dropping the parcels. "Gimme!"
I informed him like an angry kid and reached my fingers
down to the black belt holding his jeans up, jerking the
hem of the shirt out of his waistband. When my chilled
fingertips brushed along the warmth of his furry flesh, he
sucked in his belly and a breath. Contrite, I pulled my
hands away from him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to put the freeze
on you."

"Didn't peg you as a pushy Sheila," he replied and finished
removing his coat. I took it from him, walked over to the
kitchen area and hung it over the back of one second-hand
chair. I turned to face him again and shoved the fat of my
palm firmly between my teeth. He was in the middle of
taking off his Australia Zoo T-shirt and showed me one of
the best hairy chests I'd ever seen close up. The dark
blonde, almost brown hair spread across his pectorals,
narrowed down to a thin strip between the bottom of his
sternum and navel and widened to the width of my hand below
that. He tossed the garment to me after tugging it off his
head and said, "Here. I bought it for my nephew but he
didn't like 'tall."

I thrust out my bottom lip and pouted, "But I wanted to
take it off you myself." I curled my hands into the still
warm fabric and cuddled it against my body, telling him
thank you.

"Why doesn't Jesus eat M & Ms?"

I shrugged. "I dunno."

"They fall through the holes in his hands," Graham replied.
I grinned and shook my head. "Was it gross enough for you?"

"Not quite up to dead baby par but, funny." I gestured to
the ratty sofa. "Sit, please." He eased his booted feet
behind the scarred table and sat down with a plop, sinking
deeply into the downy cushions. On my way over, I picked up
the sack and unrolled the wrinkled edges. "Sandwiches?
Afraid I wouldn't feed you?"

As I scooted in front of him with my ass toward his face,
he said a little breathlessly, "That's...Aussie tucka, that
is."

"Really?" I replied as I sat next to him and pulled one of
the wrapped packages from the bag. I removed the sandwich
from the cellophane trappings and slowly lifted the wheat
slices apart, glancing at the smeared contents. "Peanut
butter and jelly. Nope, can't get that here stateside."

He leaned over and corrected, "Ah, wrong there, girl.
Nutella and blackberry jam." He snorted. "Peanut butter and
jelly indeed. Shame, shame."

"FINE. Be that way," I retorted, grabbing the remote
control and depressing the red power button. "I'll content
myself ogling Brian and Wes instead of you. Nyah!" I stuck
my tongue out at him, then faced the glowing picture box.
The Crocodile Hunter show started with Steve Irwin hunting
for indigenous animals on the island of Irian Jiya. I'd
seen it several times already but worth watching again for
this one part where Steve finds a cuscus, gives her a
banana and the little beastie claws at his head angrily in
defense of her fruit. By the first commercial break, Graham
had his left arm draped along the back of the sofa. Nothing
romantic there, just stretching his arm for comfort. I got
up and went for a bathroom break, returning a minute later
to find him hogging the sofa.

He looked up at me sheepishly and swung his feet back off
the cushions. "Sorry. Just getting comfy."

"No biggie," I replied. "I don't care." I resat beside him,
unconsciously curling myself into the hollow under his left
arm and resting my cheek against his bare chest. The arm
came around and hugged me loosely, making me smile.

The show came back on. Steve was talking excitedly about
his hiking trip through the jungle and I tuned him out by
closing my eyes. I thought I was out for a few seconds, you
know, a quick cat nap between boring parts but when I
opened my eyes, I just missed the cuscus railing on Steve.
Graham's chest shifted under my cheek as he chuckled
silently and I noticed a nice puddle of drool coating his
hairs. "Sorry about that," I said in a low voice with
embarrassment as I wiped the pool away with the hem of my
shirt.

"What?" he asked, confused.

Hell, if he didn't know, I wasn't going to tell him.
"Nothing," I replied. "Fell asleep, I guess." I stretched
an arm above us and yawned, then sensed something out of
the ordinary. I peered down at my front and saw Graham had
his fingers cupping the undercurve of my left breast.
"You're touching my boob," I said in surprise.

His expression mirrored my own. "Really? I am?"

"Yes."

"Should I move it away?" he asked me, flexing the digits
around the globe.

I gasped, "No. I like it."

"Then kiss me," he whispered and offered me his parted
lips. I threaded my right fingers into the whorls circling
his chest and lifted my mouth up to meet his. The lip ring
didn't feel strange. In fact, it didn't get in the way at
all as we smooched leisurely. Our tongues didn't touch,
either. It was a simple, open mouth kiss and we broke apart
frequently. I know but it's hard to explain in writing
exactly how we kissed. It was kinda like each of us was
sucking the other's lips or trying to, anyway. People do
this in movies all the time, now that I think about it.
Teasing, light kisses made to enhance the moment and
heighten the aura of sexuality. His hand left my breast and
I whimpered at its departure. "I'm coming back," he told me
in the midst of our kisses, slipping his heated palm
underneath my shirt.

The muscles across my stomach rippled at his touch as he
trailed his thumb over the soft skin hiding my ribs. He
didn't bother trying to take off my bra, just eased his
right hand inside the cup and cupped the aching mound. I
pushed away and eagerly whipped off my shirt, hurriedly
unhooking soon after. I gave both items a fling across the
room and grabbed Graham behind the neck, dragging him down
lengthwise on top of me. We resumed kissing, each of us
adding our tongues into the mix and frantically checked the
other's tonsils. His chest hair felt so erotic against my
naked breasts, bringing the tips to a hungry rigidity. I
stroked my hands over the broadness of his back, then
delved them beyond the protection of his jeans to fondle
his tight buns. He managed to wedge himself firmly in the
cradle of my thighs and as I groped his asscheeks, he
rocked his vivid erection against my crotch.

This dry humping went on for a while, then he tore his
mouth free of mine and sat back on his haunches. Quickly he
undid the fly of his jeans and I did the same, the pair of
us anxious for the main event. While I shoved my jeans and
undies down my hips, he snagged their bunched waistbands
and yanked them off the rest of the way. With one hand, he
guided the head of his cock to my cunt and slowly pushed
himself into my wetness. I threw my right leg over the back
of the small couch and planted the other one against the
floor. Graham grabbed at my shoulders as he plunged deeper
inside me, withdrawing briefly before burying his prick
down to the root. I bucked my hips up to meet his feverish
thrusts and scoured my nails down his spine. A simple,
straight forward fuck, a meeting of like-minded persons
just wanting to get off with a partner.

Neither of us said anything more coherent than grunting and
moaning, too fixated on reaching that tingly feeling of
climax. My breath caught in my throat as I orgasmed, my
pussy tensing around his shaft like a milkmaid manipulating
the teats of a cow. The muscles in his back contracted a
short while later and his face contorted when he came. I
brushed back his damp hair with both hands, riding out his
release and smiling happily. "You're gonna have a stain,"
he said after pulling out his deflated cock from my cunt.

I shrugged, "So? I don't care."

"Have it your way then." His accent was really thick now
and I was getting horny all over again. I ran my fingertips
along his shoulders and down into the thatch across his
sternum, tugging the curls playfully. He quirked up the
left side of his mouth and bent his face down to kiss me
some more. Just as I was catching the groove, he hummed and
broke away. "Remembered it. What do you call a left-handed
dinosaur?"

Wrinkling my nose, I said, "I don't know. Tell me."

"Platylikapus." He licked the tip of his tongue along my
bottom lip and I darted my own out to lick his.


end

=============

Editor's Parting Shot: 'Platylikapus'?  I don't get it! ;)

And "Yelk" ?!?  That's what I love about my wife - she'll
stop, speak out the dialogue herself, and write down what
she SAYS - haven't you ever blurted out something that
wasn't quite a word? :)




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