index

Message-ID: <34993asstr$1012414203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel)
Subject: {ASSM} Calendar by Mat Twassel and Lorrin Murray
Date: Wed, 30 Jan 2002 13:10:03 -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

Calendar 
By Mat Twassel & Lorrin Murray
==============================

Jan 19

Chicken Chili

The chicken chili yesterday turned out pretty good. Not 
that the chicken added a whole lot. I just used one 
breast. Maybe it added a bit of body. I'm sure beef would 
have been better. Sometimes eating "healthy" is a 
nuisance.

Before we leave it, I'll mention this week's photo in my 
Ansel Adams calendar. Mount Resplendent in the Mount 
Robson National Park. Very sheer and glassy. Some parts 
look a little like black and white plastic garbage sacks. 
No sign of life, of course. If it weren't considered 
improper, I'd rather have a calendar with pictures of 
people fucking. Or kissing. Or brushing their teeth. In 
today's imaginary photo we see from behind a pretty woman 
standing at the stove stirring a pot of chicken chili. 
She's wearing a man's dress shirt, but that doesn't stop 
me from getting a pretty good look at her bare bottom. 
Yummy.




Jan 20

Flipping Ahead

Can our calendar be a daily one, not monthly? I've 
flipped ahead to tomorrow's picture, and it's a woman 
again, the same woman, with brown hair and light blue 
eyes. This time she's waist-deep in a flat ocean and has 
no shirt on. Her breasts are large and her nipples small 
and hard. She is gorgeous.

Oooh I simply love our calendar.




Jan 21

Martin Luther King Day--More Bare Breasts

Actually we can only see one of them, not large but 
plump, full, round, ripe. The baby's head covers the 
other. The young woman is black. The stationery before 
her on the writing desk is white. She has her pen in 
hand, but she is not writing now. She appears to be in 
contemplation--her face caught between grin and grimace, 
smile and frown.




Jan 22

A Woman Again 

Today's calendar. Ahh, yes, let's see. A woman again (I 
think they are all women in this calendar, but perhaps 
not), with deeply tanned skin, which is smooth and almost 
glimmering, and long, silky looking black hair which 
falls below her shoulders. She is wearing a small white 
t-shirt, and one hand is raised up, covering her mouth, 
which is half-agape, partially revealing very bright, 
white, even teeth and a pink tongue. Her eyes are wide 
and black, and her expression, one of surprise, seems to 
be just a little bit naughty. I wonder what she's done?




Jan 23

Early Morning Massage

We see the large muscles of his shoulder, rhomboideus 
major, rhomboideus minor, levator scapulae, across the 
plain of his upper back, and over the cusp, below, we see 
his hands, his thumbs, pressing into those same muscles 
on her back, and her black hair, flowing, and the gray 
white of the sheet, and a soft comfortable crescent of 
her face, but mostly it's the big muscles of his back, 
working, tensed, driving the weight into her body. In a 
moment, she might sigh, an easy contented sleepy sound, 
and she might manage to roll herself to her back, to 
spread her legs, to welcome him in with her eyes wide and 
upon him and a small easy smile on her lips, one which 
becomes wider the more he sinks into her, a fully fledged 
smile reflected in her eyes, and when he's all the way 
in, just before he pulls back, she squeezes him there, 
and whispers "muscle groups," and laughs with her eyes to 
see and feel his pleasure so acutely, so deeply, so 
swollen, but we haven't arrived there yet; it's all 
supposition; it's all the future; for now it's just those 
large muscles, those big thumbs, pressing.




Jan 24

Michigan Blacktop

The pine forests of Michigan in mid summer. A blacktop 
road weaves between the trees, and down the center, 
coming right at us, a pair of double yellow lines. 
Between these fresh fat stripes, about to step onto her 
shadow, comes a naked girl. She is probably not yet 
twenty, this pretty girl, with breasts like small perfect 
pears ripening in midday sun and easy blond hair. She has 
her head down, she's concentrating on her bare toes, or 
not concentrating at all. One slim leg slightly bent is 
reached slightly forward, her hands evenly at her sides, 
a sly notch of juicy but innocent space shows between her 
thighs just below the blond bush, trim yet fuller than 
fashionable. In the little dimple of her belly button a 
tiny gem glints bright white. Echoing this flash from the 
hill behind her, another glint, distant but brash, this 
one from the windshield of a semitrailer truck as it 
crushes forward.




Jan 25

Rack'em Up

Her tongue tip touches the corner of her mouth, her eyes 
are wide, intent; she's bent far forward, and in the wide 
vee of her knit jersey plump scoops of breast, creamy as 
custard, lurch. A dreamy explosion of pale blue chalkdust 
plumes from the thrusting cuetip. In a fraction of a 
second we'll hear the sharp smack of break. Until then 
we'll feast on her nipples, clearly erect.




Jan 26

Early Morning

Her toes are playful, like lion cubs playing with their 
prey, perfect little pads of flesh kissing the penis 
skin, the big ones pushing up under the flange, pushing 
and playing until it goes off.




Jan 27

Melinda's First Period

Eagle Peak and Middle Brother, Yosemite National Park, 
California

White snow-capped peaks shooting up like fifties breasts. 
Tall pines sway in the stiff wind. The eagle has the girl 
about her boyish hips. Her little belly clenches with the 
lift, and then she's soaring through the sheaved sky, and 
the first blood has miles to fall before it touches snow.




Jan 28

Mandy's Workout

On the snowshoe machine she's slim and sleek and smooth, 
her legs and ass and arms one sweet sinuous line, one 
endless sexual moan of supple motion. Off to the sides 
the women are dragging the fallen weightlifters to the 
locker room.




Jan 29

Through the window, beyond the dark reflections of trees 
with numerous, flicking, soundless rustling leaves, is a 
woman. She wears all black. A tight, smooth black 
collared shirt, unbuttoned to the top of her breasts; 
small tight slacks; high narrow black boots. Her blond 
hair is long, pulled back smoothly in a neat ponytail. 
She wears no makeup except for charcoal eyeliner. She 
waits for the car to pass and thrusts herself quickly 
onto the street, one long straight leg at a time.




Jan 30

Her eyes are as black as her hair. Her mouth is full and 
red. She is waiting for the veal Milanese. The kitchen is 
slow. She taps her foot impatiently. Each time her toes 
lift up, the outside of her slim tan thigh tenses, up, up 
past the bottom of her skirt. Behind the fabric, her 
bottom tightens, smooth and circular.



 
Jan 31

Bush's Energy Plan at Work

Twenty Below, No Food or Firewood

The last logs burn dim. On the plank floor the couple 
fuck. His hips are lifted; legs clasped about his back, 
her body has followed him all the way up. This will be 
the final full thrust. Streams of starving wolves crash 
through the window. Orgasms of glass shoot everywhere.




=======
We hope you've enjoyed our calendar. If you have 
comments, we'd like to hear them.  Write Mat at 
mmtwassel@aol.com or Lorrin at LorrinMurray@aol.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+