index


Message-ID: <35304asstr$1014073820@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel)
Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel -- Sand Like Frozen Light
Date: Mon, 18 Feb 2002 18:10:22 -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

Sand Like Frozen Light
Mat Twassel
=================

It was a lovely day down at the beach. The sun was 
warm, the breezes soft, the waves slow and gentle, 
the sky a pure bright blue. Mother and Aunt Clare 
were in the sling chairs reading, and Uncle Joe was 
building sandcastles with the twins.  Dad was 
trying out his new rod and reel.  So far he hadn't 
caught anything, but there was still hope.  Renee 
watched him cast, and then sat on the warm sand and 
stared at the sea, at the slow waves swelling and 
breaking.

"Use the black shells for your battlements," Uncle 
Joe was telling Peter.  

"Battlemints?" Peter said with some doubt.

"Vanessa's would be white, since she's the girl," 
Uncle Joe explained. "See, you can just sort of 
stick them in like this.  No, not so hard, you'll 
smush it down."

The breeze blew strands of golden hair across 
Renee's brow.  The sand felt warm on the soles of 
her feet and on the bottom of her sleek red suit. 
Sun warmed her bare arms and legs and belly, even
though there were goosebumps.  She lay back in 
the sand and imagined light slowly filling her 
bellybutton with molten gold.  She stretched.

"Ren, you'd better put some oil on," Mother called.  
"You don't want to burn."

"Here, I have some," Aunt Clare offered.  "You 
don't want that lovely skin to burn." She and Mom 
sounded almost exactly alike. And they were reading 
the same stupid book.  "Not very good planning, but 
these things happen," Aunt Clare had said about the 
coincidence.

"I'm going in anyway," Renee said. "In just a 
minute." She pretended the gold was overflowing her 
bellybutton, gliding like lava towards the tickle 
of her mound.  Abruptly she got up, adjusted the 
bottom of her suit, and strode off towards the 
beach house.

                     ~ ~ ~

It seemed like hours later that Dad and Uncle Joe 
and the twins came in. "Dust off good, we don't 
want sand in any of the cracks or crevices," Uncle 
Joe said.  "Maybe a quick hop in the shower."  Oh, 
no, Renee thought--they'll be running around naked 
again.  The twins were almost always without 
clothes.  Okay, they were barely five, but still it 
was a bad habit.  What if Mr. and Mrs. Murphy came 
over on their bicycles again?  Not only did Vanessa 
and Peter shower together, leaving patches of 
washed up sand on the shower floor, but sometimes 
Uncle Joe showered with them. How could anyone have 
so much hair as Uncle Joe, Renee wondered.  Oodles 
of black wool wound up and down his torso.  He 
looked like a wooly black bear. Kevin, what she'd 
seen of him, was almost bald by comparison. Even 
his nest when she'd felt the edge of it that time 
in Rachel's closet was sparse--to judge by feel 
alone, scarcely more than her own new puff. And 
his stalk, that one time, so strangely warm in her 
hand. As if it were alive.

"Looks like you got a little red," Dad said, coming 
from stowing his fishing stuff behind the kitchen 
door.  

"Catch anything?" Renee asked.

"I think I had the wrong kind of bait.  When I was 
a boy worms were juicier."

"Worms?" Renee said. "Yuck.  If I was a fish I'd 
never eat a worm."

"Oh?" Renee's father said. "What would you eat?"

Renee thought for a minute.  "I'd eat other fish," 
she said at last.  "I'd swim up to them and swallow 
them down head first."  The idea of a fish inside 
her that way made Renee shiver.  "Or tail first if 
they tried to get away.  Fat juicy fish. Yum."

Dad chuckled.  Renee could hear Joe and the twins 
splashing in the shower.  "What are battlements?" 
she asked her dad.

"I'm not sure, sweetie.  Old fashioned windows, 
maybe.  The kind without glass. So you could shoot 
arrows or pour cauldrons of boiling oil on the 
enemies."

Renee considered this. An arrow in flight. Oil 
bubbling up, flowing down. "Where are Mom and Aunt 
Clare? Still reading?"

"They went for a walk," Dad said.  "They should be 
back soon. Which reminds me, will you be able to 
watch the kids tonight?  We're thinking of trying 
out that new dancing place."

"Dancing place?"

"The Purple Pelican?  We passed it on the way in."

"That place?  It looked like a dive to me."

"How would you know how a dive looks?"

Renee giggled. "It's the Purple Parrot.   And most 
of the neon is burnt out. The 'PLE' was gone and 
the 'PAR' was flickering. I don't think it can be 
very new."

"Right. Anyway, a dive might be just what we're 
after.  So it's okay, you watching the kids?"

"I guess."

                     ~ ~ ~

After dinner--macaroni and cheese for the kids, 
grouper for the adults, a little of each for Renee--
after the dishes were washed and dried and stacked 
in the cupboards, and after they had all dutifully
watched the sunset from the deck, the grownups 
changed for dancing at the Purple Parrot, and the 
kids got in their pajamas. Renee got into her 
pajamas, too.

"We won't be back too too late," Mom said.  "In an 
emergency call the Murphys."

The car drove off. Renee and the children sat 
on the lower bunk where the children slept, and 
with the children squirmed snuggly against her like 
big puppies, Renee read them a bedtime story.  "I 
really liked this part when I was a kid, where 
Scuppers is washed up on the beach and he finds the 
tools buried in the sand," Renee said.

"Papa says he's going to bury us in the sand 
tomorrow," Peter said.

"He's just teasing you," Renee told him.

"No, really," Peter said. "He said he'd leave a 
breathing hole for our noses."

Vanessa nodded. 

"Have you ever been buried in the sand, Rennie?" 
Vanessa asked.

"Maybe once," Renee said. "I don't remember 
exactly."

"Is it scary?" Vanessa asked.  "What if you have to 
pee?"

"You shouldn't think about that," Renee told her.

Renee was about to begin reading again when she noticed 
that Peter was touching himself through the opening in his 
pajama bottoms.

"You shouldn't do that," she told him.

He looked at her but he didn't take his hand out.

"Do you have to go?" she asked.

"No," he said.  "I just like it."

"Stop," she said.

"Why?" he asked. 

"He does it all the time," Vanessa said.

"Well, he shouldn't.  It's a bad habit. You 
shouldn't go around naked all the time, either.  
What if Mr. and Mrs. Murphy come over on their 
bikes?  You don't want old Mrs. Murphy seeing your 
noodle, do you?"

Vanessa and Peter thought this was hilarious.

"What's so funny about Mrs. Murphy?" Renee asked.

"You said 'noodle,'" Peter said.

"It's 'penis,'" Vanessa said.  They continued to 
laugh.

"I know," Renee said.  "I just wasn't sure what you 
call it."

"I don't have a penis," Vanessa said.

"I know," Renee said.  "Now listen to the end of 
the story.  Scuppers is such a clever and 
resourceful dog."  

"Did you ever have a dog?" Vanessa asked.

"No," Renee told them. "I wanted one, though." She 
turned the page and resumed reading.  She couldn't 
help notice that even when Scuppers was naked, his 
penis was never shown. Just tufts of fur.

                     ~ ~ ~

Renee tucked the children into the lower bunk and 
climbed up to her top bunk. She closed her eyes but 
couldn't sleep.  The children whispered.  "Hush," 
she said a couple of times, and they giggled and 
were quiet for a time but then started up again.  
Finally they were quiet for good.   Renee thought 
about her parents dancing.  Probably stupid rodeo 
music. Country western.  Brown-eyed cowboys singing 
stupid songs.  Clare in her tight jeans and Mom in 
her flouncy skirt. Mom was older by sixteen minutes. 
Not identical twins, but still they looked a lot 
alike. Renee imagined them dancing to some swirly 
dance, but where were Joe and Dad?  

She must have drifted off. When she woke up she could 
hear them in their bedroom, Aunt Clare and Uncle Joe's 
bedroom.  The saw and buck of bedsprings. The 
slap of skin against skin. And then a long slow 
moan, then quiet, then more squeaking.  "Oh, that's 
right," she heard Aunt Clare say, "that's right, 
fuck him. Oh, fuck. Oh, yes. Fuck. Fuck." The final 
'fuck' seemed to take forever before it drifted  
lazily into silence.  Please let it be over, Renee 
prayed, please, please, please -- but soon enough 
the sounds resumed, harder squeaking, and skin 
slapping like the sea.  Renee tried not to hear, 
but the more she shut her ears the more the moans 
roared.  She covered her head with her pillow and 
pressed as tight as possible against the bed, 
until at last she fell asleep.

She dreamed she was buried in the sand, covered 
completely, all except her head, and the sand felt 
good, warm and cool at once, and she was happy. 
Then she saw Uncle Joe looking down at her.  He was 
smiling, grinning like the sun, and she realized it 
was because he knew she was naked underneath the 
sand.  He could see right through it, right to her 
place.  And he was naked, too, and then, oh, no, 
his noodle, big and bold, and he was peeing on her, 
melting the sand away with his pee.  And it wasn't 
just him, it was Dad and Mom, and Clare and Peter 
and Vanessa, all of them with noodles, even Clare 
and Vanessa and Mom, all of them peeing on her.  
"Don't worry," Mom said, "We'll have you out of 
there in a jiffy." And the pee kept coming and 
coming, sizzling hot waterfalls of it, and the sand 
was melting quicker and quicker, but at the last 
minute, just before she was about to be completely 
naked, something underneath softened, something 
gave way, and she was slipping, falling through the 
sand, falling faster and faster, and she was naked, 
and the sand was like glorious liquid light, and 
she was streaming past it, far too fast to scream.

She got up to go to the bathroom.  Mom and Dad's 
door was open a crack.  She nudged it open another 
inch, just to see.

"Ren?"  

It was Mom.

"Ren, you okay, honey?"

Renee slipped into her parents' room.  

"I had a bad dream," she whispered.

"Oh, honey," Mom said. "Honey. Are you okay now?  
What was it?"

"Monsters and dragons," Renee said.

"You want to crawl in with us for a minute?"

Renee took another step towards the bed, but then 
she stopped.  "I'll be okay," she said.

                     ~ ~ ~

Another bright hot morning on the beach.  Peter and 
Vanessa were filling the moat of Renee's castle 
with bucket after bucket of water.  "More," Renee 
told them, and they padded down to the surf to 
scoop foaming water into their red and yellow 
buckets.  They came back and one at a time they 
emptied their buckets.  But no matter now many trips 
they made, no matter how they hurried, each time 
they got back to the moat most of the water had 
receded into the sand.  "More," Renee said.  "We 
need more. This is porous sand.  If we don't get 
more water we won't be safe."

"How come?" Vanessa asked.

"Dragons," Peter said.  "Dragons and monsters."

"No," Vanessa said.  "Not that. I mean how come the 
water sinks in so fast?"

"I told you," Renee said.  "It's porous.  That 
means it has holes in it. Holes the water can go 
through.  You know they make glass out of sand? We 
found that out last year in science."

"No way," Peter said.

"Oh, yes," Renee said.  "They heat it up really hot 
and ..."  Renee paused.  She pushed her fingertip 
into the bottom of the moat. Cool and moist and 
clingy down there.  The wet sand had a grip to 
it. It felt almost like something was sucking at 
her finger.

"And what?" Vanessa asked. "What happens when they 
heat the sand up?"

"I don't know," Renee said.  "I guess it just gets 
hotter and hotter until it sort of melts."

The twins looked at her.

"And then it freezes.  Like ... I dunno, like frozen 
light."

The twins looked doubtful.

"It's true," Renee said.  "You kids have a lot to 
learn.  Now go get more water if you don't want the 
dragons to get us. Hurry."

"Dragons can fly, you know," Vanessa said.

Solemnly Peter nodded. 

Then they turned, and together, red and yellow 
buckets swinging and bumping against their skinny 
legs, they ran down to the sea.

=======
Sand Like Frozen Light
Mat Twassel

-- 
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.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+