Message-ID: <39632asstr$1039050602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Return-Path: <mmtwassel@aol.com>
From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel)
X-Original-Message-ID: <20021204152742.28740.00000222@mb-bj.aol.com>
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 04 Dec 2002 20:27:42 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Twassel: Sunday Morning (film script)
x-no-archive: yes
x-archive-expire: 2003-02-01
Date: Wed, 4 Dec 2002 20:10:02 -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
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/39632>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, hecate
Sunday Morning
Film Script by Mat Twassel
==========================
We see a copper tea kettle on the
burner--we hear the raspy whir of an
electric coffee bean grinder--a pause--
wisps of steam begin to rise from the
copper spigot--the grinding whir
resumes.
Steam covers a glass shower door and
billows in the air above. The sounds of
water showering. Shannon can be but
faintly perceived behind the steam
covered door.
Boiling water jolts from the spigot of
the copper tea-kettle. In close-up
Michael's hand lifts the kettle from
the flame.
In close-up Shannon's hand twists the
faucet, and the water sounds snap to
quiet.
[fade]
The underside of a heavy table.
Michael's legs angle down from the
left. In the center an empty chair.
Strong light slants across, but
scissored with shadows. After a few
seconds of quiet, we hear the coffee
cup clink gently against its saucer.
Shannon seats herself in the center
chair. Her bare legs are crisscrossed
with light and shadow. As she adjusts
herself in the chair, we see that she
wears a robe but no panties.
Shannon:
Is the coffee good?
Michael:
It's hot.
Shannon:
God, I'm still wet. I'm dripping.
Michael:
From last night?
Shannon:
From the shower.
Michael:
How come?
Shannon:
I think our towels are broken.
Michael:
You think I should call the repair man?
Shannon:
Can't you fix them?
Michael:
I didn't go to school for sixty-nine
years so I could fix towels.
Shannon:
This coffee's good.
Michael:
Did you drip in it? It's drip coffee,
you know.
Shannon:
No, really.
Michael:
Remember when you didn't like coffee?
Remember when you hated it.
Shannon:
You made me like it. You make me like
everything. That's what I like about
you. You're so . . . enjoyable.
Michael:
Want me to towel you?
Shannon:
No, it's okay. I like being wet.
Michael:
I know. You look good wet. But you're
dripping on the table.
Shannon:
Are you worried about stains?
Michael:
I just wanted to towel you.
Shannon:
What'cha reading?
Michael:
It's a letter from Jeff.
Shannon:
It looks like a newspaper.
Michael:
A clipping. Listen to this:
Sheriff's police discovered a
demolished automobile in the center
of County T a few miles outside of
Cherry Grove yesterday evening. The
vehicle, a late model Pontiac
Carota--
What's a Carota?
Shannon:
Don't you have a Carota?
Michael:
Yeah. I just wanted to see if you were
paying attention. Anyway--
Owners of the vehicle, a late model
Pontiac Carota, were not released
pending further investigation,
according to sources at the
Henry's Mill Sheriff's Department.
Furthermore, no bodies were found
at the accident site, said Burton
Witts, of the Sheriff's Department,
who declined to speculate on the cause
of the accident. "It was one hell of
an impact," Deputy Witts said. "And
no skid marks. We can't explain it.
The roadway was littered with
debris. There was a tire we found
fifty yards into the woods. He must
have been really whipping when he
hit something. Maybe a deer. Only
there's no sign of it. No sign of
anything."
Shannon:
Is that it?
Michael:
There's one curious thing.
Shannon:
What?
Michael:
They've got hell spelled aitch blank
blank el.
Shannon:
Oh? Why'd Jeff send you that?
Michael:
He knows I like this sort of thing.
Shannon:
You like that sort of thing?
Michael:
No. I made the whole thing up.
Shannon:
You did? You couldn't have. Give me
that.
Michael:
No, you'll drip on it.
Shannon:
Michael, I want to see.
Michael:
What for? I read it to you.
Shannon:
But you said you made it up.
Michael:
I made that up.
Shannon:
I don't trust you.
Michael:
You shouldn't.
Shannon:
If you don't tell me the truth right
now I'm going to scream.
Michael:
Okay. It's about a drug bust. I mean a
horse auction. Jeff thinks I should buy
you a horse. For your birthday. Instead
of drugs. There's an auction up near
Henry's Mill. At Witt's farm.
Shannon:
Where's that?
Michael:
We've been there. We've been riding up
there.
Shannon:
Not in a while.
Michael:
I was thinking we might drive up there
this afternoon.
Shannon:
Goodie.
Michael:
We can check out the accident on the
way. [over the fade]
Shannon:
Honey, should I peel the carrots?
[Sound of a car engine, a sports car,
churning along the highway. Attractive
countryside can be seen through the
window of the convertible. Driver's
POV.]
Shannon:
Are we almost there yet? I don't
remember it being nearly this long.
Michael:
Almost there. Don't you like the drive?
Shannon:
I'd forgotten how pretty it is here.
How peaceful.
Michael:
If you're hungry you can have one of
the carrots. They're in the glove
compartment.
[Shannon opens the glove
box and takes out a brown sack. She
slides a long carrot from the sack.]
Shannon:
These are for the horsies.
Michael:
Then why did you peel them?
Shannon:
You told me to.
[The sound of a bite, and then we see
the carrot with the tip nipped off.]
Shannon:
They're good.
Michael:
Remember we used to drive up here all
the time?
Shannon:
It's nice. It's still nice.
Michael:
Remember how I used to get you to unzip
your pants?
Shannon:
Mm.
Michael:
Want to?
Shannon:
You didn't have a convertible then.
Michael:
There's no one around. We haven't
passed a car for miles. Just unzip them
a little. Just enough to get your hand
in.
Shannon:
I don't know about this.
[Her fingers play with the button of
her blue-jeans.]
Michael:
Come on Shannon, you're a big girl.
Shannon:
Sometimes I feel very small.
Michael:
Pull the zipper down slowly.
Shannon:
What if a car comes?
Michael:
The cars here are going almost sixty.
And the drivers are easily over sixty-
five. They won't see a thing. And if
they did they wouldn't know what it
was. And anyway there aren't any other
cars. I'd be very surprised if one
comes before you do.
Shannon:
Michael. . .
[Shannon's fingers slowly tug the
zipper down.]
Shannon:
How much further, Michael?
Michael:
I like it when you wear white
underwear. The skimpy cotton kind.
Shannon:
Michael, I think you better watch the
road.
Michael:
Okay. But you have to tell me what you
feel.
Shannon:
I feel we're going faster.
Michael:
We're going slower. Put your fingers on
your panties.
[Shannon's fingers
tentatively touch the white fabric.]
Michael:
Are you excited?
Shannon:
Please watch the road.
Michael:
Are you excited?
Shannon:
Pretty excited.
Michael:
Are you wet?
Shannon:
Pretty wet.
Michael:
Rub your fingers on the outside.
[Shannon's fingers stroke slowly up and
down.]
Michael:
Tell me what you feel.
Shannon:
It feels good.
Michael:
Don't stop. Move your fingers slowly.
Keep moving them up and down. The
little ripples and puffs. The tender
parts. Can you feel the wet soak
through?
Shannon:
Michael, I'm really wet.
Michael:
You're so good. Now move your fingers
inside.
[Shannon's fingers slide inside her
panties.]
Michael:
What do you feel?
Shannon:
I'm so wet, Michael.
Michael:
Put a finger inside now. Just a little.
Do you feel the little contractions?
You're so nice.
Shannon:
It feels good, Michael.
Michael:
You feel so good. It's like riding the
horse. The big white horse. Up on his
broad bare back. The horse as white as
your white panties. White in the sun.
White and warm and white on white on
white. And then not wearing them--
wearing nothing--nothing but the white
horse riding in the softest meadow
breezes blowing your hair--billowing it--
making it fly--flying so beautifully in
the white hot sun--the horse galloping
faster--his handsome strength fully
between your legs your bottom bouncing
the hard soft sinking give of him--his
firm full heat landing between your
wide-stretched thighs--his hooves
sinking into the soft sucking turf
upflung--the sun dancing across your
skin trembling and rising as you and he
as you and he go up and down and up and
down to meet to meet to meet your hot
clenching come on push now push those
puffy lips apart--the white horse riding
you riding you up and down and up and
down my love my love my lovely lovely
love opening opening opening all the
way all the way all the way up wide and
wet and wonderful Oh please! Do it! Do
it hard!
Shannon:
Michael, I think I'm going to . . . I'm
going to come now.
Michael:
Put the carrot inside.
Shannon:
The carrot.
Michael:
Push the carrot in.
Shannon:
Oh. I'm . . .
[A tremendous noise, the air-horn of a
semi-trailer truck, and the windshield
of the car is suddenly, momentarily,
filled with the head-on rush of the
huge semi-trailer.]
[Cut to the crackle of a television
playing blank tape.]
Shannon:
Will I like this?
[The tape shows Michael sitting at the
table. Then Shannon.]
Shannon:
That's us, isn't it? Michael, when did
you do this?
Shannon:
How did you do this?
Shannon:
Why did you do this?
Michael:
I just wanted to see . . .
Shannon:
I'm not sure if I want to watch this.
Michael:
You have very nice legs.
Shannon:
Oh God.
[The tape appears to be the same as
before--the underside of the heavy
table.]
Shannon:
How come there's no sound?
Michael:
It's better this way.
Michael:
Very sexy legs.
Michael:
Here you were talking about broken
towels.
Shannon:
I remember.
Michael:
Does drinking coffee without underwear
make you feel sexy?
Shannon:
Not really.
Michael:
You look so sweet down there.
Shannon:
Michael, isn't that enough?
Michael:
Don't you want to see what comes next?
Shannon:
Not really. I know what comes next.
Michael:
Remember this? This is where you start
to touch yourself.
Shannon:
I did not.
[But in the film her finger dips
quickly through the hair, touches
briefly below, lingers only an instant
and draws up].
Shannon:
I didn't do that. That's not . . .
Michael:
It's okay. I like thinking about you
touching yourself.
Shannon:
But I didn't . . .
Michael:
I know. It's okay. You're already wet.
Dripping wet. You can touch yourself
again. Just a little longer this time.
[As if on command the finger moves
again into view, circles the plump
clitoris.]
Shannon:
I don't understand. That's not me.
Michael:
Don't you think you look very pretty? I
do.
Shannon:
You were reading that stupid letter.
Michael:
From Jeff?
Shannon:
Yes!
Michael:
It looks like what you're doing is more
interesting.
Shannon:
You like this sort of thing?
Michael:
I love it. I thought you were just
listening to me reading. I hadn't a
clue what was going on. Look how fast
your fingers are going now. You're
going to come soon. And I thought it
was just my coffee.
Shannon:
How can I ever trust you again after
this? I don't trust you.
[Slowly the
camera closes in on Shannon's cunt.]
Michael:
You shouldn't trust me only if I didn't
show you this.
Shannon:
But you're making me . . .
Michael:
I love you.
Shannon:
But you're making me . . .
[Abruptly Shannon closes her legs.
Blackout covers her coming.]
[And then brilliant white.]
[Shannon stands on the near side of a
fence. She feeds a large carrot to a
sparkling white horse.]
Shannon:
Are you getting all this on film?
==========================
Sunday Morning
Film Script by Mat Twassel
This is, loosely, an adapation of the poem by
Wallace Stevens. It first appeared in FishTank,
a writers workshop on newsgroup alt.sex.stories.d
adminstered by Desdmona22.
If you have comments or questions, or if you would
be interested in producing this film, please write
me at mmtwassel@aol.com.
If you enjoyed this piece, you might be interested
in visiting my erotic calendar at
http://Calendar.atEROS.com/
--Mat Twassel
Mat's Erotic Calendar at http://calendar.atEros.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> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+