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From: Hammon Wry <Hammonwry@spamtrapyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Hammon Wry's Words of the Day for  February 16, 2003
Date: Thu, 24 Apr 2003 17:10:03 -0400
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Hammon Wry's Words of the Day for Sunday February 16, 2003

Note: Due to copyright laws, I am hesitant to include the definitions
and pronunciations of the words of the day.  I have provided the
websites for each so that you can look up the words for yourself.  

This is an excersize in writing discipline.  I am trying to get into
the habit of writing something every day.  I figure if I use the words
of the day from two sources in a sexual context, I will have
inspiration and motivation.  

And now, on to Hammon Wry's Words of the Day!
(C) E. Howe   2003
All rights reserved

Dictionary.com's word of the day: enmity
http://dictionary.reference.com/wordoftheday/archive/2003/02/16.html
M-W.com's word of the day: hale 
http://www.m-w.com/cgi-bin/mwwodarch.pl?Feb.16


There is  a saying that you do not break up once with someone, but do
so over and over until the pieces are too small to glue together one
more time.  I remember the sex--fueled by residual enmity I
suppose--burning intensely hot, searing.  I could not leave the
apartment we shared, I had no where to go, and no way to afford it on
$5 per hour.  So I moved to the unused bedroom, slept on a small sofa
bed that made my back ache. 

One night, she knocked on my door.  I let her in, resentful of the
intrusion, the degradation of having to be a boarder in the house we
had shared together.  It must have shown in my face.  She swallowed,
and glanced about the room.  "You've fixed it up nice" she said, or
some other inanity meant to fill the void of our discomfort.  "Why are
you here?" I asked. 

"Don't be like that. Please?  I miss you.  Do you miss me?"
I looked at her.  Those waves of dark hair, and eyes so dark that they
had little distinction between the pupil and the iris.  She grinned,
her teeth smooth and perfect against dusty rose lips.  A grey hair
glinted at her temple.  

Yes, I missed her.  

I could see her breasts curving just beyond the edges of her shirt.  I
remembered the feel of them against my mouth.  I swallowed. 

"You miss me."
A simple statement, spoken with such certainty.  
"I miss you."
Affirmation, and the first sign of the walls crumbling.  My walls,
slipping away in the rain of my memories of her body on mine. 
"I want you."
I closed the door.  "Then take me.  You know how."
That rain fell faster now, and the walls slid earthward, the bulwarks
little more than mud flowing downward. 

She placed her hands upon my waist, drew me close to her.  She pulled
me, pressed her belly and groin to mine, all the while holding my
waist in her small hands.  She kissed me.  I heard that clap of
thunder, felt the memory of orgasms taunt me.  No matter our
differences, no matter the anger, no matter the loss of respect.  This
was enough to keep us together now.  

I'm not sure who moved first, but we stood there, humping against each
other's pubic bones, our lips and tongues entwined.  The scent of
aroused women filled the air.  

The rain of memory quenched my arid heart, and wanting blossomed.  She
slipped her hands beneath my shirt, cupped my breast and tugged my
nipples.  I moaned against her mouth. 

I am hale and whole of body, but my head was blind to reason.  My
heart cringed, fearing yet another wound, but my sex cried out its
hunger.  

She pressed me down to my narrow bed.  I lay back beneath her hand,
and felt her thigh spread my legs, then slide along my sex. 

I felt the last vestige of my defenses crumble, and slid along to with
them to return once more to her arms.  

Hammon Wry

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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