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From: El Sol <munster@eden.rutgers.edu>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Other Side (A Manual to your seduction) By Elsol {MF} {1/1}
Date: Mon, 6 Oct 2003 02:10:08 -0400
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Again.. this email address get spam filtered out the wazoo so if
you want to email me do so at munster(at)remus(dot)rutgers(dot)edu.
I retooled this story but never posted it on ASSM.
<1st attachment, "seduction" begin>
The Other Side
(A manual on your seduction)
by ElSol
Author's Note: Edited by OpEdPage. (5/6/03)
You can lose a part of yourself in the hunt. You learn things: maybe you
change. When what you learn does not conform with the vision you had of
yourself, the hunter is the hunted.
"Hello," I say to her as she walks into the computer lab at that hurried
pace she uses. It is not a quicker pace like most people, more a
lengthening of stride. She flashes me a hurried smile before entering the
management office.
I enjoy the smile; look back at my screen.
She is attractive in the same way Rachel was attractive but quieter. Maybe
I like her because my insides do not tear at the sight of her. We do not
know each other beyond a smile.
Actually, she does not know me at all, but that is okay.
I have patience on my side.
A week later, I have her schedule down. It is important to have small
run-ins. "Hey, Suzanne. I didn't know you worked today."
Especially at night where there is no one else around to talk to. You do
not want to do schoolwork. It is not late enough in the semester for the
lab to be bombarded with users. A couple of hours where you can have a
good laugh, talk about her life, the perfect icebreaker, if she has a
boyfriend or maybe girlfriend, is she looking for a new lover, etc.
The establishment of a comfort zone.
I want her, but I want to see if it is even a thought. At the end of the
first of these nights, I can call her Suze.
Small steps in your seduction.
It gets interesting later in the semester. It is a ride to get to the lab
where she works, but I have to write papers anyway. She is more
comfortable around me. She knows how much I appreciate women, from the few
times I have worked with her and the users I notice. She laughs at me, but
with each one I flirt with I tell her she is my type.
After a longer while, it becomes innocent flirtation. Innocent for her; I
am rarely innocent. Little things: Teasing her about how cute she looks in
an outfit. Cute is your friend, pretty is serious, gorgeous a commitment,
but cute? Cute is innocent flirtation.
One night, she is stressing. Thank you college for exam stress. I try to
relax her with a few tidbits from the Web, before long we are playing
"Link to Porn."
The introduction of sexuality as humor.
Later on as she studies, I rub her shoulders; 30 seconds on my way out as
I look at what she is studying. There is a moment of surprise but my hands
are friendly so she relaxes. I flash her a smile goodbye and go home to
the company of my own mid-term exams.
She likes the shoulder rubs and they gravitate to full on-duty backrubs.
If consultants look like they are thinking about us, I offer them one,
too.
The females.
The males should be doing what I am.
I am good with my hands. They are large for my size. It is all friendly,
for her. For me, it is different.
Very different.
She learns to like it. My hands relax her when I do thumb circles up and
down her spine. I massage the connection of neck and shoulder. The soft
spot behind the lower ear is her favorite. Mine is her earlobes.
Eventually, my hands travel to face rubs. They are not very sexy to most
people, but think about the instinctive reactions to foreign objects
approaching your eyes.
Trust.
A temple rub can be heavenly for stress. It is all innocent. Just a fellow
worker who handles stress differently, helping you relax. "No, this helps
me. With my hands, doing all sorts of interesting things to your body, I
can think about other things without my body getting in the way."
Each a small step in your seduction.
We have social outings. Never a date, or anywhere near a date.
A movie night.
The diner after work.
A party where I make myself available to use as food handler, clean-up
person, someone to reminisce over who got shit-faced drunk and who hooked
up with whom.
Finally at work during weekends, lunches together.
As fellow employees.
Someone at the lab asks her, "What's going on between you two?" She
hesitates. In the corner, I smile. "We're just friends," she replies.
She had to think about it?
What is going on between us two?
Time for a not so innocent move. One not particularly original ploy, but
classics are what they are for good reasons. My favorite is flowers.
Strange flowers to be original. Not flowers someone always gives a woman:
roses, carnations. Lilies, maybe HUGE sunflowers. I could not help myself,
they were so funny in florist shop 3 foot blooms among these tiny roses. A
smile that tells her I do not know how to say it yet...
Shyness is also classic.
The flirtation is not so innocent, but I am still a friend; safe. A lot of
people hate being "safe." I cannot mind.
I have patience on my side.
Want to talk to me about how much of an asshole your current boyfriend is
and not be judged, I will be happy to listen. I will not you give advice;
I have also loved. I will say everything a "safe" friend says.
The back-rubs are never quite innocent anymore. She still says yes. I am
not so safe. Not dangerous; not yet a possibility but someone more
patient. I have waited before, and after she is gone I will still be
waiting.
Another social outing among our pack, I am a lot quieter enjoying the
environment, not really a part. Walking the outskirts watching the centers
of attention.
Circling.
She comes outside the pack to talk. I smile. Point her toward an
interesting movie poster. We walk over, separating both of us from
everyone else. We talk about the movie; somehow we decide neither wants to
see the movie everyone else does. She is not in the mood for a grunt,
flex, grunt. I laugh at her description and shrug. I was not really in the
mood for a movie, I just came because you did. A smile. Oh, really? So
what movie do you want to see? I don't know. Well, there's always the
girlie flick, over there. Hmm, romance, comedy. Yep, a girlie flick. She
playfully pokes me. I pout. Hey, I'm the one making the sacrifice from the
flex, grunt, flex that I "love" so much. "Battle on, Xena." She laughs, oh
yeah, and it's grunt, flex, grunt. Ahhh, I see the difference. She points
to the one she would prefer.
I nod.
The pack barely noticed us gone, and no one really argues when we say we
want to watch something else. I am stoic innocence. I did not say it was
real innocence, after all if she's willing to be separated from the safety
of numbers.
*Shrug.*
It is a romance novel movie. Boy meets girl. Girl likes boy, but is unsure
if he is the right one. Boy wants girl but only wants girl. Girl wants
more. Boy decides in the end he wants more too, yadda yadda yadda. It is
funny but because of the comments that fly between us. There are only six
other people in the theater, all pretty much doing the same thing so no
one cares about the excess noise or laughter at an inopportune moment in
the movie.
We said we would meet up with the rest of our friends at the diner, but at
the moment we have a comfort zone between us. I ask if she wants to go to
Denny's instead. Incredibly, she says, Sure. We eat bad food and talk
about nothing important.
She drops me off at my place later that night. I say goodbye and walk
inside.
We get teased about the whole situation for the week, but stoicism is very
effective against most teasing. She just keeps saying we are just friends.
We are.
We see each other more often.
As friends.
I do not have transportation to get to a good theater so it is a ready
made excuse. After a movie, going out to eat seems natural.
As friends.
The problem with playing the "hang-out friend" is that along the way you
might get caught having to make a turn in the maze because you are a
friend, and not a possibility. It sucks, but then I can usually work
myself back if I am careful. It requires waiting patiently for the right
moment to reestablish certain facts, but women are worth it.
It happens somewhere. I am now not a friend but "just a friend." It is an
amusing state but at the same time frustrating.
I wait.
Small things reestablish my sexuality, like talking to other women at the
mall, or the movies.
She looks annoyed at times, but I am just a friend. I make sure I do not
neglect her. On the other hand, I was the one pushed into the friend zone.
There have been times where is no way out. Those times you accept your
friendship for what it is never going to be. Laugh at yourself, and swear
off women for the rest of your life or at least 24 hours.
There I am looking for a way to get out of the safe place of asexual
friendship and going nowhere fast. We talk at the lab and are both in the
mood for a movie. Let's do something different. What? Let's get a movie or
movies from Blockbuster and get some take-out. Yeah, that sounds cool. My
place? She nods and goes to help a user.
A sliver of excitement, maybe, maybe.
Then again maybe not.
After work, we head off to Blockbuster. The ritual argument about what two
people do not and do want to see ensues. We agree on each picking one
movie, since it is Friday night and neither of us has shifts until Sunday
night. Maybe, maybe not. We both pick a movie, we laugh at each other's
choice. She picked a grunt, flex, grunt movie and I picked "Pretty Woman."
Julia Roberts slays.
We proceed to have an argument about what type of take-out. What do you
want to eat? I don't care, you pick. I'm not really in the mood for
anything, you pick. Hmm, but I don't know if you would like what I would
pick and I don't really care, you pick. I'll like what you pick, pick.
Pizza. No, I ate pizza for lunch. Then, you pick. No, I just forgot no
pizza, you pick. Deli. For nighttime, no way. Pick. No, you pick. Chinese?
Yeah, that sounds great. You realize, you picked. No, I didn't.
Of course, there's the from where discussion. It is not the first time we
have had this discussion. We both have the same "if we're with someone
else they get to pick what we do" syndrome.
Finally, we have the movies, the food, and are laughing at our made-up
discussion about where she should park, along the line of you pick; no,
you pick.
Inside, I am glad I cleaned up this week.
She looks around curiously.
I say grunt, flex, grunt first. Or do we just eat and then watch the
movie? Eat first, then movie. I go to the kitchen to find utensils. They
are clean, woohoo. I made the mistake of living with more than four
people, never again. Thankfully, none of my housemates are home.
We talk while eating. Actually, we do a lot more laughing about what might
be in the food instead of real meat. I tease about my missing dog.
Everything quiets down as she becomes uncomfortably aware that I am not
actually asexual.
Finally, but dangerous at the same time.
I start talking about school and finals. I ask how is she looking towards
the end of the semester. The great thing about college is you always have
at least one thing to talk about that has absolutely nothing to do with
sex. Then again, I am taking Human Sexuality so I talk about the 30-foot
penis that several people walked in on because they were late for class.
The introduction of sex as humor.
We finish up trying not to lose it completely to the description of my
professor's explanation of why we did not have to study our sexual
positions. She helps me clean up, I do not really think it is necessary,
considering my other housemates' kitchen habits, but I am not one to break
a mood. The kitchen is incredibly clean for our house. In other words,
there is nothing in the sink.
We have the required you pick, no you pick argument, even if we decided
before. I picked. Plans for the night require a softer touch at the later
hours.
It is a grunt, flex, grunt movie; does not even try to have much of a plot
which is forgivable when the action scenes are good enough and the premise
is at least plausible. The comments fly about the impossibility of this
stunt or that stunt. Or how really not good looking the female decoration
is. We both agree she has great breasts, though. This spawns a discussion
whether it is a boob job, and, if so, East Coast or West Coast. The
obligatory sex scene decides us both in the direction of definitely boob
job and more than likely West Coast in the house.
The movie finishes in a bloodbath of car crashes, bleeding bodies, and
sadly tied together plot lines.
Ice cream? Yeah, that's a good idea. Let's go.
We go outside, walk the few blocks to the local campus ice cream place. We
decide to split a banana boat without much argument. We actually suggested
it at the same time. It is a messy ice cream meal, but we have fun. I am a
people watcher so I am much quieter as I watch the Friday night crowd in
the weeks before finals. Some will end up in a short story here and there.
She notices me watching people and asks; I tell her. See that couple,
they're arguing about whether or not to break up. That guy over there is
stalking the pretty blonde but she hasn't noticed it yet. How do you know?
I don't, I'm just running different plots through my head. I'm giving
everyone a personality that fits their physical characteristics, motions,
and quirks. That way when I write a story I can describe a stalker without
saying "He's a stalker"; instead I can describe the nervous hand gestures
and eye movements that dude is going through right now. She starts
pointing people out to me, and seeing what I come up with. After a while,
she gets into the act and it disintegrates to who can come up with the
most fantastically impossible scenarios.
We head back to my apartment, this time trying to figure out what other
people are thinking about us as they walk by. Or what stories we would
make up about us if we were people watching and only had our looks to work
with.
At the apartment, we put in 'Pretty Woman' and sit back on the bed to
relax. I start dancing to the opening theme on the couch, she laughs. She
has never seen the movie, which makes me feel kind of old. She relaxes
after a bit and starts to enjoy it. At the point where Julia and Gere are
bargaining for the week, I play with her hair. I like playing with hair,
the longer the better. She moves so that I have access to all of it. She
knows I like playing with her hair. She likes it, and after all we are
just friends. I put a pillow between us so she can lean back to watch the
movie comfortably. Where Richard Gere is getting the store manager to kiss
ass, I start massaging her shoulders. This makes her lean back deeper into
the pillow.
It is a standard massage, except for the electricity of tension charging
the air. I rub the connection between shoulder and neck first, trying to
get her to relax. I use only my fingers and make sure to react to every
part of the movie.
I am waiting.
Rubbing the sides of her neck with my thumbs. Small circles to the soft
spot behind her earlobes. Gently taking her earlobes in my fingers,
tracing her ear. Tracing her hairline with my fingers.
The piano scene with Julia on top of the piano, Gere reaches up for a kiss
that would say possession but she denies him. I pull the pillow from
between us and put it behind me. I move forward so that she is leaning on
me with her head on my chest. Small circles at the sides of her neck,
waiting for her to react to the sudden change of circumstance; she does
not. I start to breathe again. Keep the massage going, for lack of
inspiration on what to do next.
The movie continues, so does the massage. I reach down massaging her hands
now. I saw a sci-fi movie once about humanoid aliens where the hands was
how sexuality could be expressed. They kissed by touching hands; I had
taken it to heart.
I kiss her: Massaging each and every finger individually, while at the
same the time whatever I do on one hand I shadow on the other. I run thumb
circles on the palms of her hands. I can feel the deepening of her
breathing, I smile hoping she is not falling asleep.
Tracing lines on her wrists tells me she is not.
The movie finishes with us like this we watch the screen credits with
hands running along the inside of her arms. I wait to see whether or not
she will move. VH1 replaces the movie on the TV, 'Insomniac Music,' I give
a quick prayer of thanks to God. Thank you, God!
She does not move as my hands travel up giving her a face massage full of
caresses and light brushes of fingertips. I run my right hand down to her
neck palming the front of neck and using my thumb to rub the skin
underneath her chin.
I am waiting and waiting.
I consider just asking. It does upon occasion work. "So, Suze, how far do
you want this to go?" Of course, when it worked before the situation was a
little more pressing. Well, that woman was wearing less clothing so it was
a much more appropriate circumstance. In this case, I could ask or hope.
After about few minutes of considering, I decide I am much better off
hoping, and maybe I will be asking later on and hoping she says why don't
we see where this goes.
I bite her neck.
I think this might be the best way to get everything across.
It is.
She arches back into me. I was right to hope. I hold my teeth in place,
not putting enough pressure to even approach pain, just holding her with
my teeth. I let go, and go back to just the massage. I need a moment to
capture lost control. I manage to work myself a little bit more underneath
her so that the next time I go for her neck I will not be reaching down so
far. I kiss her hands with mine again. This time, I do not bite. I blow at
the hairline at the back of her neck. I reach forward and carefully place
my tongue at the juncture of neck and shoulder and blow on the wetness I
placed there. I begin to enjoy the dance at the edge of control, who will
lose first.
The small blasts of air on just moistened spots continue with a randomness
that belies the absolute purpose behind every action. I stop; lean back to
stare at the ceiling.
Maybe, maybe.
Maybe not.
I can hope. I move forward and nibble her earlobe. Someone did this to me
once, it is the the only time that I had a giving lover, it answered the
question of why some people like it.
Where to go from here?
I FUCKING hate this part.
I hope.
I continue with her neck; licking, nibbling, biting (somewhat in
frustration), kissing, caressing with just lip touches. My hands wander,
up and down her arms, across her abdomen, on her face,
I FUCKING HATE THIS PART.
I hope.
I start at her stomach and my hands travel upward following the aura of
her body; she can stop me.
She tenses.
I cup her breasts through her t-shirt and bra.
Now what?
Oh yeah!
Small circles on the tips of her breasts with the tips of my fingers.
A holding action, far beyond what I had hoped. I am a bit lost. I nibble
an earlobe again.
HERE GOES!!
My hands travel down to the waist of her jeans, I pull the t-shirt out of
her jeans. She can stop me.
She tenses.
I play with the skin of her stomach. This is more familiar ground, beyond
the cusp of insecure footing, onto the overloading of her senses. I play
with the skin at her sides. She giggles. I push the issue, not a lot just
enough. Small nibbles on her neck followed by fingertip touches at her
side. Pleasure and giggle. I run my fingertips on her body beneath her
breasts, on her stomach, at her sides. Calmer now, no giggling.
She relaxes.
Waiting, waiting.
Patience is again on my side.
My hands move underneath the t-shirt. Fingertip touches on tips covered by
measurably thin lace. I can feel the the bump of her nipple rising in
excitement; separating, asking for attention. Fingertip kisses, letting
each pad of my fingers touch, caress, trace.
Seduction is a small step, followed by a small step, followed by a small
step.
I tickle her sides. She starts giggling and struggling against me. She
struggles harder and turns to her stomach on top of me.
Her bra latched at her back. This killed just about any chance of my
getting it undone unless she turned over, or really really wanted it off.
I decided not to hope on really really.
The first kiss to distract her from the small break of passion I had to
force on us.
Slow, questioning.
I nibble her lower lip. I raise her head up to gain access to the front of
her neck for a quick bite that descends to playful nibbling. The pads of
fingers are making brief sorties along her back approaching the bra latch;
making it obvious that it is where I am heading; giving her a chance to
stop this. I kiss her again. An exploration of how two pairs of lips can
mold themselves to each other in a breathless attempt to stop, go, say, do
everything.
The bra comes undone much more smoothly than expected. I smile into the
next kiss. Fingerpads massage where the bra has touched on her back,
pushing it aside while at the same time claiming territory. I'm content
for now. Kissing, nibbling, licking. Massaging her lower back. I am trying
to figure out what to do.
I go for broke.
I wrap my arms around her and give myself into the deepest kiss so far. In
the middle of it, I rotate us so that we are facing each other on our
sides now.
On the edge, on the edge.
I walk the other side; continuing the motion I reverse our original
positions so that I am on top of her now. I do not want to be here, but I
need borders. She does not give any, so I enjoy myself in a series of
kisses that get longer and deeper. I kiss any skin that will not take me
too far from her lips.
I slide to her side. I keep kissing her but my hands are exploring the
bare skin of her stomach again. I come close but do not touch her breasts
in my exploration.
I am waiting.
Every time my touch approaches her breasts, she arches in expectation.
Finally, a thumbpad crosses her nipple. The pad explores her to my
content. Then the other nipple.
I am not kissing any longer.
Watching.
Small circles with each fingerpad on each nipple. Fingertip touches
everywhere my hand can reach.
It is her hands that pull the t-shirt from her body. Her bra went with it.
She takes a deep breath in a sigh of relief/pleasure and pushes herself
into my hand.
I reach down to encircle the near nipple with my tongue. She arches
herself to the contact. I pull up to kiss her. I reach down to encircle
the far nipple with my tongue, the arch is less pronounced this time. I
apply suction, the arch is more violent. I lick circles around the outside
of her nipples, around and around without contacting any part of areola
this time. I lower myself so I can lick her sides; she's not ticklish
there anymore. Finally, on her abdomen circling her bellybutton. I stop to
lie on top of her and kiss her again.
I am waiting. How far? Do I ask, do I hope, do I stop? I do not want to
stop.
I do not want to stop.
I stop.
I kiss her one last time. Deep. I slide to her side and start playing with
her hair, touching her face. She looks up at me. She turns until she is on
her side. Her hand reaches down to the waist of my jeans. She pulls my
t-shirt out of my own jeans. Fingertip touches on the sides of my stomach.
I smile at her. Reaching forward to kiss and take over again.
I want.
I push her onto her back again, she goes willingly. I kiss her as my right
hand cups her breast playing with her nipple.
I want.
I reach down to the belt on her jeans and it comes undone after a a brief
frustrating struggle with it.
I want.
I want.
What the fuck do I want?
I play with the available skin to calm myself down. I do not want to scare
her but I can feel myself losing control.
I can feel the tension leave me as she releases small gasps of pleasure. I
reach down to undo the buttons of her jeans. They come undone easily
enough. I spread the opening as wide as it will go without taking them off
her.
Classic white panties.
I play with the cloth, pressing fingerpads against it. I rub her skin,
pubic hair through the panties. I start to kiss her, nibble her earlobes,
lick whatever skin is close.
I stop, push up to my knees. I look down at her. I reach for the waist of
her jeans. As I start to pull them down, she pushes her hips off the bed
to give me the room.
I stop, and grab onto her panties also. The jeans and panties slide off
her body.
I can feel myself dancing on the edge of control again.
I carelessly toss her clothes to the side of the couch and lie mostly on
top of her for kissing again. I spend a luxurious amount of time making
sure she is comfortable naked. Nibbles at different parts of her neck,
kisses raining gently on her face, licking the soft spot underneath her
earlobe.
I slide off to her side again. I am closer to the edge.
I want.
Fingers lead, lips explore, tongue tasting. My fingers become more
insistent in their touching. I reach down to her pubic hair. I use my
fingertips to excite every strand of hair. I reach farther down to run my
fingers along her thighs, inside to outside. I feel myself lose it into
fascination with the touch of skin to skin. I grab her thigh and place it
on mine spreading her, opening her to my touch.
I want her to scream.
I want her to lose her identity to pleasure.
Circles on the inside of her thighs.
Touch after touch, promising, getting closer and closer but not crossing
the line.
I can feel her every reaction. Each gasp of air. Each whimper of expectant
pleasure. I want more. I get it. She starts to breathe need into the air.
I can smell her excitement.
I touch her. I place one finger on her. Applying no pressure just
touching. I trace her with that finger, still applying no pressure, just
touching.
She is close.
I apply a hair of pressure, still circling but not touching anything
important yet.
She is closer to the edge.
Have you wanted this too?
I apply my fingerpad and pressure where it will do the most good right
now.
It does.
Small controlled circles. Slowly over the edge, not a jump and a fall but
a soaring spiral. Small controlled circles carrying her, her hands come
down to grab at my wrists. I will not stop, not this time. The circles
become faster, I want the careless leap this time. No control, I want her
control snapped.
It does.
Gloriously.
She comes down giggling in contentment and buries her face against my
shoulder.
I lie there touching different parts of her skin.
Her breathing deepens and she tumbles into sleep.
Trust.
I stand up, slowly, to make sure she does not wake up. I walk to the
window where I stretch. I stare outside to the brightly lit darkness. I do
not know how long I stand there. I look back to her lying naked on my bed
far more than I had hoped.
I start laughing at myself.
I have to.
Maybe I did it to myself.
Seduction.
--------
The End
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