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Message-ID: <45659asstr$1070194204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Ray" <ray1031@cac.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} (anniv Flash)  In Search Of . . .  by Ray1031 (M)
Date: Sun, 30 Nov 2003 07:10:04 -0500
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In Search Of . . .   By Ray1031   (M)

This is an 'adult story'. It is not meant for children.

This story is mine ..... copyrighted and belonging to me.
Want to use it .... ask!

Check the codes before reading .... don't like them, don't read further.
Like the codes .... enjoy the story.
Ray



In Search of . . .       by Ray1031



He woke to the feel of her lips on his, her breasts pressing his, her soft
hair tickling his ears as it fell about his head, the smell of her. He
murmured her name, opened his eyes . . . he was alone.

He remembered the fight then, her anger, her storming out and he cried. She
had gone up the hill and stayed with her family now. He unwrapped himself
from the carefully dyed purple and red and yellow blanket. Her wedding gift
to him and, even in his sorrow at her leaving, he smiled to remember the two
of them gathering shells and grinding them for their color. She would not
marry him until she had enough. He unwrapped himself from its folds,
remembering her wearing only it on their wedding night and he slowly
unwrapping her. Her gifting to him.

He moved to the table and admired his work, the carvings of his dance with
the bulls to win her favors, the Mother Goddess, the double-bladed Axe.
Symbols of fortune and love, for her. Carved by his own hand, he would
present it to her as a symbol of his devotion and pray she would forgive
him. Arranging the harness he had contrived, he shifted the heavy stone to
his back, his knees bending and shoulders slumping under a weight
practically twice his own. But he had always been strong and carrying it to
her would be part of his penance, part of his prove of his contriteness. He
began his walk . . .

The sun was hot today, the wind a hot breath as the waves below washed the
shores of Crete. Sweat flowed in rivulets down his chest, his sides, his
legs, reminding him of explorations by her tongue, her lips during five
years of marriage. The ache and throbbing in his legs and back, growing with
every step, spoke of her wonderful hands on tired muscles. Fire raged deep
in his chest when he finally turned into the gate and walked the narrow path
up the final rise to where she had gone.

It took some effort, but finally he stood before her, having arranged the
carved offering to his liking, so she could see it well. He knelt at her
feet then crying once more . . . asking the Earth Mother Goddess why his
love had died, why the racing chariots had chosen that moment to pass his
door . . . that moment when his wife, tear-blinded in her anger had rushed
from their home. He prayed that she could forgive him and spoke again of his
love for her. Rising, he took one final look at the marker he had carved
with his own hands, and left.

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