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From: =?iso-8859-1?q?Gavin=20S?= <gsstories@yahoo.com.au>
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X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 2 Jan 2004 21:05:56 +1100 (EST)
Subject: {ASSM} Clumsy Romance - Chapter 1 (MF, nosex)
Date: Fri, 2 Jan 2004 12:10:04 -0500
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The first chapter of a new romance story. Any fans of my previous
work to date will probably, quite rightly, be unimpressed with
this work, as it is a very slow moving story which is not so much
about eroticism as love.
It will deal with themes I myself am struggling to come to terms
with, and as such probably wear's the authors conscience too
brazenly on it's sleeve. But it's got to get out of my system!
Regards,
GS
---------------------------------
Yahoo! Personals
- New people, new possibilities. FREE for a limited time!
<1st attachment, "clumsy_romance_chap1.txt" begin>
Clumsy Romance (MF, mast, rom)
by GS
One (MF, nosex)
---------------
When I closed the door behind me I could barely stand upright. Work
had utterly exhausted me. The entire week of sixteen hour days had
passed merrily enough; once one is locked in, there's naught to do but
laugh and get on with it. But by lunchtime the adrenaline had started to
wear off, and the half-hour doze in front of the monitor had only made
things worse. Now, at almost midnight, I shut the security door, my
eyes closed. I was looking forward to the fifteen minute walk to the
station. Perhaps the cold night air would wake me up a little.
Next door to the building where I work, there's a bar, called The
Office. It's called that because the street that it's on is the one
where all the office people work. There are banks, superannuation firms,
coffee shops, and computer places. I work in a computer place. We make
software for the superannuation firms. Why anyone really wants to look
up their superannuation online is beyond me. But I digress.
Being a Friday night, there were a lot of people in the bar. It was
pretty dark inside. I could see vague human shapes moving about, and
above the loud jazz music I could hear laughing and drinking and the
clinking of glasses. I don't drink myself, so it didn't impress me much.
But it did distract me. I fell over one of the outside tables,
upsetting some drinks onto the group of young ladies who were sitting
there. They murmured, and then cried out in alarm as I sent beer over
their dresses. I mumbled an apology, which one of them half-heartedly
acknowledged. They were all busy trying to make the stains in their
dresses disappear with flimsy paper napkins, without success. I stepped
forward to try to help, but realised that any help I gave would involve
touching them, which no one really wanted at that point. One woman, with
brown hair and thin glasses, wisely threw the sodden napkin onto the
table in disgust. I muttered another apology, but all I got was dark
looks and silence. My brain at least recognised that it was in no fit
state to try and make things better, and I walked away. I brushed past
an overhanging branch and my burning face caused some leaves to burst
into flames, much to my alarm. The ashes blew into a storm drain.
I stumbled onwards. Through the deserted mall, where lone buskers
with long hair sang Eagles songs. Onto Hindley Street, whose pubs,
tattoo parlours and strip clubs mopped human debris from the streets.
Into the deserted underground arcade to the train station. The roller
door to the station was down; it is closed at 7pm. My watch told me that
I was about to miss the last train. Worried, I ran up out of the arcade;
I can get to the station another way, just by crossing the road up the
stairs. The road was busy and the lights took an age to change. A
pie-floater van sat opposite, selling pies to casino patrons, locals and
tourists alike. Finally the cars stopped and I raced over the pedestrian
crossing to the station. More stairs; as usual I was distracted by the
sign at the top warning me to be careful on the stairs, causing me to
almost fall down them.
Upon reaching the bottom, I saw the last train for the night pull
away from the platform. Stoic in defeat, I slouched up the stairs again
and stood outside, wondering what to do. There would be no public
transport for the next six hours. I could walk home, but that would take
a couple of hours. There was always a taxi, but I couldn't really afford
that. I decided to go to the Pancake Kitchen.
I was hungry, and that's the only place in the city that stays open
all night. They serve an excellent array of pancakes. My favourite was
the goat's cheese pancake, which I ordered when I arrived. I had never
been curious enough to try to rump steak pancake, and tonight was no
exception.
As I waited, seated in my booth, I took out my book. But I could not
concentrate on the words. I kept imagining that softness and warmth of
being in bed after a night of good hard sleeping, with gentle strands of
daylight pattering onto the bedsheets. I looked at the fluorescent light
above me, trying to see gentle strands of light coming from it. I toyed
idly with the menu. I looked at the cartoons on the walls; all pancake
related, so not very amusing. I looked at the other customers. There
weren't many. They all looked happier than me.
My pancake arrived and I slowly ate it. It was good, but I kept
staring at it with drooping eyelids. I sighed and put my fork down,
pushing the plate away and looking up at the ceiling. There was a mirror
on the ceiling. At one corner of the mirror, I could see the reflection
of half a woman, sitting in an adjacent booth. I could see down her top.
I stared at her cleavage for a moment, and then, disgusted at myself,
put my head in my hands. I then folded my arms in front of my chest and
drifted.
I was nudged awake by a waitress probably fifteen minutes later and I
blearily stood up, more tired than ever. I stumbled towards the door,
intent on catching a taxi home. I brushed past the booth next to me and
knocked over a milkshake onto a woman's dress. She had brown hair and
thin glasses.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she said, throwing her napkin onto the table
in disgust.
Thus I met Jessica.
------------------
End of Chapter One
gsstories@yahoo.com.au (comments, praise and criticism welcome)
<1st attachment end>
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