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Message-ID: <46571asstr$1076447413@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: by_jane@literotica.org (jane)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 10 Feb 2004 18:39:02 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Glimpses 07/94
Lines: 259
Date: Tue, 10 Feb 2004 16:10:13 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Author: jane
Title: Glimpses 07/94
Summary: Anna argues with her husband just to have some 
time alone.
Keywords: none
Length: 1284 words
Copyright: c. 2004

       *1 September 1996, Sunday  -  part two*

_anna had her picnic too ... a little less exciting ... 
still guilty that shed missed her daughters throw from left 
to second, the one that saved the game ... still awkward at 
the recaps and the tributes thrown by andrew ... worried 
what shed say to fran come tuesday ... pondering what 
mightve taken place if they had gone for one more glass of 
wine ... poor anna ... hard to focus on a trail ride or a 
swim ...

post picnic, after supper, penny fell asleep in daddys 
chair ... anna lifted her ("i can do this, andrew, by 
myself") and carried her to bed ... to prove a point 
perhaps ... to make amends ... who knows ...

manitoba ..._

                        §

"I told her she was coming, too," said Andrew.

"To Mexico?"  They picked at litter in the living room 
while Penny, half asleep, was brushing teeth.  "I booked 
it.  Just for us."

"Change it.  You've got time."

"You're sure?"  She wasn't angry.  The trip was an 
experiment, a risky one at that.  Perhaps, a pointless one 
as well.

"She wants to go.  She fucking won that game."

"You're right.  She did.  I think you spoil her sometimes."

"She's all we've got."

She let the accusation die.  He could be cruel about her 
pain, about the past, about _conditions_.  Sometimes all he 
saw was what could never be: his precious son, his heir.  
Cruel or not there was an upside to his plan.  _With Penny 
there, I'd have some freedom.  She'd run the show.  He'd 
let her.  There'd be no awkward times alone with Andrew.  
Why not?_  "I'm beat.  I'm off to bed."

"Jesus, Ann, it's early."

"Too much sun, I guess."

"She loved the horses."

"She did.

"Maybe I'll go too."

"And miss your football game?"

"I could."

She bristled.  _No.  Please, not tonight._  "I'm going to 
sleep."

"I'll join you."

They dressed for bed without a word.  Anna put on satin, 
white pyjamas.  Andrew slept in boxers.

"She bad-mouth me?  That woman at the game."

"She's got a name: Fran Olson.  She teaches English."

"_Fran Olson_ sounded pissed."

"She didn't say."

"_You_ understand it.  I only want it fair for Pen.  She's 
good."

"I know she is."

"You should show her some support then, eh?"

"Did Colin play?"

"Who the fuck is Colin?  Her kid?  A Cub?"

"He plays on Penny's team.  Right field sometimes."

"The fat kid?  So that's what's up her ass."

Anna slipped beneath the sheets.  "They're kids, Andrew."

"That's what the fuck is wrong with this whole country, 
Ann.  It's somehow wrong to try to win.  It's not my fault 
he isn't good enough to play."

"Too bad for him."

"He oughta lose some weight.  Or watch.  That's fun."

"I'm turning out the light.  Goodnight."

"Jesus."  Then, stiffly, muttered, "Shit."

She hadn't planned it.  Hadn't picked the fight.  It 
happened, though, whenever Andrew tried to bridge their 
gap.  He was an easy man to bait.  She faced away from him 
and waited for his breath to flatten into sleep.  She knew 
his touch along her shoulder wouldn't come that night.  She 
didn't question why or who to blame, just waited patiently 
for privacy and peace.

_Just wait.  Wait until the snore.  Make a lesson plan 
tomorrow.  Will I have to hide from Fran?  She's pleasant, 
very nice ... until she made that pass.  How awkward could 
it be.  Remember what she looked like?  Deep blue eyes and 
short blonde hair.  Looked young, too young to have a kid 
in Penny's class.  I bet she's twenty-five.  Couldn't be, 
unless she had her kid in high school.  What a smile, 
though, and her laugh.  I haven't laughed like that in 
ages.  To kiss another woman?  I wonder._

Anna shuddered, almost gave herself away.  _Careful.  Make 
sure he's sound asleep.  Fran had moxie, standing up to 
Andrew.  For sure.  Her voice was deep.  Beautiful.  But 
God, the way she touched me.  Right in public.  Maybe she 
feels desperate, too.  But me?  What could she see in me?_

Fran was hard to think about, too frightening to dream.  
Fran was real, too sensual to forget.  There was a stirring 
in her body now, a need.  Andrew's breaths came louder.  
Anna touched the buttons of her top and one by one undid 
them.  _Something safer.  A story more familiar.  A moment 
from my past._

While Andrew shifted in the mattress and chewed his cud 
before he slept, Anna inched her fingers underneath the 
waistband of her bottoms.  She stroked her cool, flat 
stomach, slipped lazily along her thighs.  She moved in 
inches, till his breathing caught and purred to gentle 
wheezing.  All things come to those who wait, her mother 
always said.  Anna touched her nipples, then, took out a 
memory and carefully unfurled it.

                          §

_A small transistor radio makes echoes in the barn.  
Massive wooden beams.  Unrelenting hay.  Cats with kittens.  
Anna, six, hums "jingle jangle morning" and wonders what it 
means.

Sheila says it's like a drum, but Sheila often lies.  
Sheila's nine; her farm is next to Granny's.  Sheila uses 
words like "fuck" and shows how stolen milk can tame the 
kittens.  Sheila is her "summer friend," but Sheila's 
sometimes scary.

The rain has made it humid in the barn.  Grandpa's finished 
milking; he's fed the mule its oats.  Now they are alone, 
and Anna, from a plastic teapot, pours water into plastic 
cups.  A lady.  Sheila sets the topics for their parties; 
Sheila's in control.

"The boys' thing is a 'cock.'  It's like a pole.  He shoves 
it into you and pees to make a baby."

"I don't believe you."

"He puts it in your mouth or here."  Sheila points.

"That's crazy."

"I saw my Mom.  I saw her boyfriend fuck her."

"No, you didn't."

"You should see the bull's."  She holds her arms apart.

"I have to pee.  I'll come right back."

"Pee here.  I saw her boyfriend do it."

"Pee?"

Sheila nods.  "He knew that I was watching, too.  He saw 
me."

"I have to go."

"Go here.  I'll show you.  Watch."  Sheila pushes down her 
jeans and panties and kicks them back behind her.  She 
crouches, and Anna sees an amber stream that disappears 
into the hay.  "You have to now.  You looked."

"I didn't."

"Did."

Anna thinks about escape.  What if Granny comes?  She pulls 
her zipper down.

"Go on."

"I am."  She lets them fall, but keeps her panties on.  She 
turns, looks at an empty stall where she could be alone.

"Here.  I get to see you.  Now."

Anna does what she is told, lets Sheila take her undies, 
pees, and doesn't move as Sheila's finger probes inside 
her.

"That's where he puts it."

When Anna cries, Sheila ties the gotchies in a knot and 
throws them in the donkey stall where both were scared to 
go.

"Stop crying!  Or I'll throw all your clothes in there."

"Don't!"

"The donkey's gonna smell your pee and try to fuck you."_

                            §

She'd relived that day a thousand times with fingers creamy 
on her clit, breathed timothy and lamb's quarters, felt 
prickles on her feet.  That Sunday, though, her Sheila had 
a kinder smile; she offered her a glass of wine and touched 
her on the knee, defended her from Andrew.  Just like Fran.  
And when she came, she ground her teeth to keep from 
shouting.  Her legs went numb.  She fought to hide her 
tremble.

The snoring paused.  She heard his voice and froze in 
terror.  The words were muffled, mashed in heavy breathing.  
He chewed the air, turned on his side, and snarled back 
into slumber.  Anna exhaled slowly.  She drew the satin one 
last time across her chest and wondered ...






This story cannot be reposted or published without the 
author's permission.  All comments and queries can be 
addressed to by_janeNO@SPAMliterotica.org by deleting the 
capital letters before sending.

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