index


Message-ID: <57383asstr$1204744203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Leo Wulf" <leowulf@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Cynicism and Hope (M solo, no sex)
Lines: 225
Date: Wed, 05 Mar 2008 14:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Cynicism and Hope (M solo, no sex)

by Leowulf

In which a proper gentleman prepares for an appointment

1.  There is no sex in this one, but if you try hard enough, you might find
something to offend you.
2.  No reposts except for ASSTR or Usenet
3.  Send me feedback!  Leowulf "at" gmail "dot" com.  Let me know what you
like (and dislike) about my stories.  :)

--

Cynicism and Hope

"Mmmm, mommy - What!?"

Robert Wells awoke somewhat disoriented.  Instead of his serviceably stiff
bed in his bedroom, he was on that impossibly soft sofa his sister had
purchased for him two birthdays ago.  She was convinced he needed some
comfort in his life; as though a luxury should be a necessity.  Still, the
living room looked pleasant, and - he had to admit - he indulged in the
softness of three pieces of overstuffed furniture, whenever he could use the
luxury of some comfort.

"Where the devil am I?"

More disorienting to Wells than the location of his evening's slumber was
his condition.  Instead of his plain, serviceable pajamas, the man wore ...
nothing at all.  He was naked!  On that nice furniture!  Quickly, lest he
mar the soft, beige fabric, the man climbed down from the sofa.  As he did,
he was reminded again about his state of undress, as his very erect genitals
slid along the cushy fabric.  He'd never felt guiltier; such a display, such
lack of control!

"What in blue blazes!"

Wrapping his plain, serviceable blanket around himself he glanced about the
room, trying to remember how it was he wound up on the sofa, wrapped in a
blanket.  Then the entire of last night came crashing upon his memory like a
flood.  The notice that his stock options would be liquidated; that and the
nondisclosure/ exclusivity statement meant that Wells had nothing more to do
with the company his father had started and in the service of which he had
spent a lifetime.

"Yes, quite."

He remembered the desk at which his chair stood, stiff and alert as his ...
well, as a chair should be, at any rate.  His grandfather's service revolver
in the top left drawer.  The coward's way out; but Father had never
complimented him on his courage.  The hastily scribbled note in his even
block capitals:  HTE Services and their number.  Wells had made the call.
His last chance; if he could _live_, just for one night, he might be able to
face the empty days ahead.

"Oh!  Mom - that is, Beth."

The call girl who showed was everything he'd ever dreamed and far, far
more.  She was lovelier than anyone he could remember.  Hair like spun gold,
cheeks like tulips in full blush of spring.  Eyes so kind, so ... so very
kind.  Wells felt he could gaze upon her forever; the memory of her alone
made his eyes mist.

Brushing the offending tears with an irritated hand, he noticed something
different.  Always be the same and you'll always notice when something's
not.  Glad for the distraction from the lovely Ms Elizabeth Chandler - Wells
never forgot a name - the man stood over his small dining table.  Ah!  There
was the difference.

The note bore such fancy script; not practical, but nevertheless pleasant.
Wells replaced the pen in its holder without even a thought, and picked up
the curiosity, his own curiosity piqued.

"Good morning, Bobby!"  The note began with a cheerfulness that brought a
smile to the man's face.  "First - I love you.  Read those last 3 words
again.  Read them a hundred times and they will still be true.  I love you,
my Bobby."

Wells paused, feeling his cheeks warm.  Never had anyone, even his sister
said something so ... so sweet to him.  The man read on.  "Second - We have
a lot to talk about.  I need to talk to all of you, the man and the boy.  I
have to ask you something important."

This sentence was a red flag.  Just how far had he gone with this call girl
last night?  What sort of confidence game was she running, and how naive did
she think he was - how easy a mark?  Suspiciously, he read the rest of the
note.

"Third - I will be back here day after tomorrow, at noon sharp.  I'd be back
sooner - I'd never have left - but I have things to attend to.

"Be here for me, at noon this Saturday.  But most important to remember is
the First thing - I LOVE YOU.

- Mommy"

Wells stared at that note for an eternity - more accurately, 5 full
minutes.  A part of him read it over with suspicion.  What was her plan, and
how much would it cost him?  But another part of him read the note with
barely contained elation.  'She said, "I love you" ... Mommy said that.  To
_me_.'

The blanket was put in the hamper - it had to be washed, since it touched
his naked body.  Wells then attended to a necessary morning function,
flushed, and started the shower.  The water pressure was never great in his
home, but the hot water never seemed to run low.  The man lingered over his
shower, a most uncharacteristic show of sloth, and daydreamed about last
night, another, most uncharacteristic misstep.

But, the man reasoned, both could be forgiven.  Last night was ...
remarkable.  It deserved a moment's reflection.  'That had to be the best
evening of my life!'  He couldn't decide which was more wonderful - being
cared for ... in the way that he had always known he needed, or the orgasm
afterward.

'Mommy loves me,' a small, irritating part of him repeated.  Of course, it
was part of the act.  Mom - that is, Beth - no more loved him than any of
her other clients, of whom he was sure there had been several.  Wells had
told her what he needed - no, what he wanted - and she'd responded in
character.  'She was a good actress and a good ... babysitter.  But a
babysitter doesn't fall in love with her charges.

"She loves me!"  The man surprised himself by saying it aloud.  Well, it was
a wonderful thought.  "Icing on the cake," Wells said, "and the sweetest
treat I've ever had."  He turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing the
plain, serviceable towel by the shower as he did so.  He'd had enough
daydreaming for one day; too much and he'd convince himself that the tart
really did love him,

'She _does_ love me!'

And thoughts like that made men into fools who deserved to have their
hard-earned treasures stolen.

He went to his computer - a nice model, a perk befitting a senior executive,
which they had allowed him to keep.  After removing all proprietary data.
The technician who'd visited last week was impressed at how organized his
files were, and at the professionalism of the content.  What was he
expecting, games and porn?

After a day of searches and discreet queries not unlike what he'd done so
often for Turner and Wells,

'They even kept our name!'

The man was surprised to find it nearly dinner time.  As he had so often
over the years, he'd worked straight through lunch.  He had a few leads on
some stocks, but didn't feel confident to make a decision yet.  Monday was
better for it; give himself the weekend to decide which was safest.  Now, it
was dinner time.

Hanging up the coat of his suit - the Navy one that was so comfortable - he
noticed the empty hanger,

'The bitch robbed me!'

Where his beige suit went.  In a panic. he looked through the hamper.  No
luck there.  He actually ran into the living room.  Where was it when she'd,
when they'd - ?  But it was nowhere to be seen.  It was worth more than 500;
he'd chosen it last night as it made him look, and feel, more successful.
Now it was gone.

'That was my best suit.'

The man's dinner - Thai delivery as it was Thursday - was flavorless.  He
felt as though a part of him had been cut off.  The next day was as grey and
dismal as the weather.  A trip to his solicitor to sign his acceptance of
the liquidated stock options - a tidy sum - didn't cheer the day.  His
weekly seafood dinner at the corner restaurant didn't cheer the night.

'I wish Mommy was here.'

A small, irritating part of him felt like weeping.  'Stop it;' Wells
castigated himself.  'I'm no crybaby.'

That night, the last night Robert Wells would sleep alone, at the conclusion
of the last day he would spend as an adult, was very sad, and very lonely.
The one good thing that happened, he slept through.  He only vaguely
remembered the dream, being nursed by Beth, calling her Mommy.  His first
wet dream in 20 years.

'Today's the day!'  The small, irritating part of him actually woke up
excited.  "Yes," the man castigated himself again.  "How exciting to
confront the whore who stole my suit."

Wells had just stepped into the shower - a greater necessity than most days,
given the gooey mess in his pajama pants - when the doorbell rang.  Fuming,
he wrapped a towel about himself and stomped to the door.  "WHAT?"  The man
fairly shouted into the intercom.

"Chang's dry cleaning, Mr Wells!"  The nervous soul outside didn't deserve
the man's wrath.  He opened the door to see his suit, cleaned and looking as
pristine as the day it was fitted for him.

"What do I owe you?"

"Nothing," the young Asian man said.  "Pretty lady paid in advance - paid
extra too, to guarantee perfect result!"

Speechless, the man took his suit - his expensive suit - and closed the
door.  It took considerable effort for Wells not to cry at this point.  He'd
called Momm - Beth, damn it! - terrible names, and all she did was have his
suit cleaned for him.  Ensured its safe return, in perfect condition.
Hanging his suit it on its wooden hanger, the man felt nothing but shame.

'I knew I could trust Mommy!'

A small, irritating part of him felt vindicated.  The shocked man sat naked
on the carpet and wept in shame.

Bathed, shaved, groomed and dressed, Robert Wells was ready early for his
lunch guest.  Being prompt and prepared was the least he could do for the
dear lady.
<1st attachment begin>

<HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy>
<1st attachment end>

----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+