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Message-ID: <61901asstr$1330693801@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Denny Wheeler <dennyw@zipcon.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} RP: Thoughts {Hoisington} (MF rom nosex)
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Date: Fri, 02 Mar 2012 08:10:01 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

ASSd (alt.sex.stories.discussion) used to be an active, vibrant group, 
with fun stuff, lots of good writers, a great virtual bar (La 
Taverna)...and STORY FESTIVALS.  In 2004 (I'll leave 'when' as a problem 
for the student), there was a Mardi Gras Festival.  Russ Hoisington 
wrote the following short confection for it.  I don't remember--nor, I 
think, would I be able to find out, if there was a winner.  This one IS 
a winner, regardless of award.
-denny-
(who continues to miss Russ)


Thoughts

A Mardi Gras Festival Story



Russell Hoisington



             I lay motionless in the darkness, savoring the lingering 
scent of Elyssia's perfume and the tingle of her sweet kiss on my lips, 
and I thought about our final encounter.

             "Tell me?  Please?" Elyssia had asked in the consummate 
voice for breakfast coffee, lunch in bed, and evenings beside the 
crackling fireplace.  I squeezed her hand, and in these words I did.



~~~

             My dorm mate had suggested we head to New Orleans for Mardi 
Gras.  I thought that was a bad idea with a major economics test bearing 
down.  "Damn it, Jim!" he said in his idea of a Georgia accent.  "I'm a 
party animal, not a professional student."  The hidden joke in there is 
that he's James and I'm Leonard.

             "Look," he said, wiping popcorn grease on his jeans before 
putting my desk calendar atop my open textbook and flipping it to the 
next month.  He paused to pat Miss March affectionately on the 
derriere.  "I got it all worked out.  We leave after your last class 
tomorrow.  I can cut P-Chem lab 'cause I'm ahead anyway.  We take turns 
driving, and we can be in New Orleans Saturday afternoon.  We party 
through Tuesday night, spend Wednesday driving back, and you can make 
most of your Thursday classes.  Thursday evening, you have Bridget give 
you copies of her notes from Monday and Wednesday classes.  Friday, 
Averton will review for the test.

             "You'll have all weekend to study for the test, and you 
know Bridget will help you, though I don't know why she prefers you to 
me since we're virtually twins.  Don't I have brown hair?"  He began 
wild hand movements with an exaggerated voice.  "Don't I have green 
eyes? Don't I weigh two thirty-five?  Don't I wear...."

             I tuned him out and thought about what he had said while he 
worked his way through Standard James Speech Number Three.  Yeah, I've 
numbered six of them.

             "In fact," he said when he finally arrived at the end and I 
resumed listening, "the only difference between us is that I'm 
five-eight and you're six-four and don't have glasses.  So whadda ya 
think?  I can still get us a room."  He shoved more popcorn in his mouth 
and stared at me.

             I thought it made sense the way he put it.  And if anyone 
could find a room at that late date, it would be James.  "Okay!  You 
win!"  I agreed to go, but I thought I'd regret it.


~~~

             It was Fat Tuesday night.  The thought struck me that I'm 
not a drinker like James, even when I'm partying.  One, two beers max 
and I'm done for a couple of hours.  The two advantages of my being a 
light drinker were that I would be able to drive back to school the next 
day, and that I would remember anything that happened that night.  He'd 
be lucky to remember anything since about eight o'clock Saturday night.

             We were standing on a crowded first floor balcony in the 
French Quarter.  I had a couple of dozen strings of beads from James' 
stockpile looped around the crook of my left elbow.  He'd obviously 
thought about Mardi Gras long before his last minute "Let's go!" speech, 
which was typical.  Late in our freshman year he finally realized he 
shouldn't talk me into something and then give me time to change my 
mind.  He's operated that way since.  I'll bet he made the room 
reservation a year earlier, when he casually suggested we celebrate our 
senior year with a trip to Mardi Gras, but I'll never ask him.  He 
wouldn't tell me anyway.

             I had only a vague idea of where we were, though I knew 
Bourbon Street was that cross street to the right.  I had no idea of how 
James had managed to get us spots on that side street's low balcony.  
The average street partyer's head was just below waist level.  I thought 
it was the perfect place to hand out beads to the best-equipped girls 
flashing past us and possibly cop a feel or two.

             We had hit the mother lode.  I thought I'd run out of beads 
about ten o'clock at the current rate of disbursement.  Music from a 
boom box in the room behind us clashed with the noise from the street, 
forming a throbbing din that made conversation possible only by 
mouth-to-ear contact.  The odor of unwashed bodies, stale beer, vomit, 
and urine blended with the acrid smoke from the fireworks.  Several 
people on the balconies waved sparklers.  Some idiot above us was 
throwing ladyfinger firecrackers into the air.  Miraculously, none made 
it into the crowd before exploding.  The young Hispanic couple next to 
James had smuggled in three Roman candles and were preparing to light 
them.  I thought this was the night I would remember even if Alzheimer's 
stole everything else.

             And then I saw you, Elyssia.  "Love at first sight" ceased 
to be a cliché at that instant.  Of all the women I'd seen that night, I 
had to know your name and hear your voice.

             I thought you surely were a goddess descended from Olympus 
with that short, dark, wavy hair and flawless skin that reminded me of 
smooth, translucent marble crafted by Michelangelo.  Those large, liquid 
eyes have laughter carved into them, and I find that an irresistible 
attractant.  My eyes feasted on those full, lush lips that begged to be 
kissed not in lust but in adoration.  And that pert nose is exactly the 
right size and shape for your face.  I saw just a hint of eyeliner and 
eye shadow and knew additional makeup would have been a desecration.

             I was devastated to realize you were across that side 
street.  I waved five strands of beads frantically and shouted, "HEY!" 
but you didn't notice me.  I froze, speechless, when you lifted your top 
to flash someone for a single strand.  Elyssia, I've seen many 
well-equipped women in my life, but never before had I seen perfection.  
As your top slid down to discourage a groping hand I knew I was in 
honest, perfect, abject love.  I had to see you up close or die.

             "HEY!" I screamed and waved again, my voice lost in the 
cacophony surrounding us.

             James clapped my shoulder and slurred, "Wassa matta wit' 
chu, Lenny?"

             "That one!"  I pointed at you.  "Black curly hair and white 
shirt with the blue arm stripes, the one wearing all the beads.  I'm in 
love, James, I'm in love.  I GOTTA see her up close.  HEY!"

             He leaned in your direction and squinted, grabbing the 
balcony railing when he lost his balance.  "Rack'sh tha' good, huh?  
Or's she givin' out feelsh?"

             I hadn't thought about feeling your breasts except in the 
context of caressing every square inch of your body.  "I'll give five 
strings just to see her face up close.  She's the most gorgeous woman 
I've ever seen.  If I'm to be struck blind, let me look at her close up 
just once so that I can always remember her.  HEY!  Aw, she's not even 
noticing.  HEY!"

             James turned away, I thought to leave me time to memorize 
all that I could of you from a distance.  Then he turned back and held 
something showering red sparks in front of me.  With a loud pop it fired 
a brilliant white ball across the street, barely clearing the top of 
that building.

             "Use thish," he slurred.  I stole a sideways glance.  On 
his other side both the young Hispanic woman, now topless, and her 
husband grinned and nodded to tell me I had their blessing to use the 
Roman candle.  I thought the wife would have been attractive elsewhere, 
but the presence of a goddess rendered her but a drop in a sea of 
ordinary mortals.

             The tube fired another blazing white orb, and I took it 
from James and held it in my left hand.  "Thanks."

             "Lenny!" he slurred, trying to focus while dismissively 
waving his hand.  "What're frin'sh for?  But this'll still cost cha."  
He turned to shove his hand down the front of the jeans of the willing 
Hispanic woman, and I forgot about them.

             I waved the fire-spewing tube back and forth in front of 
me, keeping it pointed toward open sky as I hoped that the moving gush 
of red sparks would catch your attention even if the shooting balls 
didn't.  Something did, and that's when I pointed at you with the 
handful of beads.  Oh, how my heart stopped when you smiled at me and 
began moving across the throng in my direction.  But it stopped again 
when you paused for a quick flash and strand of beads from someone 
else.  For a moment I thought I'd lost you.

             Remember how you lifted your top as you approached?  I 
didn't know whether to look at your flawless face or your perfect 
breasts or the backs of your consummate wrists.  You are the most 
beautiful being I have ever seen, Elyssia.  I wanted to remember you in 
my mind's eye for eternity.

             Then the Roman candle exploded.


~~~

             Elyssia slid my hand under her light wool sweater.  I don't 
know angora from alpaca from mountain goat, but I thought it was the 
warmest, softest, silkiest fabric I had ever touched.

             It felt like burlap compared to the sleek smoothness of my 
goddess' stomach.  She guided my hand higher over the gentle ripples of 
her ribs, and I discovered she wore no bra, not that she needed one.  
Her breast was firm and lush, radiating heat that was a comfort to my 
hand.  It had weight, but it defied the inexorable pull of gravity.  I 
felt the tip swell under my palm and was overwhelmed with the worry that 
my coarse hands were an irritation.

             "Only my husband and my doctor have ever touched them," she 
said in a soft, coffee and hot cinnamon rolls voice as she let my 
peasant's hand explore her goddess' treasures.

             Time resumed when I heard a noise behind her.  She smoothly 
slid my hand from under the sweater, so skillfully that no one would 
have suspected where it had been.  I pulled her hand to my lips and 
despoiled the back of it with a kiss.  I thought it was the gentlemanly 
thing to do and the least offensive way to show my gratitude.

             She leaned forward.  I smelled a hint of spearmint on her 
sweet breath as she pressed her lips to mine for an instant and an 
eternity.  "I'll never forget you, either, Lenny.  Good bye," she said 
in a quivering voice as she straightened.  More spearmint mixed with the 
scent of her perfume, each complementing the other.  A hot tear splashed 
on my cheek, right at the bottom edge of the bandages.  She brushed it 
away with a fingertip.  "I'm so sorry, Lenny."

             My voice faltered.  I could only whisper, "Don't be."  I 
was so grateful that she was uninjured.

             As she spoke to the surgeon on the way out the antiseptic 
odors crept back to overwhelm the lingering scent of her perfume.  They 
did not keep me from seeing her standing with her top raised, looking up 
at me in all her radiant perfection, the last scene my ruined eyes would 
ever behold.

             I thought it was a good trade.


~~~~~

(c) 2004 Russell Hoisington

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