The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in locations in which it is
legal.  If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT read.  This is a copyrighted work.  Reposting or
any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may by posted as part of a review or posted to free-access, noncommercial archive sights. 

Copyright 1999 by E. Z. Riter. 

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com     

Please!   Give me your comments!

Dear Reader: In alt.sex.stories.d (for discussion), Mat Twassel has been enlivening the group by
asking a question each week in his Weekly Quiz.  One week the question was: "tell us what's in
or on your night table."  This is our response.   E.Z.


NIGHT TABLE

"Not much of an answer, was it?" she asked, swiveling to look at me.  I could see the ASSD
news group on the monitor behind her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your reply to Mat's quiz about what's on your night table.  'An alarm radio, a scented candle in
a crystal candle stick and a tube of KY.'  Not up to your standards, E.Z.  What's this going to do
to your reputation?"

"I didn't know I had a reputation to consider."

"You do with me.  I'm not the woman of a pedestrian man."

"No one knows you're my woman.  No one who reads the news group anyway."

"I know I'm your woman."

"But you know I'm not pedestrian.  Am I?"

Her eyes, which had been twinkling at me since she started this little tease, gleamed.  A wild,
devilish, grin broke out.  She fought to control it, making her lips twitch in mysterious ways. She
stood sexily and walked a pace to keep me from seeing her facial contortions.  When she faced
me again, those lips were under control.  

"If one was simply judging from a night table, one might reach the conclusion that you . . .  of
course, it's not fair to judge a person from their night table. What if someone saw mine?  What
would they think of me?"

"With all those dirty magazines?  That you're a pervert."

"I suspect Cosmo would object to being called a dirty magazine.  Women need the latest
information on those subjects."

"Janey was right.  Find a semi-literate woman . . . "

"Completely literate!  And, sexy as hell!"

"That goes without saying."

"No, it doesn't.  All women like to hear that.  Really, E.Z., if a guy who loves to write can't flow
with good B.S., what's the average guy saying to his woman?"

"You're sexy as hell," I replied, reaching for her.

"Brilliant!  Now, that's original dialogue," she countered, squirming away and backing toward
the bedroom. 

"Actions speak louder than words," I grinned, advancing menacingly. 

"I can't hear you," she said, dancing away again. 

It must have been the look in my eye.  She stopped still.  Her eyes widened.  Her mouth formed a
little O.

"Now, E.Z.," she whispered in a guttural, sexy tone.

I lunged.  She squealed and fled, somehow shedding her ever present T-shirt and bra before she
made it to the bedroom. She somersaulted across the bed.  Frozen in place, I watched as she
wiggled out of her jeans.  Her panties were gone before I hurled myself toward her.

She dodged easily.  I caromed off the wall into the night stand, breaking the crystal candle stick.
The alarm clock crashed to the floor.  I landed on the tube of KY.  It exploded with a sound not
unlike a whoopie cushion, dispersing its contents on the wall as a work of abstract art. 

There I was, on the night table, slightly dazed from both her and my collision.  She took
advantage of my momentary dislocation to yank down my boxers. With a shove, she pinned my
shoulders against the wall and slipped onto my lap, knees under my arms.

"Ever fuck on a night table?" she asked just before she kissed me. 

God, what a woman!

Spent now, she curled against me, head buried in my chest, her hair soft under my chin.  When
we recovered, she began to giggle as she helped me stand.  We collapsed on the bed in gales of
laughter.  

I glanced at the night table.

"Now, what are you going to tell Mat about what's on your table?" she asked, her face bright as
sunshine.

"I'll tell him what happened and let him figure it out," I replied smugly.

The End

Please!  Give me your comments!

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
 
  