Original Post Date Fri, 24 May 2002

                         Disclaimer

This is piece of fiction.  Any imagined resemblance to
people living or deceased is either the result of dementia
on the reader's part or that the reader is, in fact, a
character of this story.   It is assumed that readers of
this story have the permission of the state, mom, dad, and
pastor and are able to tell the difference between real and
make-believe.  Furthermore, the writer is fully aware that
he is bound for hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well
thought out, humourous insults on his writing skill.  Note:
he already knows he cannot spell 'warth shet'.

The events and descriptions of this story are the sole
property of Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded,
reposted, or profited from in anyway without express
written permission of the person hiding behind that pen
name. Reposting and free archiving will be tolerated given
the writer's name and address remains attached.  Archiving
by Deja.Com and ASSTR/ASSM is assumed and encouraged.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera
turtlemeat69@hotmail.com

ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Gamera
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Gamera/Beggars_Can't_Be

                Beggars Can't Be... Part 14
                       Time Passes
                            by
                      Kenny N Gamera

Suddenly, the clock started to belt out a little classic
rock.  Through the blurs of morning vision, I made out the
time formed by the glowing red numbers on the clock's face.
I did a little quick math (the best kind).  Coming up with
a number I liked, I reached for the snooze bar.

   Inches away from the button, my hand hovered for a
moment as something by Fleetwood Mac flowed from the small
cheap speaker.  It ended soon enough to be followed by
something perky by the Byrds.  I swatted the clock bringing
silence to the room.  I gave Charlie the needed strokes to
start his internal engine going.  Glad for the late snap of
unseasonable cold that kept him more interested in warmth
than food, I listened to him purr.

   As always, I failed to snooze through the snooze cycle
and did likewise through the next dozen ten minute
intervals.  After that, however, Charlie remembered that
the food dish was in need of filling.  He crawled from
under the blanket and began to lick my face, paw at me, and
cry like the starvin' chile he was.

   I got out of bed and in order, fed annoying cat, made
coffee, shaved, showered, drank coffee, went out door, went
in door, turned coffee pot off, went out door, entered and
started car, swore about forgetting article on calculating
the rate of subsidence, and decide to just forget it
because I got more than enough sleep the night before and
this sentence will make the grammar check in Word (r) puke
already.

   (The reader for the talking-book version of this story
may feel free to insert a deep sigh here)

   (PS you didn't need to read that part)

   (PSS you didn't need to read that last part either)

   (PSSS sigh! I give up!)

   I got to the lab and dropped my bookbag sans the afore
mentioned article on my desk.  A radio belonging to one of
my half-dozen office partners issued forth the final notes
of one of Queen's better whines, before moving to the
chatter of the DJ.  As I pulled out the readings, Fleetwood
Mac again began to sing.  I stared at the pile of creased,
stained photocopies.  I picked up a stapled stack of
sheets.  My eyes floated lightly over the quarter-memorized
words on them.

   I spent the morning thus reading.  The word it the
articles entered into a dialogue with ideas half-formed in
the back corner of my mind.  A trance fell deep over me
through lunch and into the early afternoon as,
occasionally, I quietly sang a line or two of something
mellow on the radio to myself.  Looking at the clock, I
broke and grabbed a tattered notebook and a folder into
which I crammed a few of the photocopies that I felt were
of some importance.

   One of my office partners looked up from the map he was
trying to explain to a recovering high-school genius and
asked, "taking off?"

   His student shifted in her seat to give herself a better
view of the map.  She also pulled her hair away from her
face and draped the long, brown locks over her stooped
shoulder.  Her hair flowed down the gray of her baggy
sweatshirt.

   "Just going to grab some coffee."

   Her sweatshirt rode up her back and away from the top of
her denim cutoffs, exposing a patch of lightly tanned skin
and the regular bumps of her spine.  The cutoffs had pulled
away from her body a little with her stooped posture as
well; the little hills of her vertebrae continue further.
Their visible path ended beneath the thin elastic band of
her baby blue underpants.

   "Drink some for me."

   She shifted again in her seat and brought a long, thin
leg up to the chair.  She lifted herself slightly and
pulled her ankle under her buttock, which she rested over
it.  Her tanned calves curved gently from her thighs to the
point her ankles disappeared beneath her.

   "You paying for it," I asked.

   She leaned closer to the center of the map; her finger
traced a contour line along the surface.  Her top teeth bit
lightly into her red, unmade lips as her soft brown eyes
moved across the map, following the feature that her finger
traveled along.

   "Nope," he answered.

   "I don't get it," the student said in a plaintive voice.
"What am I looking for?"

   My colleague and I sighed in unison.  He rolled his eyes
heavenward.  I spread my open palms from my body.

   "I'll get going.  Good luck."

   "Thanks," he answered before turning back to the matters
of glacial landforms.

   I walked the short distance out of campus and across the
main drag.  Entering campus town with only the beeping of one
horn and no screeching of tires, I made my way along the
strip of bars, tee-shirt shops, and tattoo places that
passed itself of as a downtown until I reached a small cafe
converted from some ancient drive-in.

   I took my place in the long line as the pony-tailed
bartista tried to keep up with the burst of mocha-
raspberry-caramel swirls and other such specialty drinks.
When she got to mine, I made the normal awkward small talk
as her short, thin fingers wrapped around the chrome milk
pitcher and moved it beneath the steamer.

   Her arms were covered with a fine downy covering of hair
that ended just below the sleeve of her oversized tee-
shirt. The opening of her sleeve and her movements as she
assembled my drink allowed glimpses of a white bra strap
and maybe the hint of a bra cup.  She handed me my drink
with a smile.  I looked into her dark brown eyes and smiled
back.

   I took my cup, wrapping my mitts around its near
scalding hot, paper sides.  Fate choose a seat for me at a
counter that ran along the floor to ceiling windows and
face out to the traffic and outside patio.  Only one spot
had the requisite number of empty seats that would allow
for both personal space and the spreading of classwork.  To
one side was a blonde and to the other was an Asian girl.
The Asian looked at me with brown eyes through the bangs of
her brown hair.  I said hi, and she smiled shyly before a
quick retreat to her books.

   I dropped the folder next to her and laid the notebook
down.  Taking my stool, I opened it to the appropriate
spot.  As I turned my current muddled thoughts into an
outline, I would glance up.  The Asian girl each time was
busily ignoring me, her eyes fixed to a book of anatomy.

   The patio outside the window would normally have been
filled with students reading up for coming exams or
professional folk of various strips taking a lunch break to
chat.  The day's weather didn't allow for it, however.  A
brisk wind blew a chill that made it unpleasant for even a
hardy Midwesterner, and the sun hid behind a solid sky of
gray fluff.  Here and there a dark patch moved eastward
with the wind.

   I stared out the window at the patio abandoned to just a
few stray birds.  They were drab and small and bounced
across the concrete pad looking for crumbs from some brave
soul's morning scone.  Cars drove past on the street.
Pedestrians, some with umbrellas but all with slightly
heavy spring jackets, walked along the sidewalk.

   I returned to my now cool coffee and my pad.  The Asian
girl had left, being replaced by some loud, busty sorority
bitch.  I wrote a few sentences about the once rocks, now
powders that made up my study.  I stared at the letters.
Turning my pencil over, I quickly did away with them.

   I closed my notebook.  I place a dull article that I had
spent the last several minutes paging through in the folder
and pull the paper cup of coffee towards me.  Held tightly
in both of my hands, the heat in it escaped into my body.
I stared into the plastic top.

   I sighed and allowed the cup to sit freely on the
counter top.  Sliding off the stool, I slipped one arm and
then the other into the sleeves of my jacket and cleared my
stuff from the counter. With only the briefest of looks
back at the brunette that I passed on the way out the door,
I started my way back onto campus and to the library.

   I stood outside against a wall to finish my coffee
before entering.  A girl stepped to the door.  With large
brown eyes, she looked at the cup as it tilted back so I
could get the last swallow.  A little dribbled down my
chin.  She giggled and flash a wide, white smile in my
direction.  I blushed and smiled back, as I pushed the now
discardable cup into the trash receptacle.

   She walked into the library and held the door long
enough for me to grab hold of it as I followed her inside.
She released it just as I took the weight into me.  We
repeated the process at the next set of doors at the far
end of the foyer.  That time, she turned and smiled again.
I thanked her.

   "You're welcome," she answered in a pleasant voice.

   We walked a short distance in file, with her at the
point.  Her heavy bag bounced against her back with each of
her bounce-like steps.  Her pony-tail swung forth and back
with the same rhythm as well, exposing brief flashes of her
neck.

   She turned left; I turned right taking a few quick steps
to the small computer lab.  Out of the corner of my eye, I
saw her turn her head back.  I shifted to see her wave back
at me.  I waved, then stepped into the computer lab.

   I sat before an unused machine and booted it up with my
username and password.  My e-mail came with the usual list
of viruses, come-ons for penis enlargements, and nonsense
about the upcoming department speakers.

   With a grunt, I logged off.  As the screen went blank
and I waited for the logon screen, a girl came into the
room and sat in a chair across from me. She typed in her
password and such before reaching into her book bag. The
loose tee-shirt she was wearing draped over her chest
showing the vague outline of a pert breast hidden beneath
the fabric as her body moved with the motions of her
removing her books and notes.  The computer in front of her
made the normal beeps and whirls of a starting computer as
I made certain that the one I used had finished those of a
computer shutting down.

   I picked up my burdens and turned to leave the lab.  My
return to the offices was a short, insignificant chunk of
time in the dying moments of the workday.  Everyone had
left by the time, I had returned to the office, either
having gone home or gone to the bar.  I flopped down into
the old, salvaged chair in front of my desk and stared at
the photocopies scattered across the surface of my desk.
Stacks stuck up like outcrops in a desert landscape.  I
grabbed one and checked through the component bundles to
make certain that they were of articles that I could use at
home.

   I stuffed them into my book bag.  I tried to zip it
shut.  I quit trying.  I removed a stack of graphs that one
of the geo-chemistry lab's black boxes had puked out.
These found themselves dropped with a rustle in convenient
random opening on the desk.  The zipper decided to
cooperate and the catch slid smoothly to the end.  I ran my
arm through the strap and hefted it to my shoulder and
back.  I took ten or so steps down the hall, before
stopping to go back and shut off the lights.

   I drove home through the normal mix of emotional,
careless, clueless, and dangerous drivers.  Charlie was
waiting for me in whatever dark corner he lurked in during
his day.  I tossed my keys on the countertop, and they slid
along it and into the sink with a klink-splunk.  I dropped
my book bag on one of the extra chairs.

   Unhindered by cat, I went into the dining area I used as
office/home-for-my-computer.  I turned it on.  As it
booted, I returned to the kitchen to grind a small amount
of coffee beans and started a half-pot of coffee.  I used
the little boys room to evict the earlier cups of coffee,
grabbed a cup to replace those, and dropped my butt in
front of the monitor.

   I stared at a half-written paragraph.  The screen went
blank.  I hit a key and stared at the half written
paragraph again.  The screen went blank.  I hit a key and
added a few words.  Coming to my senses, I backspaced over
the letters I had typed to where I had begun.

   With a sigh, I went to the kitchen and added some coffee
to my cup.  I returned to the computer and stared at the
still half-written paragraph.  The screen went blank.  I
hit a key and minimized the word processor and loaded the
browser.  Within days, I was online and typing out a
quarter-remembered address to a...well...you know...one of
'those' sites.

   I started flipping through a number of pictures of a
young woman in her college years.  She started in a pair of
kakhi shorts and a white halter that clung to the shape of
her modest chest.   I reached into my pants and adjusted
myself so rather than being folded between my legs, my
penis ran along my belly.  Slowly, she striped from her
clothing.

   A photo showed her bending at the waist, the shorts at
the bottom of her slim legs.  She was slightly turned, so
the back of her hind-end was exposed.  The back strip of
her thong underwear ran between her buttocks, exposing her
well toned cheeks.  I unbuttoned my slacks and the zipper
tab down. The series progressed through the process of her
striping of her clothes.  I hooked the elastic band of my
underwear with my thumbs and yanked my pants and underwear
together to my ankles.

   In just ankle-high socks and tennis shoes, the then
naked model went through the standard poses.  Her small
hands more than covered her breasts, the finger-thick
nubbins of her nipples pinched between her fingers.  They
were erect and rose coloured against the white of her skin.
In another photo, her hand stoked her stomach.  Another,
her hand began to part the tight outer lips on her sex.

   My hand began to travel slowly up then down the shaft of
my penis.  My palm pushed up on the lower edge of my glans,
followed by a downward tug,  My thumb dragged along the
back side of its helmet like surface.  As my climax
approached, I instinctively increased the speed of my
pumping motion.

   The woman in the photo set began to play with her own
sex.  The contraction reflect began, and before the scene
had ended, I released.  I caught the ejaculate with the
hand I had used to load each of the pictures.  I looked up
from the screen; the tissues were across the room.

   With all the grace of a hung over penguin, I waddled
over to the table that the box sat upon.  I drooled a trail
behind my as a drop stretched out from my penis.  With my
(relatively) clean hand, I pulled a tissue from the box and
smeared away most of the semen from my hand.  I dropped it
to the floor and tugged another out.  I used it to clean
more of the mess.

   Charlie walked into the room.  Purposely striding to the
center of the room, he sat down on his haunches like an
Egyptian statue.  He stared at me with a disapproving,
superior manner that only a cat can pull off without
practice.  He turned away to yawn and looked back at me for
a moment as I swabbed my penis.

   Realizing that I was in no condition to worship him, he
rose to his feet and went to the desk to see if I had an
important paper that he could lay on top of.  With a sure
leap, he landed on the answering machine.  It beeped and
declared that I had one saved message.

   It continued with "Kenny, this is Jenny.  I stopped
after school and got videos.  I expect you here as soon as
possible to make dinner.  Stop and get something simple.
For three.  I love you."  Then, it beeped and added in its
own machine voice.  "End of message."

   With a sigh, I took a seat on the floor.  I stared at
the carpet lost in thought for another hour before I got up
and chased the cat from the front of the monitor.  I stared
at the half-written paragraph.  The screen went blank.

   I reached over to the answering machine and hit the play
button to hear her voice one more time.
