WARNINGS:  This story includes explicit descriptions of
sexual acts. If reading this might involve you or another  person
in an illegal act, or you are offended by the exploration of adult
themes in literature or on the Internet, do not read further.

Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart. The author is a member of
the Net Authors and Creators Union (NACU), which defends
the rights of  Internet authors and creators. NACU intends to
bring suit against any person or corporation infringing
copyright.

Specific permission is granted for publication in the news
groups Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for
archiving by the Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and 
DejaNews.  All other rights are reserved. Do not repost or
distribute by any other means without express permission from
the author.

NOTE:  In olden times, a little story like this was called a 
"fancy,"  which meant a tale not subject to all the strictures of 
reality.  I am aware of the controversy over the starting date of 
the new millennium, and I know that it will begin somewhere in 
the Pacific and not in Times Square.  But this is a fancy.


Y2K   (FM rom, strange)

by Jane Urquhart


      "Martha, what's bugging you?"

      Should I tell him?  I thought not, but I knew I would. 
I've never liked New Year's Eve much.  It's like a birthday. 
What's to celebrate?  You're glad you're getting older?  That's
when you're a kid, not when you can feel the bad back and the
sore knees and have to wear reading glasses.  But even when I
was a kid I thought New Year's was scary. All these people
partying, drinking, having fun.  What are they celebrating?  That
they've survived another year?  They certainly can't be
celebrating what's coming, because they don't know.  

      "I'm scared, that's all," I said.  "Haven't you noticed? 
I'm always that way on New Year's Eve.  And Y2K is worse.  I 
don't know why, but it's worse this year." 

      I smiled at him.  He certainly wasn't one of my
problems.  Well, maybe he was, because he's getting older, too,
and he's older than I am.  I'm forty-two.  He's fifty.  Or will be
next month.  So, yes, he was a problem.  Works too hard,
plays too little, getting around to heart attack time.  But he's
cheerful, and fun, and he still says I'm beautiful.  I love him. 

      "Dear old Martha," he said, smiling that "I care about
you" smile he has.  I know that one, just as I know all the
others.  That one is the best, I think.  "I wish I could kiss it and
make it better."

      "You could," I said.  I smiled again.

      So he did.  It wasn't time, yet, for the regulation New
Year's kiss, but he set his champagne glass down on a lamp
table, took mine out of my hand and put it down, too, and put
his arms around me.

      "It's early," he said, looking into my eyes, still smiling.
"Fifteen minutes to go.  But I believe in starting early."

      He pulled me hard up against him.  My breasts pushed
against his chest.  I could feel his thighs against mine. He leaned
down and put his lips on mine, gently, at first, then harder.  I
could feel his heartbeat.  He tasted sweet, of champagne.  I
opened my mouth and took his tongue inside, and he squeezed
me harder.  I didn't know it would be like this, there at our own
party, with all those people around.  But he was in charge, not
me, and I was more than willing to go along.  

      He didn't pull away, he kept on fondling me with his
tongue.  I was smiling to myself.  "Hoo-Ha!" I thought.  "This
is getting interesting!"  And the kiss went on and on.  He pulled
back just a little and brought a hand around to put it between us
on my breast.  Right there in front of all those people!  It did
feel good!  And the kiss went on and on.  And then he pulled
away, bowed, and kissed my hand.  My goodness!  I was
smiling, then, I'll tell you!  People were looking at us and they
smiled, too.  Floor show!

      "We could just leave and go to the bedroom," he said,
quietly.

      "And miss seeing the ball come down and all the people
yelling?"  I was still smiling, and my pulse was getting stronger
and faster.  "And leave them all to wonder why the hostess
wasn't there?"

      "We could do that, yes," he said, smiling the way he
does when he's daring me to do something.  I know that one,
too.

      He was still holding my hand, so I gave him a little tug
and turned toward the door.  I looked over my shoulder at him,
smiling.  He came willingly, and we almost ran up the stairs.

      In the bedroom somebody had left the TV on.  As I
entered I could see it showing a small crowd of people in what
looked like a park.  They were carrying signs that said,
"Repent!" and "This is the End!" and things like that.  Poor
things.  Then it was back to Times Square and people yelling
and milling around and a man going on and on about the New
Year.  I went over and pushed the mute button.

      We didn't have to talk.  I had only to glance at him to
see this wasn't one of those nights when he'd tease me by
taking my clothes off one thing at a time and kissing me all over
and saying dumb things about how beautiful I was.  This was
one of those times we just stood on opposite sides of the bed
and zipped and pulled and got undressed as fast as we could. 
This time he had that little smile that said, "Get ready!  I'm
going to squeeze you and push you around and kiss you and
make you scream with joy!"  I was ready, oh, yes!  So was he. 

      Then we were in the bed and I was holding him tight
and he pushed his leg between mine and pushed me over on my
back and that was fine because I wanted him and he wanted me
and what could be better?  So I reached down and put his penis
right where it belonged and he began to suck at a nipple and I
put a hand on his head and he pushed and pulled and I met his
every thrust with one of my own and he put his mouth on mine
and yes, I screamed with joy, but not very loud.  I was feeling
so intoxicated by all this that I didn't think about anything
at all and then I began to feel the great shock wave building and
it hit the top and crashed, leaving me ready for more, and he
kept right on going and then he stiffened and started moaning 
and I could feel his warmth filling me and then he collapsed on 
top of me and I held him gently for a moment or two until he 
raised his head and kissed me, sweetly, and I held him tight 
and then I let him go.

      He lay next to me so our hips could press together and
he looked at me and smiled the one that only comes at times
like that and tells me he feels so good because he loves me and
he can give me pleasure and I can do the same for him and of
course it's a miracle.  And I smiled, too, of course, because it
*is* a miracle and I love him.

      Then he propped himself up an elbow and looked across
me at the TV and I looked at it, too.  

      "The ball is coming down, " he said, which made it
official even though I could see it, too, and I smiled.

      "Happy New Year!" I said.

      "New century!" he said.

      "New millennium!" I said.

      And then the ball hit the bottom.

      The TV blanked out; the lights went off.  

      "I guess they missed a chip somewhere," I said.  But I
was scared again.  He'd taken that away for a while and I was
grateful.

      We couldn't hear any traffic.  It was deathly quiet.  I
rose and went to the window.  There was a little ice in one
corner of it, but I could see outside.  It was a clear night.  Then
I saw a star go out.  And another.

      "The stars are going out," I said.  I was scared.

      He came over behind me and put both arms around me
and looked out the window himself.

      "I didn't believe you," he said.  "But they are."

      Then the big tree out by the road disappeared.  Just like
that. Then house across the way.  Just gone.  Nothing.  Oh, my!
Those people on the TV, they were right.  But he was holding
me.  I trembled, but I wasn't really scared.  He was holding me.

      "I love you," he said.  

      "I love you," I replied.  

      Then the walls of the room began somehow to shimmer. 
They gave off a low, strange light.  Then they disappeared, too.

                           -----THE END----


NOTE:  My thanks to Miles Naismith, who always helps me; and
             to Spline Duck and Old Rotorhead, who are very good
             critics.  Faults are all mine.

Please write to Jane Urquhart at janey98@hotmail.com

  
Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart. The author is a member of
the Net Authors and Creators Union (NACU), which defends
the rights of  Internet authors and creators. NACU intends to
bring suit against any person or corporation infringing
copyright.

Specific permission is granted for publication in the news
groups Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for
archiving by the Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and 
DejaNews.  All other rights are reserved. Do not repost or
distribute by any other means without express permission from
the author.













