Message-ID: <54959asstr$1165198201@assm.asstr.org>
From: "Otzchiim" <Otzchiim@aol.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 4 Dec 2006 00:52:26 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/1.0
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: f1g2000cwa.googlegroups.com; posting-host=152.163.101.5;
   posting-account=C21ckQwAAADZmaZxb84IE9DfAIFBBgfZ
Subject: {ASSM} Dalliance in Cockeysville (MF, cons)
Lines: 275
Date: Sun, 03 Dec 2006 21:10:01 -0500
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Otzchiim@aol.com.   A sequel of sorts to "Dalliance in Tarrytown"
from a year or two back.  Written a while ago, just typed up.   You do
not need to have read it, but the Google archive has it if you want to.
 That may be a better story.  Like that, this combines sort-of true
events into one narrative with minor changes. (MF, cons)


                          DALLIANCE IN COCKEYSVILLE

     George Evans decided that his car had to go into the shop.  So he
arranged to get a ride to work for the couple of days he was working
before and after Balticon, the ones before and after those he was
already taking off first, and took it in then.  For the convention
itself, he could take a bus to the D.C. Subway, then a train from
Washington to Baltimore.  That covered most of the trip.

     The other part of the trip contained the first surprise of the
weekend.  Balticon in those days had just moved to a new hotel, far
from transportation, and the convention rented a minivan to go down the
expressway, over a few blocks to the bus station, back two to Charles
Street, up to the train station, and back up the expressway.  (The
hotel itself had a shuttle to the airport.)

     When George called to find out when the minivan was coming by, the
hotel connected him to the convention information desk, and he spoke to
Barbie Harold:

     "Oh, George, it's so neat to talk to you, I hope you're going to
work with me on the info desk, I really want to see you again, it was
so neat being with you last year, what was it you wanted to know?  Oh
yes, the van left twelve minutes ago, so it should be right there."
And George saw it pull up, so he got off the phone.

     Barbie Harold, as you might guess from the way she talked, was a
teenage girl, the younger sister of the wife of the convention
chairman, Bob Simpson.  Last year was Barbie's first exposure to
science fiction conventions, and she loved it.  She was fifteen and
overwhelmed by all those people whom she didn't really know treating
her as an adult, as an adult, and not a nuisance.  She especially
liked, it turned out, the couple of hours spent with George Evans on
the information desk because he was relaxed around her as boys her age
never were.

     As soon as he got there, however, George learned that things would
not be quite the same this year.  Barbie at sixteen had filled out, and
if you pardon the expression had become quite a doll.  Last year's cute
but angular 15-year-old had nicely rounded breasts and a body she must
have become practiced at keeping boys off of.

     She was still much to young for him, two years from legal, but
much more tempting.  Last year, George was only a few weeks into a love
affair with Jackie Spriggs, and any temptation from Barbie - not much
- could be worked out on the beautiful body of the black woman
sharing his bed.

     But Jackie had moved on to a better job, in the midwest, and
George expected to sleep alone this year.  Well, he would survive, he
just wouldn't like it.

     Nor did he like it, by the time he finished the four-hour shift of
reaching past Barbie's boobs to get restaurant menus, over Barbie's
back to answer the phone while she answered a question from someone who
had walked up, and kneeling beside Barbie's butt to get out more
schedules, all without touching her.

     He emotions got to settle down for the rest of the day, however,
as he went through to the dealers' room, dropped in on a panel or two,
ate dinner across the road, and hung around ops, where he got briefly
drafted to carry things.

     As he walked down a hotel corridor around ten at night, he saw and
greeted a young woman whose right name he never remembered and was not
sure that he had ever heard it, though he had known her for a couple of
years.

     It's like this.  He knew her from the Society for Creative
Anachronism, or SCA, a medievalist group which years ago had more ties
to science fiction fandom than it does now.  He knew her there as
Gudryda, and that indeed was what was on her convention badge, though
in runic characters.

     She may have picked the name of Gudryda because it fit her thin
figure an pale shin, though whether the braids on her long blonde hair
came before or after her SCA activity was not clear.  She was a student
at John Hopkins majoring in engineering, he recalled.

     "How do you like the convention this year?" he asked her.

     "Enough that I'm going to hate having to leave it soon," she
replied.

     "Oh?" he said.

     "I couldn't get the money together in time to get in the room
that some JHU people are splitting.  Besides, Gary's going to be there
with his new swiveling, and that might get nasty."

     "I had not heard that you broke up with him," said George.
(Swiveling, pronounced swive-ling, is an old term for "the person you
are sleeping with")

     "Over a month ago.  Really, he dumped me.  So I'll have to take
the last bus south at eleven tonight and change buses at 12:30 at 33rd
and Greenmount to get to the dorm at one."

     George winced.  Greenmount and 33rd was pretty grim place in the
daytime.  He hesitated, then spoke.

     "I have an extra bed in my room.  No charge, no strings," he
told her.

     "George, I could kiss you!"

     He shrugged.  "Feel free.  Just don't go too far, at least in
public."

     And she got up to pull his head down and kiss him on the lips.

     They went to the room and stowed her shoulder bag.  He noted that
it was smaller than the one she often carried, with a ferret inside,
and he wondered she had died or was left to fend for herself tonight.

     Gudryda sometimes carried the animal inside a loose blouse, liking
to watch the expressions when the pet shifted around, or maybe worse
stuck her head up to investigate a smell.   And the larger bag came
with a burglar alarm, since the ferret would bite any hand reaching in
whose odor she did not recognize.

     George and Gudryda separated then, but she found him at one in the
morning, and then both decided to turn in.

     He used the bathroom first, and as she went in he apologized for
not having brought pajamas.  She said that she would live with it.

     In fact she did better than that, since the next time he saw
gudryda, she was standing naked by the bed that he had planned to sleep
in, telling him to move over.  The bed across the room was ignored.

     "No strings, I said.  You don't have to do this or anything like
it."

     "If I had to, I wouldn't be here," she replied.  "I pay my
debts any way I can, at least while living with myself.  But you have
something I want that seems to starting up nicely, and I've heard that
you haven't been getting any lately. Nor have I, this last month.
Unless you decide to  kick me out of bed, I'm in with you."

     George looked her up and down.  Thin, almost bony, small breasts,
but he knew he was not going to get through the night sleeping beside
her, both nude, without temptation winning out.

     "I'll get a condom," he said, sitting up.

     "No," she said, pushing him back down.  "I've been on the
pill for years.  You don't have anything contagious, neither do I, and
I want to feel you explode in me."

     And that she did, crying out she did.  George took out on her all
the lust that Barbie Harold had aroused, and Guryda did not mind in the
least.  There were only five years difference in age, and in fact
Barbie was taller and heavier, but only one of them was legal.

     Gudryda was wet and ready for him after only a little fondling,
and gratefully accepted all he could give her.  He felt her walls
squeeze in orgasm fairly soon, then again as he flooded her within.

     She whimpered when he entered her, and gave little cries from time
to time that excited him further.  But ti was after her first orgasm
that she became wild under him, pulling on his butt, wrapping her legs
around him, arching her hips with a snap to drive him deeper into her,
clawing his back.

     They showered together in the morning, and used their hands on
each other to produce a mutual fulfillment.

     Gudryda went back to the dorm in the morning - the buses were
better and the light rail was running - but spent the night with
Heorge again, with the same fringe benefits.

     George spent the day on Saturday at one thying or another, talking
to people in the dealers' room or the lobby, going through the art
show, at panels or on one, and gossiping and trading news.

     He decided that a good opposite the start of the masquerade was
more interesting (and comfortable) than that would be, but he was out
in hall during the intermission.  He spotted Josepha Grant, petite with
long black hair, who was dressed as a witch in black from head to foot
with a conical hat.  She was in the photo area.

     George called to her, and when she turned he began to recite:

          "Between the windy, swirling fire
           And all the stillness of the moon,
           Sweet witch, you danced at my desire.
           Turning some weird and lovely rune
           To paces like the swirling fire."

     And she danced to the rhythm of the words.  She knew the poem, as
he though she would: "Witch Dance," by Clark Ashton Smith.   A few
years earlier, he had bought a big collection of Smith's verse at a
convention, and his girlfriend of the time looked in it and asked to
borrow it at least for the night.  The night was spent in a room shared
with two other young women, of whom Josepha was one, and he was told
that the three were reading the book to each other half the night, and
the other two women searched the dealers' room for copies the next day.

     George went through two more verses, and when he began the fourth
Filthy Pierre began playing the piano under the escalator to match the
tempo, which made it easier her George and Josepha to avoid faltering.

          "Your supple youth and loveliness
           A glamor left upon the air,
           Whether to curse, whether to bless
           You wrought a stronger magic there
           With your lithe youth and loveliness."

     Then another two verses, ending with:

          "Sweet witch you conjured forth my heart
           To answer always at your will.
           Like Merlin, in some place apart,
           It has enthralled and captive still.
           Sweet witch, you conjured thus my heart!"

     As he finished, Josepha responded by stepping toward him as the
crowd stepped aside, her hand held high, and as he took it, she started
to chant:

          "Sorceress and sorcerer,
           Risen from the sepulcher,
           From the deep, unhallowed ground,
           We have found and we have bound,
           Each the other, as before,
           With the fatal spells of yore."

     Smith again, this time "Resurrection."  When she spoke the
last two lines of the first stanza, he began the second as they circled
together.

          "Sorcerer and sorceress,
           Hold we still our heathenness,
           Loving without sin or shame
           As in years of stake and flame.
           Share we now the witches' madness,
           Wake the Hecatean gladness,
           Call the demon named Delight
           From his lair of endless night."

     Then one more verse each, and they parted though the crowd wanted
them to continue.  George at least was not sure his memory would hold
out, and the masquerade was resuming for the awards in any case.  While
he knew other CAS, and other poems, not much else was appropriate.

     The parties seemed unusually good that night.  He only saw Josepha
once and for a short time, when she thanked him for starting the
impromptu performance they had shared.  Gudryda found him again at the
end of the night, and while neither of them was as frantic for
satisfaction now, they found a lot of it.

     Gudryda took her bar when she left the room in the morning and
presumably left the hotel a few hours later.  He only saw her once
after that before she graduated, at a party, and never after that.

     George checked out of his room and put his suitcase in storage
until he left the hotel.  He met Josepha, who asked about his old
girlfriend, the one she had roomed with, and who had dropped from sight
since.  He knew where she lived, but not much more about her these
days.

     Josepha commented that George and she (Josepha, not the old
girlfriend) had sort of circled around each other for years without
quite meeting, and maybe they should.   He agreed that there might be
seeds worth growing there.   They parted with a kiss.

     He took the minivan to the train and so forth home.

-- 
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: <story-submit@asstr.org>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+