love between screens

[daughter]

OCC: Okay, I'd like to try this SRP exercise out. Here's my proposal. Looking for one other player, male. Member must have name. Unregistereds can't participate. I'm new so please allow me to interact with only one other player.

Wanted: A man in his mid30s-40s. Professional. Straight. Suit by day, writer at night. Single, active member on a couple of writer sites.

Protagonist(me): Woman in her mid30s-40s. Professional. Straight. Also writer on a few online communities. "Bumps" into Mr. Man on a writers' board.

Setting: Woman posts a selection on forum. Man responds. They click. Platonic initially. We play out how this develops.

If you're interested, please reply. Please provide a brief description of your character(less than 50 words). Lady's choice.
I'd like a couple of descriptions to get a feel for compatiability.

Hope I get some volunteers. Hope, This setup is okay. Please advise if not.

Thanks.

daughter

 

[daughter]

Thanks for responding

OCC: Thanks for the responses. Polar Juice and I have decided to work together.

Hope you'll check us out. Look for our character profiles coming soon.

Peace,

daughter

 

[PolarJuice]

1st post character.....

OCC: I've read your intro.. sounds like fun..


Samuel, ( Sam for short ) male, "just fell off the fence on the side of 40" tradesman by day "too cool to be anything but tough " Discovered writing as a way to get in touch with a side rarely seen and buried deeper than even he realises.

Started writing as self therapy and found others enjoyed his stories. Found a forum to increase his exposure annonymously and found others in similar situations.

One fault is that his fantasy online life invovles emotions hard to control and harder to ignore... he treads lightly as hes been stomped on before...

Then he finds her...

 

[daughter]

Nora

OOC: Nora is thirty-five. She's an editor in the community school(k-12) division for Thompson Learning, a textbook publisher. She's a single mom to Tova her seven-year-old daughter.

Nora's a hopeless romantic who's pretty cautious these days. She had thought Tova's father, a young intern working at Children's Hospital, was the man she'd spend the rest of her life with. Roland walked. He couldn't strike a balance between love and career.

Nora now feeds her desires through keystrokes, sometimes late into the night. She's a voracious reader and an aspiring writer. She belongs to a listserve and a couple online poetry communities. She's met some wonderful people over the years. Formed some long-term friendships.

A new member, Sam joins the listserve. He doesn't participate much in Parlour, the social forum, but he's insightful and thoughtful in his comments on stories. He seems more comfortable when he's talking about characters and plots.

He's commented to Nora's stories. She's caught herself of late looking for his comments. He hasn't shared much about himself personally, but Nora's convinced he's sensitive, kind, and creative.

IC "Whew, girl. Fan yourself. He's a name on the screen."

OCC:Nora laughs at her latest hunt for Sam's posts. She hopes he writes this evening. Inspite of herself, she's anxious. She scrolls the messages.

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam;

Alone again on a Sunday afternoon Sam finds himself logged in and searching, for what he doesn't know.

"Hmmmm another posted story under my belt," Sam sighes, a satified grin breaks on his face, then fades. "No responces."

He looks through the lists of stories and reads a few more then flips over to the poetry files and gets lost for awhile. His computer announces with a bell that one of people on his buddylist just joined the forum.

With shaking hands and an increased heartrate he scans through the windows until he finds his list.

"Is it her? Let it be her."

It is....

 

[daughter]

OOC:

It's 9pm, and Tova is sound asleep. Nora logs onto Thongs&Other Naughties. Members, affectionately call the forum "Ton of fun". It's slow tonight. Not many messages. She looks for Sam. Her IM flashes. She sees he's online. She's hesistant to message him. They haven't spoken in real time. She feared he might think she overly aggressive. Hell, she is aggressive. She sends him a note:

IC:Hi, Sam. It's me, Nora. I saw you were online. Not much on the forum tonight. I know we haven't talked much, but I thought I'd drop you a line.

OOC Nora waits. Sam replies almost instantly.....

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam;

Surprised at her immediate attention, he smiles to himself. He's intregued and slightly relieved that he did not have to initiate.

"For once someone 'wants' to talk to me," he muses.

He sips his tea quietly reading her post, his hands tremble slightly, itching to reply but he tries to calm himself so as not to appear too eager. He follows her words trying to visualize what she looks like sitting there in front of her computer. He brushes his hair back self-consciencely.

"Hello again, its a pleasure to see you again. I was reading some of your poems and I must say your words intregue me. I feel the vulnerability you must have felt when you were writing." He types quickly and hits send...

"Oh Gosh, That sounds stuffy! She's gonna think me a duffus!" he mutters to himself.

 

[daughter]

I wonder what he's thinking

IC:

Thanks, Sam. Listen I have one I'm thinking about posting. I'm hesitant about it because it's one of my earliest works. I didn't know anything about form, imagery-- nothing back then. This relies heavily on sound and emotion. Would you read it and give me your honest feedback?

Great. Man, it's late. It's been good talking with you. I'll post the poem later. I have to get some sleep. ((Nora giggles slightly))Hope I didn't keep you up too later. I'll write you later. Check your email, I can't IM from work.

Good night.

OCC

It's two weeks later. Nora and Sam are talking constantly. They pass no less than fifteen emails a day between them. They spend hours a night between the forum and IM.

All that talk, and yet they haven't talked about those things you usually ask when you meet someone. Nora knows that Sam has been hurt in love before. She knows that's he's 41 and a tradesman. She's told him about Tova and her breakup with Roland. He knows she an editor with Thompson Learning. Still, they never got around to those silly questions like: "What's your favorite color"?

Nora scribbles a few lines at work about what's happening between her and Sam. She decides to send the verse to him. She laughs thinking, Girl, this is too silly. Why do I feel like I'm seventeen and falling in love for the first time? She doesn't know, and right now she doesn't care.....

 

[daughter]

Sam, you've got mail

IC:


Nora sends Sam an email:

Sam, this probably reads quite sophomoric. Hope you get a chuckle out of it. It was fun writing it.

he doesn't know my name,
his eyes i have never seen.
still his voice lulls me,
his words-- his touch,
our souls embrace.


don't know his favorite color
but in my mind he bleeds,
in my heart he beats.


my name is unimportant;
his visions, i have seen.
his chords are my voice,
my ethchings-- his caress,
our souls embrace.

he doesn't know my favorite color;
still in his mind, i am his pulse.
i course through his veins.



across space we come;
our name is one,
we are passion,
our souls embrace.

 

[daughter]

hi, Sam

Haven't heard from you this morning. After my poor scribbling I sent you earlier, I felt silly. Too bad, we can't snatch back emails.

Anyway, all morning I thought about how I see you. Not your physical description, but how I have come to think of you.


Are you ready for more of my nonsense?

You are Maple, strong, grounded, resilient. I imagine your eyes are bright, a hue between harvested wheat and autumn leaves. Your hair has beginning signs of a change in season. Your skin is fair, milky white like dandolines . Your hands are large with fine lines rings that have come with age. And your voice--it is calm, soothing like the sounds of a brook. You are long, and solid. Your compassion is wide like the mouth of a lake.

I want to rest in the shade of your empathy. Feel the sun's rays warm my skin while I lay against your trunk.

Oh, well. Back to work.


Talk with you later,

Nora

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam;

He sits at his computer reading and rereading the poem Nora posted. Tears are close but he sighs and brings himself back under control.

"Lovely words, girl. They really change the mood after a long hard day at work."

His days are filled now with anticipation of the nightly ritual of messaging. He longs for a desk job or any job that gives him access to a computer. His lunch hours are spent in silence, lost in the thought of his daily messages and what he wants to tell her, needs to tell her. The guys at work just shake their heads when they talk to him and he doesn't answer.

He's in another world.... of maple trees and gentle brooks. Of grassy banks and the songs of white-throated sparrows and chick-a-dees. He goes over old messages and tries to see what he's written that would give her these images. he wonders if they are images of what she would like to see.

He looks at his hands, short fat fingers, thick with calouses and chirped nails. Working hands, strong, but gentle. Sam bangs away on the keyboard in his four fingered typing style while the cat purring softly in his lap. The cats knows gentle hands.

 

[daughter]

How does he see me?

Nora wonders how Sam sees her. Is he imagining some redhead, Irish beauty or chestnut, city girl who grew up comfortably in some US suburb?

She is plain. Tresses don't frame her face and her eyes aren't the color of some semi-precious jewel. She is soft and warm, more akin to a favorite meal. She was raised that when you love someone, you feed them. Nora is pleased to feed her man. She believes in plenty of food and good lovin'. Nora is creamy like Sweet Potato pie, and almost the same shade. Given the right mood, and you'll smell curry, cumin, and smoked hickory filling her kitchen. Nora has full, round breasts, perfect for kneading. Just barely 5"0' tall, she has enough bite to make any adversary think twice before crossing her. She has large, strong hands. They are manicured, lovely as any dish she prepares for her mate. Aunt Cat had told her men like pretty hands. Hers were not small and dainty, but there was a whole lot of love in those hands. She has small almond eyes. Barely see them when she smiles. Her hips are full. Something to fill an appreciative man's grip. Muscular thighs and lean, muscular calves support her. Nora is shapely, and at thirty-five she's no longer worried about her size.

Nora is filled with daydreams and an high she can't seemed to come down from. Sam hasn't written yet. She pulls out another poem, an idea of what she looks like. She sends it.

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam;

Caught day dreaming again Sam's computer woke him with a message alert. He was dreaming of punpkin pie with whipped cream. The lingering smells of cinnamon and nutmeg fill his nostrils or is that his imagination. He's hungry now and jumps to find Nora's post enticing him with images of food and feasting. His stomach growls yet there is a more base, deeper urge welling within....

He smiles at the thought.

 

[daughter]

pumpkin? just like a cannuk

Hi, Sam!

Did you like my poem? What pumkin pie. ((Nora laughs)). Sweetie, black folks don't make pumpkin pie. It's sweet potato.

Silly cannuk. Is that how it's spelled? We used to have an office in Ontario. I had customers in Nova Scotia, New Foundland and New Brunswick when I was a sales rep. I have a few friends in Vancouver. I know of one other Canadian author in Alberta, I think. Tell me. What is it like where you live? If I came to visit, what would you want me to see?

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam;

I've lived all across Canada, living here and there growingf up in fits and starts. I have no home to call my own.. no roots. My Dad was in the military so we moved often never more than 3 years in one place and moving as often as every 6 months at one point

I got to see alot of Canada and I do love it so but I also don't have the roots adn no childhood freinds... little or no friends really. Its a habit I never picked up. Its too hard to make friends only to move away again.

New Brunswick is my most favorite province. Maybe its becuase I was in my early teens and most impressionable, Maybe it was because I was first kisssed there by a cute little french/indian girl.

I love the seasons of the east coast. Very distinctive and very colourful. Most of my nature stories are set in the backwoods of NB.

A close second is Alberta, again its hard to say why.. the country or the memories of the girls I knew. The weather here is different to say the least. Not very dramatic unless you like the storms. It seems lately the winters have become milder and the summers cooler.. it is not the Alberta of my youth.

Awww those were the days.... maybe I am just getting too old.

Hmmmm pumpkin pie... just saying the word brings back memories so real you can smell them... and what do you really expect at this time of the year... I don't think I have ever tasted sweet potato.

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam; ... on poetry

Yes I loved it... how is it you can pick poetry that touches my very heart tickles feelings laying just beneath the surface. You are amazing.

You know I fell in love with a girl once because of the way she laughed... before I even saw her face. Of course she would have nothing to do with me but I can relate to that feeling. Its the little things that count.

My poetry ... thast anotehr matter. I seenm only to write the good stuff ( if you can call it that ) when I'm depressed. I had a book in which I had an epic started.. 7 years of writing m,y life in a poem ... lost in a move across Canada somewhere. I was so heartbroken I gave up writing for almost 20 years.....

I'm glad I'm back at it....

My only drawback or stummbling block is my lack of education.... English was the only subject I came close to failing consistantly.. I blame it on girls again.... and my wasted youth. Math and sciences.. came too easy I had no need for extra work... English required tyoo much of my time... Boy do I see the error in my ways now...

 

[daughter]

Where I'm from

Where did I grow up? I was born and raised in Detroit. It pisses me off when people bad mouth the city especially if they have never been here. I won't deny the grit, the destitution, and decay. But, that is only apart of this town. And how they portray race relations and crime is such a narrow view. In my mind, it is more a reflection of sensational news than the reality for many of us here.

My father was an electrician with the city and my mother was a supervisor with the phone company. We attended the best city schools. I graduated from Cass Tech, one of two of the premier high schools in the city. When you attend Cass, it isn't an issue of if you're going to college, but where. I was accepted to every school I applied. I chose Adrian, a small liberal arts school. They had a good humanties program, and I wanted to teach.

When I told some of my freshman classmates that I was from Detroit, some of them slightly gasped. Of course, they were embarassed for reacting that way. I'd laugh and say, "No, I did not grow up dirt poor, dodging bullets and recovered from drugs." My best friend was a fellow athlete, Leah Murray. Leah was a great athlete and the best dressed girl on campus. Lord that child loved clothes. I called us Salt and Pepper. We were very close.

During the summers, I'd work at Laurel Publishing in downtown Detroit. After graduating, I accepted a sales position. By the time I finshed school, I wasn't so sure about teaching. I was young and I wanted to earn a good living of my own.

Because of my work at Laurel, I decided to go on and get my MLS, Masters of Library Science. Next to teaching, being a librarian was very cool to me. I took night classes at Wayne State. It's medical school is renowned. That's where I met Roland. As apart of my internship, I worked in the Ruether Library on the weekends. ((sigh))

Well, after having a Tova, I quit school. My parents helped, but I wanted to give my attention to my daughter. I moved around at Laurel, eventually becoming a team leader for one of the editorial groups, and well here I am.

Oh, I didn't tell you about our fair city. Tova and I live in duplex. We live just east of downtown across the street from the Eastern Market, our historic farmers market. It's open all year round. Talk about energy and fodder for an author's pen.

We have the acclaimed Detroit Symphony Orchestra and a newly renovated Orchestra Hall. Our Children's Museum has an underground floor that has original cobblestone sidewalk from the 1800's, and the DIA, the Detroit Institute of Arts, hosts some of the most prestigous tours in the country. And the riverview is beautiful.

Funny, when I think of Canada, I don't think foreign country. It's our neighbor less than a ten minute ride through an underwater tunnel. When I turned twenty-two, a man I was dating took me to Toronto for the weekend for my birthday. Fabulous city. Don't know why I haven't been back.

Whew, I'm talking your head off. I love talking with you. I love saying your name. I wish I were with you now. I would form the sounds of your full name against your chest and hope you could feel the joy I feel in just saying it. I want you to whisper my name in the quiet of the night as we lay skin to skin mumurring silly gerbish as lovers do.

I have to go now. I....

Good night

 

[daughter]

Hello, Sam

Hello, my cannuk.

Something for your reading pleasure. Now, this is the kind of stuff only for lovers. You'll never see this syrup on the list. Enjoy.

can i...
take my time w/you
share giggles and early un-
welcomed rays
find refuge in wrapped arms
and knees?
sometimes the world is so
mean,
just want a few
glow in the dark red marks.

can i...
take my time w/you
fall into your beat
give you foot rubs and
kissed lids?
sometimes the world is so
mean, just want a few
glow in the dark red marks.

can i... take my time w/you
fall in love
find refuge in your arms?
sometimes the world is so
mean, just need some time
and rest my needs.

can i... take my time w/you
fall in love
give you comfort in my arms?
sometimes the world is so
mean, just want to give you some time
try to satisfy your needs.

Remember I told you about the other site I belong to? Here's a link to my work there. It's a hodgepodge of early pieces(very rough) and some of my better moments:

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=27673

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam

I'm not a city person, though I work in one. I prefer the open country where I wake up to the sounds of the sparrows and finches or the robins making a ruckous. Cities are necessary evils as far as I'm concerned.

If you were to come visit it would be the country you would find me in and the places we would go would be my favorite walking trail, or fishing hole or picnic spot. I'm still searching for my special place. Remind me to tell you about it some time.

A few hours from here are the mountains, oh how I miss living near them. Since I moved form the coast 3 years back its a sorry state my skyline is but I have come to enjoy the openess once again. From a hill top you can see for generations .... Sometimes the sky is so big you just have to lie down and hug the ground for fear of being lost.

Of course the city is near enough that we could go to North America's biggest Mall or take in lots of unique little cliche shops or visit the many museums or galleries in town.

But I feel its a sad comparison to the wonders of the land...

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam

He bangs away on his computer, alone in the dark, dreaming of the open meadows in the spring. A bitter wind is howling outside and all the little trick-or-treater's are bundled so much they can barely move. Its a sad Halloween when it rains.

He dreams of a moonlit night in a mountain cabin far from the ghosts and ghouls interupting his evening. Then he see's Nora's most recent post, another of her poems.


" Yes, " he types back as his responce and sends and few X's and O's to punctuate his minimal messsage that says all it needs to...

 

[daughter]

you wrote

From a hill top you can see for generations .... Sometimes the sky is so big you just have to lie down and hug the ground for fear of being lost.

If I am with you I have no fear, and if I were lost it could not be better as long as I am with you.

Not long ago, you said you have rough callous hands. My Sweet, if your hands are ragged and worn, I'd ask then that you would be my pumice for I, too, have rough edges. Rub me there and everywhere; make me smooth all over.

xox

Nora

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam

Its surpricing how soft and gentle weathered hands can be when carressing soft shoulders and smooth skin. After a long hard day and back rub is good. I know how a desk job can make you feel. The tenseness in your shoulders the corded neck muscles, the dull ache in your lower back.

My hands can sooth those aches from you. calm the office jangled nerves and carry you off into a world only we can share.

 

[daughter]

only if

you allow me to return the favor.

I'd light candles and incenses for you. Sandlewood, I think. I'll put on something classical, something by Fauve. I will have warm, homemade massage oil by the bed. And fresh, soft white towels to keep you warm(you'll be completely nude of course).

I'll tell you to stretch out; tell you to relax a few minutes. simply listen to the music. Just before you need to shift, I'll straddle your backside. I'll run my full warm, open palms in wide sweeps, moving slowly, always having at least one hand in contact with your skin. I'll rub firmly, methodically along your blades, neck, and shoulders. I'll knead the span of your trapezoids, moving to each deltoids, triceps and bi's. then I'll work the center of your back in small circular motions, using my thumbs and the meatest part of my palms. I'll pay special attention to your lowerback. My movements even more deliberate and firm. You'll moan softly while I work the tension out of your body.

Slowly I'll work my hands back up and over and round. Gradually I'll lower my belly, ribs and finally my breasts will rest against you. My hands moving lightly up your nape, over your ears and outer lines of your jaw. I'll kiss lightly where your spine and skull meet. then moving outward along your shoulder blades. My tongue will join my fingers and lips in a soft, delicate dance across your flesh. When you are fully awakened, I'll roll easily to one side. I'll want to kiss you then.....

 

[PolarJuice]

Sam

Taken aback he settles into his chair and is lost in the thought of a full body massage and all that twists and turns that would entail. He's never had a descent neck massage and here before him is a desciption beyond his wildest imagination. He's always been the giver never the reciever when it comes to that.

He chuckles remembering this little french waitress that used to come for a visit afterhours at their favorite watering hole. She used to beg and plead a foot massage out of Sam and he like a silly puppy gladly obliged.... How he would love to she her enjoy those foot rubs.. the sound of her sultry voice, the look in her lustfilled eyes.....

" Hmmm that sounds so nice, Nora. No ones offered that for me before... but a foot rub that would be my offer to you.
I would take any opportunity to give you one... they can be functional as well as erotic and also could be given in public...
Imagine relaxing at your favorite resturant and ending the meal with a footrub under the tablecloth.... how far would you let it go?"


Polar

 

[daughter]

Sam, it saddens me

to know that you haven't never been the recipient. What grieves me more is that I already suspected as much is true. Love is more than giving, Sam. It's knowing how to receive it. Took me a long time to learn that. I cursed so many of my former lovers for being unworthy when in fact, I fact I felt unworthy. And so I attracted those who could not love me.

I probably sound weird to you right now. Never mind. This foot massage business. Well, if we're going to a favorite place of mine, a sure spot is Dolce La Vita. It's a small, indescript place on Woodward. The neighborhood is on the rough side so the facade of the building looks like the rest of battered Woodward. However, at the entrance on a side street, there is valet parking, shaded trees, and an enclosed patio eating area decked out with exotic greenery. For the record, this place really exists. I'm not making this up.

Where were we? Toni, a young, sexy and very sauve man will seat us. There's an open bar facing us. It's art deco complete with laquer bar, piano, imported beers, fine scotches, gins, and some of the best port and wine you can imagine. The place is posh, slightly overdone and looks like the dream of some eccentric but talented gay decorator. That's not a snide. This place is a haven for the gay community and those who are open-minded enough to appreciate diversity.

To our left is a curtained, smaller dining area. Of course, it's dimly lit almost too dark. There are four oversize booths with high, plush red velour backings. The walls are draped and two, ornate but tasteful oil paintings complete the look. Toni pulls out my chair.

We start with a drink. You have Glenn Levitt. I decide to show my true colors and order Jack Daniels with soda and lime. You ask me to order for us. We start with sautee'd Portabellas with fontina and basil. We also have pan-fried polenta with red and green peppers coated lightly with olive oil and crushed red pepper. Brent, our waiter, pours oil on a bread plate and then grates ground pepper till I say stop. We dip our fresh bresh in it. Hell, with butter. The Italians had it right.

We have a hearty red with dinner, Borollo if I remember correctly. I was a waitress on and off for almost ten years in some pretty upscale places. Wine was par for the course and I must admit, I enjoyed our regular wine tastings. My boss said I had a good palette for wine. A lover of flavor and texture, I learned a good deal. I digress. Anyway, I'll skip the meal. I know you'd like me to talk about the desert under the table.

I'm wearing a long black velour skirt, a black shell, and animal print sheer blouse. the blouse ties at my bustline. The sleeves and hem billow at my wrists and just short of my hips. It is soft, feminine. It reminds me of a flower opening itself to be admired. I have on sheer black hose and sleek patent leather pumps. I know. Black is so safe, but I was too anxious to be daring. I did think to be sexy. When you picked me up you had to collect your tongue off the floor so I was fairly certain you liked what you saw.

You drop your hands beneath the table. We are cuddled up close. you lift my left foot and place it on your thigh. At first you run your finger along the underside of my foot and I squeal unexpectedly. I cover my mouth. I manage to contain my vocal chords but not the silly grin on my face. I drink more wine. You roll each toe and slide your fingers between them. Applying just the right amount of pressure, it's not long before I want more than my foot in your hands. I know you sense as much. Lightly, you stroke the front side, half-way between my foot and the bones of my toes. I'm very sensitive here. To my surprise, you do something that very few know. You stop massaging and gently begin pulling, separating my big toe from the others. To a point where there is heightened sensation but not pain, you stop and hold the position. I'm done.

"Brent", I say half breathless and in a no nonsense tone, "we'll take the check please." Brotha, you've done it now. I have a few more things I want you to do with my foot--- ankles, calves, knees.....