Tales From Snippettsville Issue 15

Hello, and welcome to the fifteenth issue of

Tales from Snippettsville

, Short Stories From A Small Town.

If you want to know what it's all about, go to

Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 15

Damn Husky!

by Soupwarsproject

Watching

by Alex de Kok

The Legendary Boater

by Quasimodem

Grace

by Lancelot Knight

Illustrations

Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003

Header Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003

Footer Picture, (c)Soupwarsproject, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Damn Husky!

by

Soupwarsproject

Gladys saw the flyer at Hannah’s bulletin board. “Free huskies to nice homes. Good with cats. Call 555-4759.”

The farm laborer’s wife was thrilled. She had been on the lookout for a husky ever since that damn hunter shot Moondog thinking it was a coyote. She called the number and drove to the white house across the bridge. Runty’s owner had been a musher in his youth. Unfortunately, heart problems forced him to quit. He needed new homes for the pooches. The prettier huskies had already found homes. All he had left was a cowardly husky with eyes mottled in yellow, blue and green. Despite the weird eyes, Runty had a wild appearance and a gentle disposition. It was the perfect pet to accompany Gladys in getting the mail and hauling small logs to the house.

As expected, Runty frightened the rabbits and Ghost Kitty. The noisy guinea hens didn’t seem particularly concerned. Sean the Orange Bastard loved the dog. The puny cat greeted the newcomer with a swat to the nose. The tall dog huddled at the corner of his kennel in terror.

Geoff returned from hauling corn at 8:00 PM. He was displeased. “What the hell is that thing in my yard?”

“It’s a husky.”

“That thing is not a husky. It’s two steaks and sausage away from being a wolf.”

“Runty is a good dog.”

“Runty? That thing is more like Cujo!”

“He’s a softy and Sean likes him.”

“That cat likes eating rabbit turds. Ghosty is terrified of that monster.”

“Ghosty and the bunnies will get used to Runty. They got used to Moondog. I thought you wouldn’t mind having another dog.”

“Take that thing back. It’s too big and it’s nothing like Moondog.”

“But, Geoff,” Gladys tears rolled from her eyes, “I love Runty.”

“I want dinner.”

Gladys sobbed and sniffled. “You don’t care about my feelings.”

“You’re right. I don’t care. That dog needs to go.” Geoff washed his filthy hands and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll fix dinner myself.”

“Fine!” Gladys wiped her tears. It was time for drastic action.

She walked to the bedroom and grabbed the shoebox that she hid on the top of the closet. She stomped to the living room, sat on the couch and denuded herself. Tonight was football night. Since Geoff was making dinner for himself, she was certain that he would make a sandwich to eat in front of the TV. He would be at her mercy.

“Woman, put your clothes back on! You’re too old to run around like Lady Godiva when the lights are on. If you want to do that let’s go to the bedroom.”

“I’ll do anything you want, if you agree to let me keep Runty.” Gladys lubricated some anal beads and attached clamps to her nipples.

“Where do you get those disgusting things at?”

Gladys walked in front of the television. “Same place where you got ‘Just Turned Legal Number 19’, you old fart.” The wife kneeled on all fours. Her ass was facing him. She took a deep breath and slowly pushed the five beads into her body. She exhaled as each ball wriggled inside her.”

“I want to see the game!” Geoff wanted to get the remote, but he didn’t want to go anywhere near his wife. “Please move.”

“Ahhhh!” Gladys pulled one bead, “Uh-Ohhhh,” two more, “UGH,” and another, “Hmmm…” and the last one she pulled with a sigh.

“That’s sick! Stop!”

“I’ll do it again…”

“Fine, you can keep the mutt. Just don’t do that again, please.”

Gladys smirked. She won the battle.

* * * * *

Watching

by

Alex de Kok

We walked along in the sun, holding hands. Midweek, this far from the Green Lake campground, there wasn't another soul around. The late spring sun was hot on our backs and when we spotted a little grass-filled hollow beside a rushing mountain stream it was too hard to resist. We drank from the stream and then sprawled in idle contentment.

It's your birthday tomorrow, Ben. What, above all else, do you really, really want?" Jackie's eyes were sparkling and there was a wicked grin on her face.

I didn't hesitate. "You."

"Me? And how would you want me?" Her grin never faltered.

"Naked, ready and wanting to let me finally make love to you."

She giggled. "That makes two of us that want that, then." She squeezed my hand. "Yes, Ben, tomorrow I cease to be a virgin. Is there anything you'd like today, to keep you interested, anything except my cherry, that is?"

I made a pretence of thinking about it, but I knew what I'd like to see.

"I want us to be naked, and I want to watch you make yourself come."

Jackie flushed, but her answer was immediate. "Okay, but only if I can watch you at the same time."

"I'd like that."

She stood and stripped off her sweater. "Unhook me," she murmured.

My hands were shaking as I unfastened her bra, but undressing each other was fun and I was trembling at the lovely sight of Jackie naked, as naked as she would be again tomorrow. She made herself comfortable on her back and spread her legs so that I could see properly. I knelt between her spread legs and took hold of my dick, already as hard as it had ever been. She smiled at that and blew me a kiss, before letting her hands roam over her breasts, tantalizing her nipples, teasing them to hardness.

As she did this I began to stroke my dick, that aching stiffness that really ought to have been seeking a soft, wet, hot pussy to bury itself deeply inside. Jackie's hand left her breast and moved down to stroke lightly over her neatly trimmed bush, before stroking lightly the full length of her slit, moving gradually deeper as she moistened. I was giving myself long strokes by now, that familiar mix of expectation and - almost - anxiety beginning to build in me.

She moved her other hand to her sex and stroked lightly down the side of her clit, which was peeping shyly from its hood. Her other hand changed motion slightly, a finger burying itself in her core, quickly joined by another, their motion mimicking the anticipated thrust of my dick in her pussy. Her breathing quickened and a faint sheen of sweat appeared, for the hollow was warm in the sunshine. Her fingers were moving faster now and I could hear the squish of her juices.

"I'm getting close, sweetheart," she said, her breathing heavier now.

"God, me too, love," I replied, my strokes quickening, my being tightening, readying for my climax.

"Oh, Ben," she cried, "I'm coming!" And she did, trembling, gasping, her face luminous in its passion, lifting me, spurring me on.

She could tell I was close, for she smiled at me and whispered, "Come on me, my love, come on my belly, come on my breasts."

And I did, gasping as each spurt emptied me, almost collapsing across her, my wilting dick resting on her tummy, my knuckles tickled by the springy softness of her bush.

She drew my head down and kissed me gently on the forehead. "I love you," she said.

* * * * *

The Legendary Boaters

by

Quasimodem

The Green Lake Public Launch was the site of great wonderment as the biggest cruiser seen in those parts was eased down the ramp by an out-of-state towing firm.

Nine men climbed out of several expensive vehicles and began stowing their gear aboard. By the time the sun had begun to set, the cruiser pulled away from the Green Lake community dock.

Natives, and cottage boaters alike, gritted their teeth as the big vessel slid far too close to the buoy marking the dangers of Snippett's Rock.

The fates were kind. No bottom was gouged, nor any cotter pin sheared, and the craft slowly disappeared behind the thin screen of trees.

"I saw them drifting at Dead Man's Point," Sam Leathy declared, while displaying his morning catch of bass. "Why they didn't tear the bottom clean out, I don't know, but they'd left by the time I came back, about seven o'clock."

Old man Pender sniffed, and wrote them off as shiftless. They hadn't bought their bait from his bait shop, although he still kept a weather eye out for the Zodiac outboard they'd towed behind as a tender.

Maybe they would still discover their oversight, and send it back for a large purchase.

By the evening of the first day the Zodiac had returned. A Beamer tore out of the parking lot in a dead panic toward Snippettsville.

Archie McDougall had been in the drug store and could report that this envoy had purchased a large bottle of sun blocker.

The whole dock saw the six cases of beer that were tied down between the Zodiac's passenger seats.

For a day the craft went unsighted, and some busybodies were apprehensively discussing the need to alert the authorities toward having Green Lake's bottom dragged.

Clem Leggit paddled his canoe up to Pender's Lucky Bait Shop for some steel leader, and to brag about the sizeable pike he'd hooked into early that morning. In his excitement, he made only glancing mention of the huge boat he'd seen running the shallows behind Bagget Island.

Why they got so excited about that, when pike were making a comeback, Clem could not understand.

Jimmy Dorset, a nerdy teenaged astronomer, long suspected of training his telescope on sunbathing cottagers, gave unexpected affirmation to this suspicion, when he described his observation of the previous evening.

"Their boat was running with all lights lit, music blaring, bucking a headwind off the western shore," he described, "when, somebody staggered drunkenly onto the foredeck. First, he tried to pee, and then threw up, over the prow into Green Lake."

Jimmy goggled at his audience, then added, "He missed, both times."

All week, the Green Lake folks marvelled at the big boat's amazing run of luck in chancy waters, and its crew's iron constitutions. Three times the Zodiac plied the waters, with a haggard pilot, for more beer and the occasional ardent spirit.

Eventually, as it must, the boaters' luck ran out. As the large craft pulled alongside the community dock, a hatchet-faced harridan ascended from an elegant limousine.

"Alfred, you're as drunk as a wheelbarrow! Get out of that ridiculous boat and into this car," she demanded in a strident voice, then added ominously, "Mother's waiting."

Old man Pender, whose ears were the longest, reported later what he overheard. "Seems that it was a kind of groom's party. The half-burnt sandy-haired fellow is all set to marry that gimlet-eyed female with the hackle-raising voice."

"Well, no wonder!" Sam Leathy vowed softly. "Just look at him. I wouldn't a give him credit for having that much sand in his craw."

* * * * *

Grace

by

Lancelot Knight

As he left the Interstate and took the county road to Snippetsville, Brian saw all the familiar sights of his youth. There was Hannah’s Diner, the General Store, the old mill. Memories flooded in.

One memory in particular: Slender, with light green eyes, high cheekbones, and budding breasts, the memory’s name was Grace.

During that gold and green summer, the last he had spent in Snippetsville, she was innocence personified.

Having graduated from the Snippetsville High School three months before, Brian had won a scholarship, those many years ago, to a prestigious Ivy League school; he was leaving in a few days.

They held hands that evening down by Green Lake, in a light caressing way that lovers will when they think they have forever. Under his arm he had carried a blanket. Although neither of them said anything, both knew what the blanket was for.

He spread it under the milky moonlight, and they had laid down, just petting at first, until an urgency grew in him. He tugged off her blouse and bra. Grace had held her hand to her breasts until he brushed it aside to feast on the small mounds.

He kissed his way from her breasts down to her fleecy mound. He felt her shudder, hesitate, then open her thighs for him. He mounted her with all the energy and exuberance of youth and had taken her with powerful strokes that did him justice if he did have to say so himself.

Afterwards, the moon dipping behind the pines, Grace sobbed softly. The blanket was stained with blood.

“I didn’t know,” he said helplessly.

On the way back to the car, there was silence between them. Finally, when he kissed her good-bye at her door, she said, “You’ll write, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“And call once in awhile.”

“Sure.”

At first, a steady stream of love letters arrived at his dorm. He would reply to one out six. After all, he was busy, and school sure as hell wasn’t easy. She would call too, so often that Brian had to get his roommate to finally brush her off. The sophisticated girls of his school quickly put Grace in the back of his mind. He had even married one of those sophisticated girls. The marriage lasted perhaps six years longer than it should have. One of his partners in the law firm handled the acrimonious details of the settlement.

Through those years, he never quite forgot Grace, and when the twenty-fifth high school reunion was announced, Brian decided to go back home.

Driving through the small town, it did still seem like home, though he had been in New York City for twenty years.

He wondered if Grace had finally forgiven him. Had he ruined her life? Was she a bitter old maid, perhaps, teaching in the school they had both attended?

Guilt, always in the background regarding Grace, filled his mouth with bile. He saw a payphone by the filling station and pulled over. He talked to the guy in the station; Brian didn’t recognize him until he told him he was old man Shannon’s son.

“Is Grace still around?” asked Brian.

“Grace? Sure. Why?”

“You don’t happen to have her number by any chance?’

“It’s around here somewhere.”

Dialing the payphone with apprehension, Brian listened to the ring, shifting from foot to foot.

“Hello?”

“Grace? Is that you, Grace?”

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“Brian . . . Brian Morrison.”

"Brian Morrison?" Puzzlement, silence for a moment, then "Brian!" A soft, tinkling laugh. "I haven’t thought of you in years!”

* * * * *

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