Riley the Runaway Rat
- 3 years ago
- 25
- 0
The Naming Of A Rat free porn video
==========[ PROLOG ]==========
This is my first LitE submission.
It is a true story which I wrote almost ten years ago, about a conversation I’d had with a woman I was dating at the time. We were in our late 40s/Early 50s, and had met on match.com after I had just been divorced by my ex-wife.
There is no sex in this story, but I wanted to share it here on LitE, so I am placing it in the ‘Non-Erotic’ section (although whether or not it is erotic is subjective, but if you are looking for wanking material, you should definitely look elsewhere).
All constructive comments (whether you like or dislike the story) would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading,
-Rei
========[ THE STORY ]==========
‘Did I ever tell you about the time I won a rat?’
Turning away from my computer, I look at her relaxing in my recliner, and try to recall having heard this story before.
We have been together a year and a half now, and have told each other many, many stories from our lives. The deaths of parents (my father, her father and – much more recently – her mother) the decline and fall of our marriages (one each), the joys and pains of raising our children from those marriages (my son and two daughters, her son).
It is one of the strengths of our relationship, this sharing of stories. Some of them have been told over dinners at restaurants, some while walking and holding hands, some while driving, and some while ‘basking in the afterglow’ of an evening of lovemaking. They run the gamut, these stories: Funny, painful, cryptic, cliched, nostalgic, angry, hilarious. We are trying to make up for decades of not knowing each other, slowly filling in the missing pieces we each have in the picture puzzle of each other’s life.
‘A rat? No, not that I recall – and it sounds like something I’d recall’ I say, a half smile on my lips.
But her eyes weren’t focused on the here and the now and me and my half-smile, but instead on the there, the then, and – apparently – a rat.
‘It was in seventh-grade biology class. The teacher announced to the class one day that he was going to hold a contest, and that everyone had to participate. We were all supposed to come up with a name for the rat he had in the classroom. The person who came up with the best name would win the rat.’
She smiled, and arched an eyebrow at me.
Thinking I’m seeing where this is heading, I smile and arch one back at her. We do that a lot – eyebrow-arching.
‘Well, my friend and I had been in a play that year, and one of the characters in it was named Mergatroyd. I figured that would make a good name for a rat, and submitted it as my entry in the ‘contest.”
‘The next day at school, he called me into his class and told me that I had won the contest, and that the rat was mine! I couldn’t even imagine what my mother would do if I showed up at home with a rat, but it wouldn’t have been pretty.’
She shifts in the recliner, and I can tell from her eyes that the story is heading for unpleasant territory.
‘When I told the teacher that I wouldn’t be allowed to have a rat at home, he said ‘Well then, I guess I have no choice, do I?’ He took the rat out of its cage, and fed it to a big snake he had in a glass cage. He made me watch as the snake swallowed it.’
In her eyes I can see the scared kid she must have been.
‘I just stood there, not knowing what to do! When he turned and saw that I was crying, he actually laughed. He thought it was hilarious.’
Now the ‘scared-kid’ look in her eyes is replaced by the look of an angry woman.
Back in the here and now, she looks over at me, to see how I react to this. And although it happened a long time ago, I can see that it left a mark on her.
I cross over to her, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘God, what an asshole,’ I say. Not a brilliant comment, but she nods. I kneel in front of her chair, place my head on her chest, and wrap her up in my arms for a while. It just seems like the thing to do.
After a few minutes’ silence, she pats me on the back.
‘Hey.’
I raise my head. ‘Mmm-hmm?’
She takes my head in her hands, and I move so that we are face-to-face.
Smiling, she runs her finger down my nose, and to my lips. I turn and rub my cheek against her hand, and look up at her again. The smile gets bigger. ‘Thanks.’
I smile back. ‘No charge.’
It’s a little thing. The kissing of a small emotional bruise. But it fills in another small missing piece in the picture puzzle image I have of the life of this woman who has come to mean so much to me.
I get up and walk back to my chair, and the work I was doing. I turn back towards her for a moment. ‘By, the way, the teacher?’
‘Yes?’
‘What was his name?’
ReiDeBastos
May 29th, 2004
==========[ EPILOG ]==========
I wrote this story about a year after the conversation in it happened, and presented her with a printout of it.
After reading it, she told me that she was surprised that I had not only really listened to her story, but that I recalled it in such detail.
We married in 2007, on the happiest day of my life, and we recently celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary (which was also the eleventh anniversary of our first date).
And yes, we still tell each other stories. After eleven years of stories, it gets more and more difficult to come up with ones we haven’t already shared, so they almost always start with ‘Did I ever tell you about the time…’
ReiDeBastos
June 28th, 2013
Arisha
- 30.11.2020
- 13
- 0
