From: Chris Carter Date: Tue, 10 Sep 2002 15:44:49 -0700 (PDT) Subject: Memories Source: direct Memories Author: No One RATE: NC-17 (I hope) An Act Of A Lonely Woman Spoilers: I'll spoil you if I tell. Loosely Based on season eight. Summery: Scully faces another lonely night. Disclaimer: They've got me, not the other way around. Feedback: no_one_1013@yahoo.com Archive: E v e r y w h e r e X X X Memories The essence of a good experience can fill your days with joy. Memories are not enough to relieve a moment. Only certain memories will do: memories that include visions, sound, smell, taste. Memories of feelings. And even then, nothing can assure you your memories will last. No memory lasts forever. Have you ever found yourself loosing the sense of tastes you want to savor? Like when eating a praline and loosing that grate feeling of it melting in your mouth in seconds while the memory of enjoying it is still stuck in your head. In times like this, you can't relive the moment. It's like kissing somebody you love and breaking the kiss. You instantly lean for another kiss, expecting it to be even better and more passionate than the first one. Maybe you want it to be slower and more patient than the first. Maybe you need to take a moment and indulge yourself in your partners slender lips, delicate tongue, hot breath, soft moaning. But you always want more. What do you do at times when you want to relive a moment but the senses are just gone? When you remember kissing, remember on what date, on what hour, the same place, clothes, coat, old movie playing on the same channel? What do you do when you close your eyes, trying to imagine, but it just doesn't work? You might part your lips slightly, and go over your lower lip with your tongue, then feel the breeze of air on it. It's cool, but it's not the same feeling you had when your partner last licked your lover lip and you felt his hot breath, indicating his mouth being less than an inch from yours, expecting your partner's mouth to close on you every second. You can memorize the moment, but not relive it. You might go through your hair with your fingers; whishing and imagining those were your partner's hands that caress your face. As an act of exasperated woman, you might open your blouse slowly; button after button, hoping the memory of your partner hovering over you while doing so will help. It does, a little. You bring your hand to caress your breast. You use the memory of your partner nibbling on your neck to fill in the rest. As your hand goes over your nipple through the lace of your bra, it hardens. It's arousing, yet not electrifying like it was then. The bra was the same bra, the breasts haven't changed either. Yet, it was another hand that made the difference. Fuck that. You try harder, take off the damn bra. So, what if he didn't do it then? You still try to make yourself feel it a little more, intense. You squeeze your breast in your hand, exposing your upper torso to the ever demanding air. You feel a little better. Then you try to slow down again, drawing little circles around your exposed breast. When his fingers did it, you could die of frustration. Now the cockroach on the wall is more aroused than you are. Your other hand reaches your abdomen. You part your legs, remembering the expectation you had when his hand reached there. You tease yourself, going from the inner hip, to the outer hip, lifting your skirt a bit, brushing over your sex as teasing does nothing to you. When his hand brushed over your sex, your body squirmed under his hand. Now you feel something, some rush. This first precious signal of arousal does too much to remind you of him. This helps. You go with what you have and leave what you no longer need. Your panties belong to the last category. Your fingers, to the other. You stroke yourself with one finger, moving in circles. Your other hand draws more or less imaginary circles round your breast. Your nipple hardness. It's sort of an instinct. Feelings follow. You become wet, hot, expecting. Your body demands to move those fingers faster but your mind tells you you should slow down a bit. A little teasing has never killed anyone. At least not by now. You do slow down. But your body doesn't. You want it harder, faster, deeper. But you only have your fingers to comply. You stroke yourself a little harder, your fingers intruding a little deeper, into yourself, searching for what they find very hard to find. When they finally do, it gets faster. You gather all your memories of your partner stroking you like that, "I love you" looking into your eyes, "Fuck me" whispers words of love into your ears. "Mulder" You gather the sight of his veins pop out of his neck as he tries to make the moment last. "Mulder!" And then "YES!!!" You come. You mind screams his name as you do. Your body relaxes, allowing your soul the freedom to miss him again. It was not so hard. But this will do for tonight. Before you finally fall asleep, you whish you could be more aroused. You whish it would be more intense. You did just what he did, well the part you could. But it's not for what you didn't do, and it's not because you can't remember. You just can't relive the moment. Try as you whish. Memories is all you're left with. THE END I've written some bad shit before. I do feel better about this one. Tell me if I'm right (or if I'm wrong). n No One (no_one_1013@yahoo.com)