Thursday January 26, 2012

Can’t get to sleep again. Dammit, it took me several hours to fall asleep because I was tossing and turning, and thinking about that comment this Franny person left about me being a creep. But when I finally did fall asleep I had a damn disturbing dream. So I decided to write about it, see if that helps me sleep. It worked the other night.

I had this vivid dream. An erotic dream. About Sarah.

Damn.

There we were, in my Uncle Bob’s truck, like so many times before. Sarah’s favorite album by Evanescence was playing, but neither of us was paying any attention to it. We’d just finished talking around the issue of University, neither one of us wanting to admit that after graduation it was likely possible we’d be heading to two different cities. The frustrated conversation ended the way it always had when we started talking like that. Us telling each other that we loved each other and that’s all that mattered -- we’d be together forever.

And then we completely avoided the whole issue by getting hot and heavy.

Within seconds of our lips and tongues melting together, I’d been able to get her shirt pushed up to her shoulders. As I rolled her bra down, revealing taut firm nipples, I slipped down in the seat to let my tongue swirl around them in small circles. She tasted like candy, and as she moaned beneath me, I felt myself strain uncomfortably against the denim of my jeans.

Her hands quickly found my zipper and fumbled with it while I darted back and forth, unable to settle on a single breast, but instead wanting my hands, my lips, my tongue to explore every inch of them.

By the time her hand slipped past my underwear and she took hold of my stiff cock, my lips stayed focused on a single nipple, sucking it in, flicking it with my tongue, swirling around and around My hands began working her shorts down, my finger poking, exploring the hot moist warmth of her sex.

It was always a struggle as to who would go down on the other one first, and this time Sarah moved faster than me.

Knowing she’d won, I laid my head back against the seat, letting her take me in her mouth and just relishing in the moment, but still able to reach and rub one breast with my right hand, the nipple stiff against my palm and still damp with my saliva.

She worked my pants midway down my legs as she bobbed her head up and down. She moaned in pleasure, and the sound of her muffled voice, stuffed full of my hard-on brought a heightened sense of arousal. Every so often she’d stop, look up at me with a devilish glint in her eyes, flap my cock against her cheek and let out a girlish giggle.

Then she’d alternate between pumping her fist around my aching shaft and taking me full in her mouth, her head bobbing madly, impossibly fast, up and down, up and down.

“I’m going to cum,” I gasped and closed my eyes as she switched again from pumping to sucking . . .

A sudden noise, a throat clearing, startled me. When I opened my eyes a moment later, there stood Sarah’s father, silently staring at us through the passenger window.

Unable to stop myself, I shot a load of cum deep into her throat as her father looked on.

I woke with a start at that point.

I can’t believe I re-lived, through that dream, that horrible night.

Well, it’d been a wonderful night until Sarah’s dad showed up.

Man he’d been pissed.

But he didn’t say anything, he just stared at us as Sarah and I scrambled to get our clothes back on properly. When Sarah had her clothes back on, he pulled her out of the truck.

I sat there, stunned. I didn’t know what to do. So I followed them to his car which was waiting just a few parking spots away. I can’t believe we hadn’t seen him pull up -- well, I can believe it -- we’d been too deep into the moment, hadn’t noticed anything around us.

After putting Sarah into the car the way you see cops put suspects into the back of a cruiser, he whirled around and faced me. But instead of yelling at me, accusing me of having my way sexually with his little baby, his little angel, or punching me, kicking me, spitting on me, all things that I’m sure he must have wanted to do, he just stared me down and the words he spoke hurt, struck me harder than any physical or verbal assault could have at the moment.

“I trusted you, Peter” he said. “I trusted you with her.”

The words struck me deep. I wanted to tell him how much I loved Sarah, that she was the only girl for me, that we would be together forever, that I wanted to marry her -- that there was nothing wrong with what we’d done because we were everything to each other.

But I just stood there, wishing he’d go away, that he’d just die, drop dead on the spot -- whatever it took to relieve the guilt and shock that he’d just inflicted.

Wishing that he’d die.

And now, he’s going to die.

I can’t help but think that it’s my fault.

But who the hell would believe me?

Maybe Sarah would -- maybe that’s why she’s avoiding me. But I never got a chance to speak with her since that night. The next time she spoke to me, it was to tell me about the results of her doctor’s appointment -- the death sentence he’d been handed.

-- 3 Comments --

Frank - said . . .

Peter, I have read your blog with interest since I stumbled on it.  I don't recall reading what you will study when you leave school. I got to thinking after this post you should be a writer. Erotica meets twilight zone type writing.
I know it’s probably a little insensitive saying that knowing what you write is a biographical account of you pain.  But you should consider it.
Also, don't worry about this Franny person. I think you must just go with your own gut on how to deal with Sarah

Kelly - said . . .

I don't know, dude! I tend to agree with Franny. Back off on the Sarah stuff for a while. It's still too fresh, man.

Kim - said . . .

There is a saying: if you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you it's yours. If it doesn't, then it was never meant to be.
Sarah's hurting too Peter. Give her time. Hold onto the good memories until then.