After class on Wednesday, Robbie handed over a book called “In The Dark” -- it was by an author named Richard Laymon. He told me that Laymon was one of those authors who cut right to the chase and had a way of keeping action and suspense rolling non-stop in a seemly effortless style.
He told me that, while the content of the book -- the shocking horrific elements and the seemingly gratuitous sex scenes -- might at first seem simplistic and b-movie style, the author had actually invested quite a bit of effort into developing his characters and crafting the story. “He makes it seem simple and effortless” Robbie said. “But the work he put into developing the whole thing is phenomenal.”
Robbie explained that he’d read a non-fiction book that the author wrote which documented the story behind his writing. He talked about how the author himself was a voracious reader, often with several books on the go at once, and was well read in multiple genres.
He talked a bit about some of Laymon’s favourite authors and the fact that Larry McMurtry was one of them. He’d mentioned that the next book he was going to get me to read was called Savage and then after that I was going to read a novel by Larry McMurtry so I could compare the styles.
I didn’t read the Laymon book the night Robbie gave it to me -- it's funny, when he started talking about comparing Laymon to McMurtry it just sounded like the typical crap that English teachers talk about, and I got nervous that I was going to hate Laymon's book.
But, oh man, was I wrong.
Laymon blew my fucking mind.
I started reading "In The Dark" at about 10 o’clock last night. The book was simply riveting, and written in a style that had me begging to just want to turn one more page, just continue on reading for a few more minutes. I thought that I might read for about fifteen minutes, but I read for two solid hours. I wanted to read more, but I was so exhausted that I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
At one point I remember finally putting the book down, and struggling with the desire to want to read, slowly peeling off my clothes without getting off the bed, and then turning off the light and sliding under the sheets.
When I first closed my eyes, I couldn’t leave the world the author had created for me. Couldn’t push aside the heart-stopping plot, the intense and tight timeline for the story, the cliff-hanging suspense of each chapter, the hot and sweaty sex.
I’m pretty sure it was the book that caused the strangely erotic dream that I had.
The dream was, like a few that I’ve had recently, based on something that really happened. And while erotic and exciting, it was a bit frightening, too.
There Sarah and I were, in the family room. Two of Sarah’s friends were there, Monica and Julie, each sitting in an armchair. We were watching a movie, something with Adam Sandler in it. Sarah and I were snuggled up together on the couch with a blanket over us.
During the movie, Sarah’s hand moved down and started rubbing me through my jeans. I remember looking quickly at her, then at her friends, a bit anxious at first that we’d be caught, but they didn’t seem to know what was going on. I then relaxed against the back of the couch and just enjoyed it.
Sarah’s rubbing hand got more vigorous and my erection was straining against the denim, a solid mass of excitement and painful pleasure. This went on for quite some time. Then Sarah reached in with her other hand, pulled down my zipper then pulled out my cock and started pumping it in her fist.
Monica seemed to have heard the zipper, because she glanced over. Julie, sitting in the armchair farther away, must not have noticed, her eyes stayed fixed on the television screen. But Monica looked over, and a wry smile crossed over her face as she figured out what was going on underneath the blanket.
That made me even harder, and I could feel myself pulse within the firm grip of Sarah’s palm. Monica didn’t turn her eyes back on the television screen, she just looked over at us, a huge grin on her face, and when she saw that I had noticed her watching, she winked at me.
Then she pursed her lips as if to blow a mock kiss at me and ran her tongue across her top lip.
That’s when I exploded without warning. A huge eruption of come that coated the blanket, Sarah’s hand, my jeans. Of course, neither of us moved for the duration of the movie. When the movie ended, Sarah and I remained under the blanket, saying goodbye to Monica and Julie without getting up. I remember Monica’s knowing smirk -- she must have realized what had happened.
But that’s where the dream diverted from the memory of reality. In the dream, Sarah is giving me a hand job and Monica is watching, and when Monica licks her lips, Sarah notices her and says “Enjoying the show?”
In the dream, suddenly Julie isn’t there at all, and Monica’s clothes have disappeared. She is suddenly completely naked. Brushing aside her long black locks to rub a breast with one hand she slides the other hand down and starts fingering herself.
“Why don’t you join us?” Sarah purrs, as she removes the blanket. I discover that Sarah and I are also naked beneath the blanket.
Monica lets out a gasp and walks over. I can see that she’s so hot and wet that there’s actually wetness dripping down the inside of her thigh. Sarah’s hand pumps furiously. When Monica gets to us, Sarah and I each take one of her succulent breasts in our mouths. Sarah smiles playfully at me as her tongue flicks at Monica’s nipple -- all the while her hand never stops its rapid stroking.
I reach around, pull up on Monica’s buttocks, and she steps onto the couch, then, with both hands on the cheeks of her ass, I pull her in to me, eager to lap up all of the hot wetness that is flowing from her. Still jacking me off, faster and faster, Sarah moves around, kisses my hands and the sweet cheeks of Monica’s ass as if they are one, and I can tell from the sudden startled sigh of pleasure that Sarah has stuck her tongue in Monica’s ass.
That’s when I can’t take it any longer. My face still buried in Monica’s dark muff, I try to say, “I want to fuck you both so bad it burns.” But the words come out muffled, the way they sometimes do in those dreams where you try to cry for help but can barely speak.
And similarly, I can’t move either. I want to pull Monica down onto my rigid and aching shaft. But I can’t move.
Monica steps back and both of the girls are playing with my cock now, one hand each, occasionally leaning forward and darting a tongue at the swollen head. Then quickly kissing each other before attending to the swollen head of my cock. I marvel how this is so much like most guys dreams, and despite the fact that I desperately want to take both Monica and Sarah yet can’t move, I try to just lay back and enjoy it.
“Okay,” Sarah says. “It’s time for the grand finale.”
Sarah flips her raven black hair over to one side, leans over my crotch, takes me full in her mouth, and bites. Hard.
Pain like I’ve never felt before shoots through my legs, up my spine as her teeth come together through the meat of my cock. She sits back up and she looks at me with that sexy playful glimmer in her eye, all the while chewing a large mouthful of gristly crunchy flesh.
I shriek in pain, in horror, in shock as I feel myself explode in a hot and sticky eruption. Only it’s not cum, it’s blood. My crotch is shooting up a hot geyser of blood. And Monica is leaning down to try to catch it in her mouth.
Sarah, finished chewing, leans back down to join her, and both girls laugh madly as they playfully fight for mouthfuls of my hot spurting blood.
I woke up at that point, my sheets completely soaked in sweat and cum. I laid there for several minutes, afraid to pull the sheets back, afraid to look down, afraid that I’d see dark red blood instead of white schmeg coating my stomach, legs and the sheets.