A dream that keeps me from living...
A dream that prevents me from living...
I've never written about my personal life, but for the last few weeks, my mood has been pensive and my head is a complete mess. Here's what came out.
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My eyes are covered by a dark, lacy fabric; through it, I can only see the silhouette of the person next to me. It's a man. I can't see, but I feel him looking at me, his gaze burning through. I realize I'm not wearing any clothes. Burning with shame, I try to move slightly and understand my hands are cuffed in handcuffs. It's strange and frightening at the same time. I'm chained to the bed of a man I don't know. Or maybe I do?!
"Where am I?" I ask him, embarrassed. I still can't see his face, and it's irritating, but I don't want to scream. He is silent. A masculine scent emanates from him, enchanting me. The man is silent, and I see his silhouette moving.
I can't understand why I'm not calling for help. Maybe I'm under hypnosis!?
I feel him sit down beside me. My nipples have turned to stone from the cold and embarrassment. His warm and very gentle hand strokes my cheek, neck, and approaches my breast.
The sensation is as if God himself touched me. His hands are like velvet. I feel arousal. It's incredible. What if he's dangerous, and I'm so defenseless before him, making no attempts to save myself? I fully understand that I don't even want to speak; my body craves more touches. I feel his hand lightly squeeze my breast, and his index finger plays with my hardened nipple. A moan escapes my chest. And warm lips touch mine. He kisses my upper lip, then my lower lip. It feels very pleasant. When the kiss became more intimate and I felt his tongue, I began to respond with a passionate impulse, trying to prolong the pleasure as long as possible.
He stops and begins to explore my body with his lips. I'm languishing with desire. His hot lips burn me. Arousal grows with every touch of his to my skin. The sensations are so sharp. He's a stranger, and yet I want him so much. I trembled when his kiss imprinted on my pubic area. I realized where he was heading. Madness. I want to touch him, but I can't, and it's driving me insane. His caresses with his tongue, the light nibbling on my intimate place, drew a loud moan from me that was impossible to suppress.
The orgasm made me desire him even more. Pulling away from me, he began to untie my hands. I instantly reached for the blindfold, but he made it clear he didn't want to see me without it. I'm on his lap, and his cock is inside me. The size is amazing. I want to move towards him, to feel him completely filling me. With my hands, I hold onto his shoulders, which helps accelerate the movements. From his quickened breathing, I understand he's close. A few sharp thrusts, and he fills me.
I remove the blindfold. Words cannot convey my shock.
"It's you? Why?"
I hear my mobile phone ringing and realize it's the alarm clock. And he was only with me in a dream.
He still appears in my dreams. It's very strange. We met six years ago. I was 18. I had just started my first year at university. My soul, hungry for romance, was open to a new, sincere feeling. My first and only relationship at that time had ended. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life. I won't go into details; I don't really want to remember them.
We met at the end of September online, in a well-known app. My username was Hatred, and his was Death. Logically, we became interested in each other. He didn't have a photo, but that didn't stop me from being intrigued by him. Sergey was 18 years older than me, and our romantic flirtation seemed unusual to me. To say it was strange would be an understatement. Texting with me wasn't enough for him, and we started calling each other.
I think he talked to me on the phone for about 3,000 minutes in the first week. Sergey worked at the regional military commissariat and in mid-October was bringing some documents to my city. I was coming from my sixth class when he called me. Realizing I could see him, my legs trembled a little, and my eye twitched. I remember those emotions very well, as if these 6 years hadn't passed.
He didn't have any particularly stunning looks. He wasn't much taller than me; I'm about 160 cm. Slender. He was dressed well, looking at me and smiling sweetly. But all that isn't the main thing. His eyes – you could drown in them. I was in love with our romantic text communication, and upon seeing those crystal-clear blue eyes radiating warmth, I realized I had fallen in love. He was telling me something, but I wasn't listening. I was swimming butterfly-style in his infinitely deep and penetrating gaze. I remember he snapped his fingers to snap me out of my stupor. Our meeting lasted about 15 minutes. People in uniform were waiting for him; I saw them with cigarettes near the car. For a farewell, I couldn't think of anything better than touching my lips to his cheek, though I wished for something more memorable.
That night, I couldn't fall asleep for a long time, thinking about how one could fall in love with someone geographically unsuitable through texting. There were 120 kilometers between my place and his. But honestly, all barriers faded for me then; I plunged headfirst into a mobile love affair with him.
At the end of October, he suggested I visit him. My joy knew no bounds as I packed my things, realizing I was going to see "the most beloved person in the world." My mother absolutely hated this adventure, but she didn't want to see me crying all weekend, so she reluctantly let me go.
I remember we were driving on the highway, and I kept looking at his profile, unable to tear my eyes away. He smiled, feeling such an intent gaze on him.
His mother charmed me. An intelligent beauty with a very kind smile. The conversation didn't last long. Sergey took me to his room. We were both burning with desire to be alone. He sat in an armchair and sat me on his lap. We were silent, looking into each other's eyes. He radiated some kind of fairy-tale magnetism that blew my mind. My desire to kiss him couldn't wait any longer. Those romantic touches of our lips were so arousing. I felt his hard cock, and it turned me on so much, but the bed was planned for later, late in the evening.
When it got dark, we went for a drive around the night city. How pleasant it was to be next to him. He felt so familiar and closest to me. He stopped the car near a railway bridge. He said it was his favorite place for contemplation. But he definitely didn't bring me there to contemplate. We started kissing. He took off my jacket and began running his hands over my waist. He aroused me greatly with his kisses on my neck. I was ready to give myself to him right there in the car, but he said he envisioned our first time in a more romantic setting. And both of us, burning with desire, headed to his place.
What happened between us can't be called sex. We were making love. He was so tender. Exploring my body with his velvet hands, kissing my lips, and penetrating me with his perfect cock, he filled me with pleasure, happiness, love.
The weekend with him was amazing. All those emotions will stay with me forever. He drove me home. Saying goodbye to him was very hard. I tried my best not to cry in front of him, but when he left, I overflowed like the Amazon River. It hurt me that he was so far away.
In December, I visited him again. A lot of passion had built up during my "starvation." We spent the whole day in bed, enjoying each other's bodies. We still didn't master the entire Kama Sutra.
Sitting on the bus, I looked out the window. My eyes filled with tears, and his silhouette became blurry. My feelings for him were destroying my personality. With him, I was alive; without him, I didn't want to live.
Six years have passed. We sometimes communicate. I know he left me because he couldn't control the situation and preferred not to explain anything to me. Now he's not married. He lives with two women in a civil union. And looking at his photo, I know for sure I don't like him; he even annoys me, but he appears in my dreams very often. Complete nonsense.