Life is but a Dream

I was escorted to the bed, undressed by the butler and placed in the bed for a "rest" before supper would be served. The butler said he would wake me up when it was time to get bathed and dressed. Who was I to argue?

I had a good nap. When James woke me up, I bathed and my clothes were not only ready, they were placed upon my person. Geez, there are some things that a guy can actually do for himself...except for that dang old-school tux bow tie. The last time my mother put my pants on for me was a year before I learned to tie my own shoes. Conversely, I was still sore enough that it made dressing a lot easier than it might have been. I was also learning what it's like to have a butler stuck to my butt like flypaper. Oh well.

I was permitted to walk, or rather limp on both legs, down the curled staircase this time, only to meet Christy in fine evening attire at the bottom. Sheesh! The only reason I didn't cum in my pants at that moment was that I didn't know how much it would cost me to replace them, and I didn't want to find out. She gave James a scathing look and led me into the dining room.

The dining room with its chandeliers, candelabras, and Rookwood fireplace was exquisite, and the meal itself was ten times that good; but nothing at all could even begin to compare with the woman across the table from me. I'm glad she was an expert at small talk, because the extent of my repertoire at the moment was eating, nodding, and observation, with an occasional one-word answer thrown in as I could untangle my tongue...from the meal, and my emotions.

With her lilac eyes, auburn hair up and twisted with dangling wisps, excellent build and good musculature, features that defied description; was there nothing about this woman that was not perfect?

After dessert, we retired to the library. Once seated with our coffee, I asked the obvious question, "What is this place and why am I here? I mean, the hospital released me and I'd be okay in my condo. Please don't get me wrong, because this place is amazing and beautiful; but you didn't have to bring me here and treat me like some royal prince. I'm fine, really."

"You are not fine...yet. The hospital would not have released you for at least two weeks, and probably more; but I have a skilled nurse on staff here. She will be monitoring you very closely in the days to come. Not many people survive having a two-story house fall on them and I thought you would be more comfortable recovering here than in that dreary hospital room."

"There is a full gym on the lower level and both indoor and outdoor swimming pools for your rehab when you are ready to begin. My personal trainer will arrive next week to work with you. Until then, you are to rest and relax as much as possible. I've cleared everything with your boss and he has placed you on indefinite leave of absence. Your job will be awaiting you when you are ready. And there will be no more stair-climbing until further notice. I had the elevator installed for your use, and use it you will until the trainer instructs otherwise."

"Now, for the more pressing business at hand: I am committed to a book-signing tour that would normally keep me away for at least a month straight, but I have re-negotiated this trip so that I will only be gone four days of each week until I have hit all the cities my publisher requires. I will be home every Thursday night and leave again Sunday afternoons, beginning this week."

"While I am gone, James your butler will see to all of your needs. All you need do is ask any of the staff. He has been instructed to meet any and all requests. If you will provide him with a list of your favorite foods, your choices will be mixed in with the diet recommended by my nutritionist, which I admit I found to be a little bland. Although your choices may not be as healthy, such as a big greasy cheeseburger and fries with a beer, I believe it beneficial to occasionally relieve some of the onerous tedium of oatmeal and chicken soup."

There was no doubt in my mind about the wisdom in that statement. There was still that one lingering question that had not been answered; and another I hadn't hd the courage to ask yet.

"Missy, I've seen on the back jacket of your books that you live in England. What is this place...if I'm not being too inquisitive?"

"Yes, I have another house in the UK. This is your home for as long as you want to stay, years and years if you wish. There is also a stable out back of the house. The stableman is from the Russian Steppes and quite a capable horseman. His accent can be a little difficult to understand at times but he will assist you regarding the horses. Just be careful when there are only the two of you and there is a bottle, or six, of Stoly vodka lying about. He hides them everywhere."

"Please consider everything in the house to be yours. The only rooms I ask you to respect are the living quarters, mine and those of the staff. There is a Bentley with a driver at your disposal; all you need do is tell James that you wish to go out. James will also assist your access to a small account in your name at the local bank. I trust it will be sufficient until I return. The manager there is holding a card in your name that you may use as you see fit."

"You must at least use it to replace the wardrobe they had to cut off of you. In fact, I suggest you do that in the morning, as my grandparents and brother will be here for supper tomorrow night to thank you. Take James and your tux along so that you may be refitted properly."

"I don't know what to say. This is all so much more than anyone deserves..."

"Don't even go there. If it wasn't for you, I would have no family left in this world. As I said, I owe you everything. My parents were killed in the Pan Am 103 plane bombing over Lockerbie and they are all I have left. In saving them, you saved me. That is a debt I can never repay, no matter what I do."

"I do have one word of advice, however. That is to 'keep your head down'. You may not know it yet, but I spirited you out of that hospital in order to keep you sane. The moment you would have walked out of there, you would have been mobbed by the media. They have figured out my connection in this matter and they're clamoring for a story on you; but nobody has been able to find out anything."

"My grandparents and David had hidden away in one of my other houses in the mountains. Your boss knows what your situation is but doesn't know where you are; and nobody else will say a word about you or where you are. The minute somebody recognizes your face, you will be swarmed by people and then the media. Believe me when I say that I know. Like it or not, you are now a celebrity, perhaps even more than I."

"That's nonsense. I don't deserve that kind of attention. I'm just another guy on the street who did what needed to be done at a moment in time. Anybody would have done the same."

"Correction - you WERE just another guy on the street; and, no, nobody else did what you did. The world needs a hero now and again, and it seems they've chosen you. They see you as being courageous beyond what they can muster up in themselves; and you are seen as being humble, in avoiding attention. That, to them, is a very attractive combination."

"If you had a personal webpage, you would be flooded with marriage proposals from all over the world. You would need a staff of secretaries just to try to keep with up the email and telegrams. It wouldn't surprise me to find that there are ten thousand women at this very moment who are dying to have your baby, and I doubt any of them would mind standing in line for the privilege."

"Geez, all of this over a lousy tornado. I think I'd rather be back in the tornado."

"Ha! That sir is, as they say, not an option. At this moment, you ARE the tornado. You seem to have attracted a bounty as well. I've heard that the bidding is up to $10,000 for the first person to get a current picture of you; and it's $25,000 and up if we're both in the shot. For the present, you are very attractive bait to the paparazzi. If they knew you were here, there would be a swarm of helicopters and small planes overhead at this very moment."

"Come on now, I'm not that much of an attraction. The way you describe it, I'm some kind of Hollywood star or something."

"That's part of it. You ARE a Hollywood attraction. At least three major studios are in the process of writing scripts for a movie about your two exploits that night. At this very second, they are hunting for you to get permission to start filming. My publisher is holding them at bay for the time being, but that will only last for so long. Get ready to be even more famous than you are."

"I don't need this crap! All I want is my life back as it was."

"I'm sorry, honey, but that life I fear is forever gone. There are some things in life from which you can never come back. In this case, what they say about never being able to go home again may well be true. I'm sorry, I wish I could give that back to you; but all I can do is to protect you now and for as long as I am able. Even I have my limits."

"I did this to myself and would do it again with hesitation; but still, I miss my old inconspicuous life."

"I know. I miss mine sometimes too. You will get used to it, in time; just as I had to. However, you do have an opportunity to become independently wealthy here, if you approach it properly. Perhaps you might consider having my publisher approach the studios regarding the rights for the movie they want to do. It would need to be done soon. I would even be permitted to put my next novel on hold in order to write the script. It would give you some measure of control, and you could sell that too as part of the deal. I would merely be a ghostwriter. The movie is expected to gross in the hundreds of millions worldwide within months of its release."

"Hundreds..."

"Yes, that's what I've been told. Everybody wants a piece of you, right now."

"Well, if it's all you say it is, then set it up. Will I have to go to your people? I mean..."

"No. For an opportunity such as this, they will come here to see you. They are just going to love you. I know it. If you thought a tornado is bad, wait until this next typhoon hits you between the eyes. You are going to feel swamped, drowned, and tossed about like a rag doll. But, don't worry; I'll be here for you whenever you need me. I'll be your anchor in the storm. Get ready for the ride of your life, and enjoy."

"Missy, or if I may call you Christy when we are in this house, I do have another question I've been dying to ask you and just haven't had to guts until now."

"So, ask now."

"You don't look old enough to know all you do or have all this. May I ask how old you are?"

"My, what an impertinent question to ask a lady; but, nonetheless, I gave you permission to ask. I am 22 years old, or will be in about two months. As to what I have accomplished, I've been writing since I was very young and my first book was published when I was fourteen. That process has a way of making one grow up rather quickly. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, thank you. You know, you are amazing."

Well, the movie deal was worked out with the publisher as the middleman. Christy wrote the script, using what I thought was far too much 'poetic license'; but I must admit it was one heck of a good story. The cast included top-tier actors and actresses for everyone who was directly involved, with extras only for the crowd on the sidewalk. The supporting cast, including for the old couple on the porch from the car incident and the key hospital staff were also excellent.

The movie itself took four months to film and another four in editing. When I saw the first screening at the studio, I was dumbfounded. They'd made me out to be some kind of superhero.

I would have objected, but Christy was digging her nails from both hands into my upper arm and bouncing in her seat. I think she liked it, so I let things ride.

And what a ride it was. The movie went ballistic, and the studio couldn't make enough prints to handle the demand from every theatre in every country on the planet it seemed. By the end of the first weekend, it had gone viral on-line and there were literally hundreds, thousands, and then millions of blogs flying around raving about it. I guess the people got what they wanted.

Suddenly, I found myself having to deal with around a hundred million in the bank, thanks to the backend-loaded deal the publisher had worked out with the studio. And, most importantly, I was finally able to slide back into obscurity.

Once the furor had subsided over her newest novel and the movie, Christy came home for an extended period...ostensibly to work on her next book, and to me.

The second night she was home, I was already in bed and had slowly fallen into slumber while in the middle of her latest book when I heard a little tap on my bedroom door. "Come in," I mumbled, still in that almost dream state. They have a name for it, I just don't recall it.

When the door opened, an ethereal vision floated in to my room, transparent diaphanous folds swirling around, vaguely revealing something that exceeded the Lord's finest miracle.

Whoever she was, she was beyond gorgeous, beyond stunning, beyond beyond.

When she softly came to rest on the edge of my bed, I was rendered completely without thought or the ability to move. I awaited anything. I belonged to her, to do with as ever she wished. Just to hear her speak would at that moment be a gift too precious to value.

To say that she was beautiful beyond dreams would devalue what I was I looking at. Aphrodite and Venus would run crying from her very presence. What chance did a mere mortal man have in the same room as this creature? I was certain that I'd been turned to stone...and I didn't care.

She could not, by any means of imagination, be from this universe I'd been living in. There was simply nothing to compare her with. Every single one of her features had no references in this world. You know -- aquiline nose, arched eyebrows, almond eyes, flowing hair, and all such things. They all applied, yet she couldn't be described just in those standard terms we are all used to.

Not Michelangelo, nor Rembrandt, Titian, or any of the Renaissance painters ever came close to this kind of perfection.

The thing that stood out the most was something I noticed for the first time. Her eyes were the most captivating color of lilac. That's the only way I can describe them, a light purple; and they sucked me in so that I was incapable of looking at any other part of her body, not even using peripheral vision.

I've heard the phrase, height-weight proportional. It did not seem to apply in this case. The way she had floated across the room, and the fact that the bed didn't sag when she rested on its edge, all indicated that she had no weight...no weight at all.

Yet, at the same time, she gave the impression that she could grab a tornado by the tail and sling it around like Pecos Bill riding on Widowmaker from American folklore. And, I sincerely doubt Widowmaker could buck this wraith off to the moon as he did to Sluefoot Sue.

For whatever reason, by the will of whatever god, the vision was sitting within a foot of my side. Wearing only my boxer shorts under my sheet, I felt severely underdressed, or was that overdressed? Whatever, I would have felt out of place no matter what I was wearing or not.

When her hand moved over and her fingertips lightly grazed my breastbone, I died. Right then and right there, I died and went to heaven. Saint Peter bowed as I entered.

I felt hands removing my shorts as I prepared to receive my white robe, but that's not what I got. Instead, there was this warm, wet feeling in my nether regions that grew and grew and grew until suddenly I was transported to another universe, maybe hers. I felt my hips rise up and my all life force and energy drained out of me in a steady sequence of pulses until only death remained. So this is what it's like to die. I always thought it would happen with my boots on, but I guess one doesn't get to choose the way one dies. I was dead just the same, or so I thought.

I was resurrected when something soft touched my face. I opened my eyes to see something even more marvelous than the vision of before. A soft, full breast with a long and extended nipple was pressing against my lips. How could I refuse such a gift as this? I licked, sucked, and nibbled until the nipple was rigid and all around it crinkled; only to be presented with another just like it, with an implied request to please it equally to its twin. And so I did, before drifting back into my netherworld, as it too was withdrawn.

The next thing I knew was something else was being presented to my lips. I opened my eyes again to see the most wondrous thing, a magenta form with plump sides and a narrow but slightly open slit down the center from which the most arousing scent emanated. At the top was a bulging protrusion an inch or more long with a reddened tip peeking out at me.

What choice did I have? I kissed the plumpness up and down both sides, before wetting my tongue and slipping it up that crease in the center, though not quite to the top. Reversing course, I went back down, re-wet my tongue, and returned northward deeper this time. I continued to repeat that until I noticed a cavern down toward the southern end. I re-wet once again and began to explore it, delving as deeply as I was able with my all too inadequate instrument.

Having plumbed the depths, I returned to again kiss the plumpness on both sides of the now-open crevasse, before finally approaching that enigmatic protrusion. Working from the northern-most place I could reach, I kissed and licked my way south until I reached its upper boundary where I placed a soft gentle kiss and then allowed my moist lips to slide down its full length until I dropped off and back into the crease.

The response from whom or whatever owned this marvelous piece of real estate seemed to be favorable, as evidenced by shivers and moans. So, I continued my efforts...over and over again; adding licking and sucking. It seems that was greatly appreciated as well.

Finally, I felt an earthquake-like shudder, heard a load groan, and experienced a deluge of biblical proportions envelope my face, after which the real estate fell away from my reach. I hoped that it might return. It really was a delightful thing, even as I laid there with sweet liquid in my nose and ears.

I didn't open my eyes again, at least not yet. I could hear heavy panting that slowly faded away to near silence for some amount of time, time that didn't for some reason to matter to me in the least. I think I drifted off through the galaxies and stars for a while.

Suddenly I felt something again in my nether region. A warm wetness...no, a heat, and then a tightness constricting me and slowly enveloping me, taking me inside to the depths until I felt the end press against me and further progress stopped. Ever so slowly, the constriction receded until I was nearly free, before I was again taken in to the very depths of my prison.

This went on and on and on, the speed and force increasing over time, until something inside of me began to build. It was something I couldn't stop, didn't want to stop. I had to set it free, be rid of it, let it loose. Whatever it was, it demanded release; and I gave it its freedom. All I remember was an explosion, a concussion that shook me to the core, and then -- blackness, nothing but blackness.

Then next thing I knew, it was morning and the butler was ringing the bell he'd left beside my bed, rousing me for a morning bath. Breakfast would be ready in thirty minutes in the kitchen nook. I groaned and stretched and as he left the room, I began to vaguely remember my dream of the night before. It was a most extraordinary dream, so detailed, so exquisite, and so real.