It's Good to Have Dreams

[New Message From: Home]

I looked at the screen of my cell phone for a few long seconds. Then I opened the message.

[Happy New Year's Eve, Leon] the text message read. [Hope you're staying warm. Did you decide to go out tonight?]

I could hear water dripping from my kitchen sink. I pressed REPLY, and started typing:

[Yeah. Just arrived. Probably be busy for the next few hours.] The cursor blinked expectantly.

I hesitated, looked around my sparsely furnished apartment, then hit SEND.

The door to the stairs down the hall from me opened noisily, followed by dozens of booted feet clamoring up from the lobby. The dull thuds rattled a few of the pictures I had half-heartedly hung on the wall. I looked at them, and let myself feel guilty for lying to my family. They just wanted me to have a good time.

Spending New Year's Eve alone is hardly the way to break in a first apartment, they would have said. And they would have been right. But nevertheless, here I was. A lifelong shut-in continuing the pattern. I had a pile of unopened greeting cards on the kitchen table and didn't feel like sorting through them. Every time the phone rang or my cell buzzed, I would let myself hope it was an invitation someplace. But I had no reason to expect any, and none came.

The dripping from the leaky faucet in the kitchen was starting to get annoying. I debated getting up and turning it all the way off. I didn't particularly want to move from the couch in the living room where I had entrenched myself, but finally decided that the noise would drive me crazier even faster than isolation.

I swung my legs over and padded to the kitchen. As I pushed the faucet handle all the way down, I thought of a guy named Alex I had known in college. At the time, he had probably represented the exact opposite of me. He had concluded that life was meant to be lived with other people, and that college was the best time to do that. Personally, I had never cared for the guy. He drank too much, stayed up too much, slept around too much. I tried to feel superior by figuring that everything would catch up to Alex someday. It still hadn't, not that I knew of.

I preferred my own solitary existence most of the time. But at times like this, I had to wonder if maybe he wasn't on to something. It's not like I was having the time of my life now. I rarely left my apartment except to work and occasionally run errands. Maybe it was time to do things differently. Make a friend or two. Take a chance.

My train of thought was interrupted by the buzz of my phone. I picked it up.

[New Message From: Home]

Not amazing. I opened the message.

[Glad to hear it. Have fun, and be safe, okay?]

I thought about replying, but decided not to. Better that way.

Then I changed my mind. I started typing:

[Decided on my New Year's resolution. Goal: make some friends. Wish me luck!]

More indecision. I chewed my lip, then saved it as a draft. Maybe I would send it in the morning.

Then the phone buzzed again. A duplicate, I guessed. I picked up the phone.

[New Message From: Alex C.]

Speak of the devil, I thought. I didn't even remember putting him in my contacts list.

I opened the message:

[hope ur having a good xmas. find a hot girl & spend teh nite with her, k? l8er]

At first, I read the message, then let my eyes stare into the distance. Then I read it again.

Finally, I closed the message without replying, went over to my sofa, and plopped down.

The clock read just short of 10 pm. I doubted there was anything on TV I wanted to watch, and I hadn't gotten around to checking any light reading out of the library this week. Maybe I would call it an early night. Tomorrow, I would send my message, and see if I could find some way to get out of my apartment.

I decided I would sleep on the couch. It was more comfortable than my mattress anyway. My New Year's present to myself, I thought wryly, and closed my eyes.

***********

"Hey you," said a voice I couldn't place.

I opened my eyes, and with a start, realized that my apartment was gone. Instead of a sofa, I was nestled in a large, comfortable chair. The carpet's complexion had thickened, and had abandoned its usual tan color for sage. I was facing a corner, and the two intersecting walls had been replaced by floor-to-ceiling windows. The wind shrieked outside, sending dizzying icy particles every which way, flinging them against the windows and out of sight.

I craned my neck to see who had spoken, and noticed a fireplace silently roaring almost directly behind me. A doorway led into what looked like a dining room. A familiar face was standing in that doorway with a small smile on her face. Her name leaped to my lips even as I struggled to remember how I knew her.

"Sarah!" I said, surprised.

Sarah Haverstrom was the high school girlfriend that never was. I had first seen her at 7:30 in the morning in December, when she walked into first period English class and took a seat across the aisle from me. I'd liked her right from the start, more than I'd liked any girl before. She was pretty. She was smart. Come Valentine's Day, I had worked up the nerve to send her a card and flowers. I had left the "From" line blank, though. Too embarrassed.

Upon receiving the valentine, she had blushed, turned and looked directly at me, and smiled. My stomach had turned queasy. When she had come up to talk to me, I had mumbled some excuse and bolted.

But we had become friends. I saw her again when we joined the French club together, and we ended up taking a lot of the same classes. I got over my fear of talking to her, and discovered a thoughtful girl I couldn't help but admire even more. I'd even been to her house on two occasions. The first time I just gave her a ride home from school. The second time, we'd had to cancel a French club New Year's Day event, and she had asked me if I wanted to hang out at her place for a few hours before her parents came home. I had said yes.

There had been no other cars in the driveway. We had sat in her all-seasons porch, which I now recognized as the room I found myself in, and chatted and done nothing in particular until she had finally driven me home. I'd almost made my move then, sitting in that chair. I'd wanted to taker her in my arms and kiss her as hard as I could.

But I hadn't kissed her. I hadn't done anything at all. We had graduated, gone to different colleges. I hadn't thought of her much since high school.

Sarah looked just like I remembered her. I had always thought she was pretty, though she was quiet and didn't smile much. She had long hair the color of wheat, and a smattering of freckles on her cheeks. Her eyes were a little narrow, but her gaze was cool and calm. Her breasts were large, and when she wore the right top, I had never been able to resist staring.

Right now she was dressed in a plain blouse and jeans. And she was standing in the doorway, same as she had that day. I was struck by a peculiar feeling I couldn't identify. Not just deja vu; it was more than that. Almost nostalgia.

She smiled, a little timidly. I had always found her smiles endearing. "It's really snowing out there," she said, looking out the window. "I'm really glad we're inside."

I shifted positions in the chair and stretched. The fireplace heated the room very effectively, almost too much so. I looked down at the sweatshirt I was wearing, and blinked. I hadn't seen it since high school.

The strange feeling intensified. I had an idea of what was going on, but I didn't see how it was possible.

"Tell me about it," I said, thinking as quickly as I could, then padded the space next to me. "Come over and sit." There was enough room for two people in the seat, but only barely. I noticed my voice threatening to crack. Another effect of adolescence I had hoped was gone forever.

She shrugged and came into the room. I tried not to gulp as she moved. A whole lot of feelings hit me at once: nervousness, exhilaration, tension, excitement. She'd worn one of her tighter blouses, and her large breasts were in profile. I got hard almost before I realized it.

Sarah took a seat next to me. Her body was warm and soft, and my breathing picked up. The chair sloped downward so that our bodies leaned towards each. She laid her head on my shoulder, and I put my arm around hers. I had never held her, and suddenly, painfully wished that I had.

"This isn't really happening, is it?" I blurted out. "I remember when this happened. None of-" and then I couldn't think of anything else to say.

Sarah's head was resting on my shoulder, her eyes gazing into the blizzard. "I don't know if it's real," she said softly. There was an odd note of something else, too. Sadness? "Do you remember how you felt?"

I nodded. "Yeah." My voice became thick. "Eager. Scared. Horny, mostly." What had come over me? I had never spoken this openly before.

I could hear her smile a little. "Me too," she said. "Especially horny."

Now I couldn't speak at all. My penis was as hard as it had been in months.

"I wanted you to kiss me," she said in that same odd tone. "Did you know that? I wanted you to throw your arms around me and shove your mouth against mine and kiss me for all you were worth. I wanted you to tear my shirt off and get frustrated trying to unhook my bra, and just shove it down my torso so that you could finally see my naked breasts. I wanted you to look at them. I wanted you to feel them."

Her voice picked up a slight tremor, but remained steady. I was astonished. And insanely aroused.

"I didn't want sex. I wasn't ready for that. But I wanted to pull down my panties and show you how I wanted you to touch my clitoris. I even hoped you would lick me. I wanted to see your penis and touch and taste it and feel what it was like when you came all over my breasts. But it didn't happen."

She lifted her head from my shoulder, and looked at me straight on. There was something like hope in her eyes.

"Would you like to kiss me?" she asked breathlessly.

My head spun, my eyes opened wide. Then, as if on cue, we fell towards each other and our lips met. I felt something melt inside me, then I stopped thinking straight. Her wet lips felt wonderful against mine. It was a soft kiss, no tongue, but it was magnificent. Right then, there was nothing I wanted to do more than spend hours kissing Sarah Haverstrom. But finally, reluctantly, we pulled apart.

Both of us were breathing hard. Sarah's eyes were smoky, and her hands shook. She placed them over my wrists, then guided my hands to the bottom of her blouse. She let me go and leaned back slightly. I took a deep breath, then took the blouse and peeled it over her chest, and over her head. I dropped it, forgotten, behind the chair.

Her breasts were a touch paler than the rest of her skin. Her bra was some simple white material, no fancy patterns at all. But Sarah's breasts didn't need any decoration. They were beautiful. Everything I had hoped to see and more. Some corner of my mind realized that my mouth was open, and I wasn't far off from drooling. I closed my mouth, swallowed.

We leaned towards each other again, and kissed, urgently. But this time I had another purpose. My hands met at her back, found the clasp. With a patient hold, a push, and a tug, it was undone. I felt her inhale, surprised.

"I did my homework." I whispered in her ear. "In case I ever got to do this with you."

She made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh.

We pulled apart again, and I saw her bare breasts for the first time. They were glorious. Each one was a little too big to hold in one hand. The top halves were very lightly dusted with freckles, like her face. Her pink areolae were tiny, barely the width of quarters, but her nipples stood out firmly. I was in awe. I had no idea where to start. Finally, I looked up at her. Her face was a mixture of expectancy, pride, and nervousness.

"Sarah," I finally said. My mouth was dry. "May I... may I touch your breasts?"

Her eyes sparkled. I saw her try to speak and fail, then she just nodded. I took a deep breath and extended my hands. At the same time she leaned forward, letting her soft breasts tumble into my hands. I had never felt breasts before. Sarah's were wonderful. I gently juggled them, brushed my fingertips over her nipples, caressed every inch with my thumbs. She closed her eyes, and her mouth fell open. Pleasure would flit across her face every time I found a sensitive spot.

I kneaded her breasts, pressed them together, pulled them apart. I tugged at her nipples, and I heard her breath catch. I drew random, lazy patterns across each breast with my fingers. Finally, I looked at her. Her eyes were half-open, and she was breathing faster. Without warning, I leaned in and kissed her. Hard. She let out a moan and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. We shifted so that she was leaning into me as my back reclined. My hands continued to play with her breasts, though it seemed like I wasn't consciously moving them. They felt every surface, weighed every curve, teased her eager nipples which were starting to turn bright red.

We let our tongues explore as we kissed. I ran mine over her lips, her teeth. I felt her tongue dance with mine, pulling and pushing and sometimes retreating. It was a clumsy kiss, but a passionate one. I lost track of time, of place, of everything except the breasts in my hands and the mouth that was right now kissing me as hard as she could.

I suddenly felt Sarah wriggling against me. I pulled away, and saw that she had undone the zipper of her jeans and was peeling them down her legs. Without a second thought, I followed suit. Soon, I had only my shirt and boxers, and Sarah was wearing nothing but plain white panties. She helped me remove my shirt, much as I had removed hers, then she looked down at the obvious bulge in my boxers. I swallowed, and didn't dare speak.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were dark and hooded. "Leon," she breathed, "may I touch your penis?"

My throat was almost constricted, and I felt like I could hardly breathe. But I nodded, and lifted my hips a little.

She slid my boxers down, and my penis sprang into view. It was long and thick, impatient at having been confined. Sarah stared at it for a while, gently massaging my inner thigh. Her eyes scrutinized the shaft, the exposed head, the foreskin pulled back. She stared at my balls. She stared at me, and smiled. I smiled back, a little nervously.

"It's very nice," she said. "Can I look at it some more?"

"Be my guest," I croaked. I could feel her gaze on my penis; it was like a subtle electricity. And she liked it! This was heavenly. I let my penis bask in her admiring eyes, and drew a shaky breath. Then she reached out, and the second her hand touched my swollen flesh, my penis gave a jump. Sarah giggled. "Wow," she said. "Did you do that?"

"I can't really help it," I said hoarsely.

She began to lightly stroke the shaft. "I love how hard it is," she murmured, still staring. "I didn't think it would be this big." She looked at me again, and her eyes took a mock-serious tone. "You sir," she intoned dramatically, "have a gorgeous penis."

Sarah smiled and returned to her ministrations. She dragged the backs of her knuckles up and down the ridge of my shaft. "So hard, but the back is so soft. It's like touching velvet." Her fingertips found the head of my penis, and I nearly jumped. She paused.

"Too much?"

I shook my head vigorously.

"Good. Hmm... this part is nice and smooth. Does this feel good?" she asked, lightly caressing the ridge. In response, my penis twitched again. She laughed. It was a good sound.

"I think he likes it. God, you have a gorgeous penis. I've never seen one before. Look at the veins," she said, leaning in closer. Her face was inches away. I tried not to moan.

Her fingertips traced a journey up the shaft, following the veins. They stood out thickly from the rest of the shaft, branching and ending near the head and the base. Finally, Sarah pulled her hand away. She looked at me, then bit her lip.

"I want to do more. But... would you like to see me first?" she asked, so quietly I could barely hear her.

I nodded eagerly. "My God, Sarah, you're beautiful. I knew you were beautiful, but your smile and your breasts and the way you- I want to see all of you." I was babbling, and I knew it. She did too, because she laughed a little.

"I've fantasized about this," she said as she wiggled out of her panties. I saw that her pubic hair was closely trimmed, a little darker than the hair on her head. "I'm really, really wet. I can feel it. Do you want to see?"

I nodded dumbly, transfixed at the spot between her legs. She slowly opened them, revealing her outer lips. They were puffy and moist. They looked perfect.

I looked up at her. Sarah's eyes were half-shut and she was breathing heavily. She smiled nervously. "You can look and touch as much as you want. Just be gentle, it's sensitive."

Hesitatingly, unbelievingly, I placed my hands on her thighs, and slid them up to her groin. Then, as reverently as I could, I pulled her inner lips apart.

Sarah hadn't been lying. She was drenched. Her vulva were the color of pink coral, glistening with her moisture. The edges of her labia were tinged a gorgeous lavender. I saw her vagina, a wet dimple among her folds. And crowning her womanhood was her clitoris, swollen and eager. It was as large as a pearl, and a shade darker than the rest of her pussy, almost purple. Her genitals were lovely, and I told her so.

She didn't reply, but made a contented purring sound deep in her throat. I took that as my cue to explore. I wet two of my fingers, then began to gently stroke her labia. I traced every wrinkle and fold, and couldn't resist a quick tap on her clitoral hood. Sarah gasped and pulled her hips up, and her clitoris brushed against my fingertips. I looked up at her face, saw her lips pressed together in concentration. Then I returned my gaze to her clitoris. As I stared in fascination, I could swear I saw it start to pulse gently. Her surrounding folds would quiver a tiny bit, and her clitoris would flare ever so slightly. It was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

Sarah had begun toying with her nipples. Her eyes were wide open, and she was staring down at me. "You look so happy," she said, sounding pleased.

I nodded. "I am. You're crazy beautiful. I've never seen a vagina before, and yours is so wet and it turns me on. A lot."

She smiled. "I think I can feel my heartbeat in my clitoris. Can you see it?"

"Yeah... wow. It's fascinating."

Without actively thinking about it, I leaned in close, extended my tongue, and gave her eager clitoris the slightest nudge with the tip. She yelped, and I wasn't sure if I had startled her; but then her hands grasped the back of my head and pushed my face into her. It happened so quickly it could only have been a reflex. I started to lick her, caressing every surface I could find. She tasted wonderful, clean and salty and sweet all at the same time.

I realized that she was talking. "God, Leon, oh God, I wanted this for so long..."

Her pussy slid up and down my face. I had no idea what I was doing, and finally the side of my tongue bumped over her clitoris harder than I intended. She jerked her hips back, and I looked up at her apologetically. We were both panting. A lock of her hair was plastered to her forehead, her mouth was open, and her breasts lifted and rolled appealingly with every breath she took. She looked so damn desirable in that moment, it was all I could do not to launch myself on her.

"I'm not... I'm not ready for... sex," she said, breathing hard, as if reading my mind. "But God... that felt... amazing. If you can... do it again, while... I go down on you, can... we try it at the same time?"