Time for a dirty story.
This is a slight expansion upon one of the best sex dreams I’ve ever had. This was a long time ago, and certainly, some of the dream detail is lost, and thus replaced with the writer’s waking imagination. Still, the basic details are direct from the dream. In the dream the ending was, as all my sex dreams, a too-soon waking; so the ending here is of the writer’s-waking-imagination kind. But somehow the sudden ending didn’t satisfy.
Out of the same back door
Across the same back yard again
Over the same low wall
Into the same long car and then
Black wheels on a silver car
Big wheels go round
Riding a long dark car through neon city streets.
We pass a bottle and listen – music grinds, engine rumbles, tires whine and thump on rain-darkened pavement.
She and I sit in the back; too many people in a too-large car, but it’s like we’re alone. She passes me a bottle and somehow I can taste her lips on it when I suck back cheap, fiery booze. Her name is Kelly.
She’s all that I’m not; blond, and small, and elegant. Soft, and gentle. Young and smelling of candy and flowers.
Her bare arm rests against my leather sleeve, her slender hip presses into mine, silk against frayed denim. Her pale blue eyes look up into my soul-dark glasses. I pass her back the bottle, my big, rough hands touching hers, tiny, pale, with elaborately manicured nails. Our hands touch long after the bottle is passed.
Someone shouts that we need more to drink; one of the innebriated ladies adds that she’s got to pee. The car slows and turns to pull into a gas station parking lot and we pile out of the big car.
I put a hand on her shoulder and turn her to face me. The wind throws mist into my face.
Half our party are crossing the street, drawn by beer signs and the neon word liquor. The others make for the gas station.
I put my hand on her face. My thumb brushes her lips. I can feel breath in her throat. I pull her against me, though she makes some small attempt to push me away.
I know this girl – know her face, though we’ve only just met.
She looks at me with a trace of fear, and something more, and I know I need to kiss her, no matter what.
She turns her face away from my kiss, and mumbles something, gestures with her head in the direction of the bathrooms.
“I have to…”
I let her go. She steps back, turns, her face still toward me over her shoulder, turning away in slow motion. She walks away.
I wait. Two steps. Three. Her heels clacking on the wet, oily pavement. She slips a little, regains balance.
Four steps. Five. Six. And then I move, my boots finding better purchase on the slick concrete. I am behind her as she reaches the restroom doors.
They’re both locked, one with lights showing through a transom, girl-giggles audible from inside. The other dark. She turns, and finds me touching-close, and then I have her pressed back to the locked door, my body pressed to her, my breath shared with hers. I hold her there with my body and whisper her name, the name I know her by, not her real name. She anwers with her lips, though not her voice, and we kiss.
The other door opens, drunken, giggling girls passing us in the dark, cat-calls and clattering sandals.
I let her go, and she slithers away from me, grabs for the bathroom door, steps through. But I have a hand on it before she can close it, and am in behind her.
I slam the door shut, lock it. I turn my back and let her do what she needs to do, and then turn toward her.
The light flickers; old florescent tubes, in need of replacement. An irregular strobe. She moves toward me in hypnotic slow motion, stands before me.
I take her in my arms, and pull her too me; she shakes her head, no, no, no, but her mouth opens. No words come out, so I give her my words instead, Yes. And then my mouth is on hers, and I taste booze, and some silly cinnamon breath mint, and then as my teeth close on her lip, a trace of blood.
She tries, once, to pull away, then her hands are inside my shirt, nails digging into my back. She is sucking at my mouth as hard as I’m sucking at hers. Her nipples, hard though her silky dress, dig into my chest.
I walk her back, two, three steps, until she’s backed up against the sink, and my weight crushes into her. The zipper in my jacket leaves marks on her bare shoulder.
I pick her up – she’s a light as a child. I lift her onto the sink. She gasps, and then my hand is under her skirt.
Her panties are drenched, and I slip my fingers into the crotch. My knuckles brush the wetness of her pussy, but I wrap the crotch of her panties in my fist and wrench.
She screams, softly, her cry muffled against the leather on my shoulder; I can feel fabric tear, and then give, and then her panties are a filmy wreck in my hand.
I kiss her, and she’s almost sobbing, yet still her mouth draws at mine, sucking my tongue into her mouth. I can hear her nails raking across the leather on my arms, adding new scrapes and gouges to the old.
I drop the bit of tattered lace and force her thighs apart, and my fingers find the soft hair between her legs, as fine and pale as that on her head, and dripping wet. I grab her pussy, press my palm against it, and she grasps, and then moans, and then I find entry, switch to a single finger, and push.
She’s a tight as a virgin, and I push, and she throws back her head and screams, and I don’t slow down. I can hear a noise, like an animal, and realize it’s my own voice; my teeth dig into her throat and I can feel her scream as I fuck another finger into her.
She screams my name into my shoulder, and I need to fuck her; I slide my fingers out of her and grab for my belt, tearing at it in frustration and need.
I free myself from my belt, wrench open my jeans; I can feel them slide to my knees as I put my hands on her hips and press the head of my cock against her.
She presses hersself to me, her arms around my neck; her legs wrap my waist. The head of my cock pushes into her. She’s incredibly tight, small, and oh so slick, and I know I’m going to hurt her when I shove in.
I kiss her, and force deep inside her, and swallow her screams. I feel her teeth tear at my lip, and we’re kissing my blood from mouth to mouth as I feel thrust into her, almost splitting her open. she screams my name, and I scream hers, and then it’s all pounding, stabbing biting and clawing, moans and screams and gasps and raw animal need.
I hear pounding outside; calls and panic. I don’t care, don’t stop, don’t even slow.
“Come for me,” I growl into her ear. “Come for me, now.” And she does, her scream building, head back, her whole body thrashing against me. I can feel it, feel her inside, feel it with my hand on her stomach, every muscle in her clenching and spasming. I can feel her drenching me, her her juices dripping down my legs.
And then I’m coming, filling her as she comes again, telling her I can feel her coming, as she screams and then begins to sob.
We put our clothing in order. I can smell her on me as I button my jeans.
Friends gathered at the door look at us with confusion and fear when we emerge; her lips are swolen, though I’ve cleaned away the blood stains.
She tells them she’s fine, really.
I help her into the car, where she slides into the far corner, huddled against the door.
The engine rumbles to life. Music plays. A bottle passes.
Tires whine on wet paving; the rain decides to get serious, and competes with the music.
I put my arm around her, pull her close. She resists, then melts into me, her head to my shoulder. I kiss the top of hear head, inhaling the scent of her; girl-smells of shampoo and perfume now competing with the musk of sex; no longer smelling of candy, but now of sweat and come and blood.
She whimpers softly into my shoulder, and shivers, and I enfold her in my jacket. We share a drink, scotch this time, body-warm from a flask in my pocket
Music grinds, rain beats against the window. Kelly’s hand is in mine. Her soft whimpers mix with the the sound of the car and the night.
For what it’s worth, the girl in the dream that inspired this was an actress, called here by her character’s name. If you happened to watch certain zip-code-titled teen shows from the early 1990s you may be able to pick out the actress/character in question. At the time, she was right at the top of my celeb wanna-fuck list, so having her, like this, in a dream, was an incredible bonus. Today, I can’t say I’d dream of her or even think of her, other than the dream-visit she payed me. But that, I shall never forget.