The text comes about two hours after he’s left out on his trawling excursion: Put these coordinates in your GPS. Come get me.
Oh shit.
“Well,” I think to myself, “at least I know he’s not drowned somewhere. He’s able to text and give his location.”
A minimal explanation follows: Engine died. Had to drag ashore.
I gather dry clothes for his probably-soaked-and-shivering bod and hustle myself into Scarlett.
Musing on the role reversal — knight in shining armor doesn’t exactly fit this scenario, but Lady In Shining Scarlett has a certain bow-down-and-kiss-the-ring kind of ring to it — during my retrieval operation, I tell him I’m glad he didn’t try to cross the pass to the neighboring island. Had that been the case, it would have been the Coast Guard retrieving him rather than myself.
When he tells me he had originally started that direction, all I can do is groan.
“Well it’s a good thing you turned around,” I say. “Otherwise, you’d be a fully submerged Smotch.”
The distorted scene behind my eyes shutters in and out of clarity: Something distressing is happening around me, but the sense of what is vague… I’m eating a sandwich… A chicken sandwich (I don’t eat chicken!) wrapped in bacon (I especially don’t eat bacon!!)…
…and the horrid aftertaste that invades my mouth is enough to wake me from slumber.
Stumbling to the bathroom, my willpower is stronger than my gag reflex and I manage to rinse my mouth without vomiting.
The burnt-pork taste on my tongue lingers though and I find myself in a confusing state of nausea combined with intense hunger.
I walk on sleep-heavy legs to the kitchen and butter a piece of bread, noting the time on the clock: 12:17am.
Dream On
Feeling trepidation weighing my limbs as heavily as the sleepiness it accompanies, I drift off to disturbed slumber again…
Blackness. Weightlessness. A pitch-dark outer space void of starlight and empty of sound engulfs me. I feel ethereal, unreal. The un-light is such that I cannot even see my own limbs. But I can sense them… Floating, quiet… And then a sudden alarm in my chest, heart beating rapidly…
I wake with blood roaring in my ears, frozen in place, not breathing.
Once I get my bearings — I am not in outer space, I am in my bedroom — and feel the weight return to my limbs, gravity sinks back into my skin and I close my eyes again.
Dream On
Slowed heartbeat turns to fluttering one, flipping delighted circles between throat and navel… The impression of his body against mine, the sheet-burn rough of bedclothes under my knees with him under me… Wrists in hands, nipples dipped to _just_ where he can’t kiss… My pubic hair tickles the tip of his cock, up-jutted and straining with want…
Dream Until Your Dream Come
I turn, restless, forcing my half-awake self back under into the dark, where…
His cock becomes my focus — the swollen flesh visibly throbbing with want, head purpled from soft strokes coupled with “no” — and when I slide my middle finger against his leaking slit, he gasps.
The dream sound is audible against my don’t-want-to-wake ear, and when I open my eyes to the gray-dawn light, I feel the residual dream-dampness of his precum wetting the pad of my fingertip…
This Saturday Night Fever post is part of my September Song Project (click the badges above for more info) and titled after the Madonna song, Ray of Light.
In all honesty, I’m not a great fan of Madonna. (With the exception, perhaps, of the True Blue album.) But when the shoe fits…
Jay-Jay: I was three years old; you were almost five. ‘Cousins’ was what we thought we were — your mom and dad were ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ to me, and mine to you — and though it took us another few years to work out that we weren’t actually cousins, we considered each other family… Until our respective families broke up.
Our younger brothers were born at about the same time, and our third much-later siblings as well. I suspect our parents were in a strange kind of competition about that. Even our mothers’ dogs matched.
But the only thing that matched about you and me was our little portable record players. Besides being the first Superman to my pint-sized Wonder Woman, you and I were pretty amazing at dancing to the Monster Mash. I wonder if you still dance…
