rickroyal

While I really do enjoy having my dreams filled with sex, sometimes it really is annoying to wake up aching and knowing it will be a while before that ache will be shared with someone.

I'd dreamnt about the gymnast, again. See, the thing about the gymnast was that we each thought the other harbored ill will. When we'd met, there'd been a strange look, a joke taken the wrong way, and, of course, there was attraction to muddy the waters enough to bring about some minor animosity. It certainly didn't help that it was high school and it was deemed uncouth to, you know, simply ask someone you were attracted to about their feelings. But, as high school wore on, we started to get past the misunderstanding and grew to be friends of a sort -- she turned out to be an extremely intelligent, interesting, and fun person -- but there always hung over everything the knowledge that oppotunity had been lost.

But so the dream was her teasing me, as she often does in my dreams. Smiling that little wry smile of hers, casually brushing her hair out of her eyes, as her little hands worked, stroked, played. Bringing me close and then ever backing off. All the while talking about endothermic reactions and quantum flux shifts. And then we were kneeling in a bathtub, and I was washing her back; squeezing the washcloth at her shoulders to watch the suds cascade down her back, slide over the little dimples above her ass. Her leaning back against me, my cock resting against slick skin, hands roaming over her stomach, to her tiny breasts, between her legs, enjoying her sharp inhale. And then she turned to kiss me.

And, of course, I woke up to the sound of a reporter covering the metro beat. And all achey, but I mentioned that.

The hand is doing much better. I broke down and went to the doc. I got a shot of anti-biotic, and he glued the wound shut. He said it'd work better than stitches, so that was cool. And I can type with both hands again. Yay.