5 comments/ 23180 views/ 4 favorites Dream a Little Dream of Me By: SamanthaKayne I'm forced to wonder what I was dreaming about as I wake with my hand buried between my legs, fingertips damp with the residue of a dream as my thumb rests against my clit. When your hand strokes down my back where the sheet has slipped down, it all comes back, and I can't help but moan softly as I arch my hips up to meet your hand. Chuckling softly, you see right through me. It's okay, I'm used to it. "Again? Already?" Trying not to blush, I push my face into the pillow as I nod. My sex drive is becoming a running joke. How could I not want you? "Then we do it my way." As you well know, the hint of threat edging your voice is as arousing to me as your sweetness, and just as addictive. Sliding both hands up my back, you press firmly enough to work out some of the knots on your way up. One hand caresses the back of my neck, melting any resistance I could've considered as the other wraps around my throat in the front. You press just hard enough to remind me of every weakness I have, just hard enough to remind me how easily I put myself in your power, just hard enough to remind me that you know me. You pull my arms out from under my body; I hadn't even realized I had started rocking against my hand again. Stretching out over me, your press my hands against the windowsill. "Don't move." This comment pulls a sigh of exasperation out of me. As much as I joked about wanting to be better trained, I had no idea you'd take me so seriously. No idea that you'd actually make me figure out how to control my own impulses. Right now, the weight of you against my back is warm, and hard, and comforting enough to be a distraction as I wonder what you have in store. I push my ass back just enough to be a brat, testing your reaction. "Don't... Move..." Another sigh. Almost a whine. Hands grip at the windowsill. An idea strikes a spark in my head that sends another rush of wetness. I'm often difficult, but I've never disobeyed on purpose. There are times I can't help it, but I've never intentionally been a bad girl. Biting my lip to hold back a grin, I use my grip on the windowsill for leverage as I work my lower back up against your hardening cock. You push back, rocking into me, pushing out a gasp as I'm comforted by the fact that at least my arousal is apparently contagious. After a moment lost in this lovely sensation, your hands tighten around my wrists, you pause pushing against me, and I realize that perhaps my decision to test your limits may have been somewhat ill-advised. Or maybe not, if how wet I am is any indication. "I was going to wait to show you these, but you clearly can't handle simple instructions without help." Unable to follow your logic, I simply lie there and wait to see what you're up to. "Close your eyes." Obeying, more because I want you to keep going than any other reason, my eyes fall shut. You reach past the head of the bed, pulling on something. Eyes dutifully closed, I can't do anything except lie under you and writhe, trying vainly to press some part of me that could bring satisfaction against the bed. "Oh!" Realization of what you were going to show me brings a vocal gasp as you buckle the leather around my wrists. They're tight, a constant reminder. And I discover when I try to pull that wherever and however they're attached, I'm not going anywhere. Oh fuck... It's on... You lean back, pulling off of me. Chilled in your sudden absence, I shiver slightly. More from nerves and a desire for attention than any real chill, but a shiver nonetheless. "Don't worry, you'll warm right up." I don't realize what you mean until your hand falls, hard, on my ass, the smack echoing in the room. Two more fall quickly before I can even take a breath, so shocked that you would actually spank me, bound. My body is unable to respond, torn between trying to get away from your hand and pushing into the bed. With my hands bound and you kneeling between my legs, my range of movement is remarkably limited. The extent of your scheming knows no bounds, does it? Three more and my ass is starting to burn. My hips bounce each time. I wonder if your hand is stinging. I wonder if my skin is pink. I feel you shifting slightly, settling, getting a better angle, as your slaps move up and down both cheeks of my ass, leaving no inch of skin unpunished. You pause, and I realize what a gift you've given by not giving me time to think before. The anticipation is far, far worse (better?) than the sensation on its own. You move to my side, and before I can turn my face to look at you, I feel you grip the back of my neck, hard, to push my face down into the pillow. Two quick hard slaps to the inside of my thighs inform me that closing my legs is not an option. You pull me up long enough to look into my eyes and tell me to take a breath. Trembling, I do. You barely get my face back into the pillow before I scream. Smart man. I cry out into the pillow for each blow that lands on my pussy, even as I can hear the almost-splash each time. I don't know what you're using, but it's not your hand. It's not as flexible, and instead of the deep blow I know how to respond to, it's all surface, and it burns like fuck. Where I am, just riding the edge of actual pain, I can't figure it out. Finally, unable to rock away from your strikes, which somehow manage to find my clit no matter how I move my hips, I brace myself for whatever comes and pull my legs closed, sobbing into the pillow. Not because it hurts too much, but because even I have too much pride to come like this. "Open." Your voice seems to ring in my ears as I come up for breath. Untouched, I gingerly spread my legs, unsure what to expect. The two fingers that stroke, then enter my cunt are more than welcome as I spread my legs farther, trying to encourage you deeper, harder, faster, more. Only one quick stroke, though, and then fingers covered with a mixture of my arousal and your satisfaction from our midnight romp last night cover my lips. Sighing, softening, I clean your fingers, loving this tangible reminder of our passion. And we taste so good. "Why did I spank you so hard?" It's true that it was much harder than usual. Normally a swat or two as I ride you is more than enough to send me over. And this is the first time you've done it when you weren't inside me to balance out the sensations. Instead of offering you some rote, voice-trained answer, I actually consider your question. There's only one real answer. "Because you knew I'd like it." Having no control and nothing to hide is a remarkably safe place to be. "My beautiful girl." Something in me melts when you say that. Realizing that I'm "broken," at least for the moment, you move back behind me. Those strong, warm hands that I love so much reach under me, gripping hard around my hipbones to pull me up to my knees. In doing so, you pull me back just enough that I am precariously balanced between my bound hands and knees on the bed. Spreading my knees just that little bit further, you see to it that I am reliant on you to move without collapsing. Just as I'm about to ask, demand, beg? I feel your cock sliding between my wet pussy lips. The wetness I can feel on the inside of my thighs is indication enough of how much I want this, but you're not done playing with me. "Say it." "Please." "Not good enough." "Please fuck me." Thighs tightening as I try in vain to push back against you. Taking me at my word, you slide into me – all the way in one smooth stroke. Those hard hot hands pull my hips back to meet you, not that I consider resisting. Back just far enough to pull the strain on my wrists to the point of discomfort, but not actual pain. Before I even have a chance to thank you, you pull all the way back out, and not gently. Crying out in frustration, I beg incoherently to have to you back. For the return of that irresistible pressure against my insides as your cock spreads me open. Again, with that short sharp thrust that's just exactly not enough of what I need so very much now. One more hard swat lands on each of my cheeks as I writhe. I do everything in my limited power to get you back inside me. Again, inside, hard and deep and fast and undeniable. Except this time, just as I'm bracing myself for the misery of it, you don't leave. You stay, buried inside me. Perfectly fucking still. At first I try to rock myself against you, pushing back, but there's no movement left in my bonds. So I do the only thing I can, tightening my pussy around you rhythmically, just to hear you groan. Of course, it's a double-edged sword as it ratchets up my arousal as well. You pause and enjoy it for a moment, before returning to your torment of me. Something cool falls on my ass, all the more shocking because of the heat rising from my stinging skin. It drizzles across the curve of my ass, before running down between the cheeks, making me absurdly aware of that part of my body, and its vulnerability in this position. On the heels of that thought, your hands glide around to massage whatever it is into my tender skin. Assuming it's just an ointment of some kind, I began to relax into your caresses. As soon as I do, you firmly grasp a cheek in each hand, spreading me before you. You know how I hate this. The vulnerability. Being so exposed. So open. So defenseless. So fucking... public. One finger strokes lightly across my asshole, causing my pussy to spasm around you where you're still inside me. Another cold drizzle of lube runs between the cheeks of my ass, warming quickly. As your thumbs return to spread me further, I feel that drizzle of lube enter me, followed closely by first one thumb, then the other. "Don't tell me you can't, you can do anything I tell you you can," just as I'm beginning to gasp out that I can't possibly, that there's no way. Both thumbs slippery inside my ass, I realize that you're right. You haven't given me room to fail. You won't let me out of this. Hands, arms, shoulders, back relax under your eyes. Under you, it's clear that I can do anything you tell me I can. Thumbs are replaced with fingers, working in and out, lubing me up thoroughly, feeling me open to take more of you. You start moving in and out of my pussy as well, sensations rippling between the two holes, overriding any conscious thought I could have. I am nothing in this moment except where I am connected to you. Everything except what you want of me falls away. The delicious friction of your fingers and cock are lost in the same moment. Too relaxed, pleased, topped to argue, I wait to see what's next. I feel you shift slightly behind me, getting situated. Then I hear it. I can hear you touching yourself, working lube up and down your cock, already slicked with my cum. Again your hands hold my ass open, but this time for something far more substantial than your fingers. I sigh as you push the head of your cock in, spreading me further. For some reason, nothing reinforces my submission more than the feeling of your cock sliding into my ass. Lost in the moment, completely soft and open and yielding, I am once again caught thoroughly unaware when you pull out, leaving me gasping. I immediately feel something pushing at my pussy. I'm about to complain, remind you of the last round of antibiotics, when I realize that it's not your cock. You push the dildo slowly into my pussy, teasing, stretching, drawing it out. Just as it starts to bottom out, when I'm once again convinced I can't go where you're taking me, you press firmly, undeniably, against my ass again. "Oh." Too stunned to argue, too excited to even think about asking you to stop, I just take a deep breath, feeling you fill my ass on my exhale. More stuffed than I ever even considered, I've reached the point where I can do nothing except comply. Each time you thrust into my ass, your movement pushes on the dildo in my pussy, providing that something extra at the depth of each stroke. I wonder briefly if you can feel it moving in my pussy as you slide in and out of my ass. As satisfied as I am, I realize that the way you've arranged this, I can't have the only other thing I want at this moment: to feel you come in my cunt, fill my pussy so that I can feel it drip out of me for the next few hours. Too far gone to be polite, or explain my wants, I manage a pathetic whine. "Don't worry, baby, I got it all taken care of." Your thrusts speed up, deepening, losing their artistry and becoming the pure fuck I dream of. As I hear you groan, on the heels of that first rumble that in and of itself is usually enough to set me off, you pull out. Within seconds, my twisting pushes the dildo out of my pussy, and I can feel your hand knock into my thigh as you jack yourself off, finishing with a growl and a hot spray against my lower back, asshole, lips, and finally clit. It's close enough, as I come once again on your fingers slick with our cum. A soft, deep, satisfyingly slow orgasm that rolls through me like cool water. Dream a Little Dream of Me ©2008/9AdrianLeverkuhn * Her name was Dreamaway and she was quiet, almost shy as a little girl -- some said she was as quiet as her name. She'd always been a fairly withdrawn girl and seemed to get along reasonably well in a full world of noisome contradictions. For reasons unknown her mama had given her the name long before she was conceived, and though not a soul knew why it seemed to fit the little girl perfectly. Needless to say the name had, from time to time, been reason for a fair amount of ridicule; over time the name morphed and cousins and brothers took to calling her DeeDee, and as a result she grew a little self-conscious about her name, and all it implied. And while her mother well understood the cascade of humiliation her daughter endured it surprised some when the girl's mother jumped on the bandwagon; perhaps it was more than mere wanderlust that sparked the odd name into existence. Perhaps it was a desire to escape the shadows that haunted all Dreamaway's family's hopes and dreams. Dreamaway's people were from the hills of western North Carolina, and by that I mean not from a small town, nor even a smaller village; no, Dreamaway was born and had come of age inside a thirty-something foot long mobile-home on land that might have been called a farm were it not for the fact that most of the land was too steep and rocky to walk across. The family's farm had been, for all of their lives, hidden from the world below by forests of thick oak and hickory -- by a forest so thick that traffic on the road down the steep, hardscrabble hill was all but invisible. Dreamaway grew up in this private world, a home full of boisterous brothers and silent, hard-working parents. Yet Dreamaway was not quite a part of this world: she inhabited an insulated but hyperbolic world of her own that seemed to tumble along inside this small constellation of family, and the girl came of age knowing little of the world down the mountain. Her world might have been dwarfed by unknown rhythms within a universe of vast, lurking sin -- had she but known even the barest contours of the world -- but that other world had been defined for her by Preacher-Jim at the little Baptist church her family went to every Sunday. She had yet to be bitten by one of the preacher's rattlers so all knew her heart was pure. Beyond the wall of forest temptation stalked the unwary: the lesson had been drummed into Dreamaway all her life. Conversely, behind their forest wall time had stopped, they were lost to the present and all of them were safe; in this insular world all the little girl's dreams derived from absolute good and unwavering evil. She knew of no other life beyond that which she experienced on the farm, or in church -- in effect she knew nothing of the greater world beyond the mountain, no other ways of being. Coming of age in the 1990s, all she had experienced was life on an isolated mountain in Appalachia, and even within that context she was considered by most to have withdrawn into a world of her own design. Dreamaway's mother had instinctively known better than to waste time daydreaming about a better life -- which if you think about it made the choice of her daughter's name all the more odd -- and yet her mother did not pass on this restraint to her daughter. The girl was encouraged by her mother to daydream and she grew up wondering what lay beyond the wall of trees and with nothing concrete to base her musings she constructed vast, fantastic worlds to contain her flowering dreams that drifted by on the clouds. She grew slowly, some said too slowly, but the little girl grew up with her bare-feet skipping through knee-high grass, her eyes always sifting the sky for drifting, cloud-borne dreams. She would look at clouds and ask her mother where they went, what secrets they might conceal -- but her mother had no idea -- she had never considered the matter. Dreamaway wondered if clouds had dreams, if their wispy musings lived-on once they were beyond the dark forest wall. She began to see the forest as something that held her back from the world, as something sinister. How she wanted to take wing on a billowing cloud and simply drift away... Even so, Dreamaway helped tend the family's small herd of dairy cattle; she helped milk cows on frosty mornings and collected eggs on sunny afternoons and by the time she was in her teens was known to one and all as the sweetest soul that had ever drawn a breath -- even if she was still tiny and possessed of a faraway look in her eye. She managed to go to school one day for the first time when she was fifteen but didn't take to the experience very well and never went again: Dreamaway had the uncomfortable feeling she didn't fit into a world full of thinkers, she preferred to dream with the clouds instead and had no regrets. And no one seemed to mind, either. So, in a world full of cracks Dreamaway somehow managed to slip through them all. She never went to school, never learned to read or write, and she knew not one thing about the world beyond the hills. She had no need for thinkers and remained at ease with her dreams. In the end Dreamaway's mother taught her most of the things she needed to know about life and told her she would pick-up things as she went along. After all, the little girl knew how to handle copperheads and timber rattlers as well as Preacher-Jim, and besides that, she could cook up a storm. What else did a little girl need to know? She met a boy from Elkin, Jimmy MacDonald was his name, one October day when her family went down the mountain for the first time in fifteen years to the Fair down in Boone; one thing led to another and before she knew it she was pregnant. She thought she loved Jimmy, whatever love was, yet despite all the wonder and joy she felt she knew there was something wrong about the relationship. Something Preacher-Jim had said about living in Sin. She knew she was doomed, her baby too. Then she'd missed her period and told her mama, discovered she was with child, and within a few days learned Jimmy had joined something called the Coast Guard and was going away to someplace she'd never heard of. The cramps and bleeding that started that night had an air of finality about them -- and she knew the baby had left her as uneasily as it had come. She was crushed by the turns her life had taken but she picked herself up and brushed herself off and got on with with her chores -- because that's what you did. Still, in her heart she knew she loved Jimmy, and she missed him terribly when he went away. Dreamaway had been sure since she'd first laid eyes on him that he was the one to lead her away from the mountain, and onward, to her dreams. What had happened? What had she done wrong? She stopped going to church soon after that; she was afraid her father would beat her again but he didn't, he almost seemed to understand her disenchantment. She worked hard and even prayed when her oldest brother died after being bitten by a huge timber-rattler at church, and she continued to look at the clouds and follow them as they drifted away just over the trees, forever out of reach. She dreamed and worked until Jimmy came by the farm a year later; he was different yet the same -- and she knew he loved her when she saw him walking up the hill toward the trailer. He was, he said, going to be stationed at a base down on the coast and he told her them all that he loved her, that he wanted to marry her and wanted her to come and live with him while he earned enough money to make it happen. Her papa didn't have much to say about it; Sin didn't mean much to him anymore. But her mama was sad and angry and grateful all at the same time: life was all contradiction and there was nothing to be said or done about it. 'At least one of us will get away from here...' her mother might have said had she the stomach for simple truths, and that was that. Nineteen years old and blessed with the ability to love, both Dreamaway and her mother knew instinctively that this was the path life had chosen for her; Dreamaway understood she had to take this chance or be content to dream-away the rest of her life. So one fine bright Spring day she packed her few belongings in a laundry bag and walked down the mountain; later that day down in Elkin she climbed up narrow, worn-down steps onto a bus with Jimmy and as day turned to night she found herself in a strange new world that might as well have been on the dark side of the moon. There were gates and ID badges, men with guns and huge white machines that Jimmy said could fly in the sky and she laughed at that until she saw one of them do just that -- then she shut up and began to pray. They walked across the base to where he said he had an apartment; they were going to live where married folks lived because Jimmy had told everyone they were married... and that, too, was that. She was too confused to say much else. They made love for three days straight and after that she stayed indoors most of the time, stayed away from prying eyes and nosey neighbors who might condemn her for living in sin, and she didn't feel comfortable when she was all alone -- she felt lost and abandoned. Jimmy worked nights fixing flying machines; he came home early in the morning, his hands red and bruised, his fingernails lined with grease from working all night -- and then they'd eat together and make love and only then would she fall into a tender sleep of restless dreams. One of the neighbors in their building had a television set and it was the first time she'd ever seen or heard of anything like it -- but she discovered she wasn't really all that curious about what was said inside the box -- she had her life with Jimmy and everything else seemed distant, and even a little frightening. One morning they went next door and watched as airplanes were flown into buildings so tall they could hide in clouds and she learned that some things that happened in there could touch her world. Suddenly, in the days that followed everything was different. Jimmy was her life but even he was different now, and though she missed the herds of brothers and cows she had taken care of for so many years she had her own man to take care of now -- and she didn't know how. She didn't understand. If this was just the way it was supposed to be, the way her life was meant to play out, then she had to accept all this as her fate -- only something was wrong... very wrong. But only in her restless dreams did this other world intrude; soon she found herself waking from her dreams tired and breathless, almost like she had been running in her sleep. From what? But in time things seemed to settle down; whatever else she might have thought or dreamed of, once Jimmy woke up they had fun. He couldn't afford a car but had saved up and bought a little motorcycle and they went riding around on shaded country roads in thick summer air and life seemed good, if not downright grand. Every day he had off they rode the back-roads until they found little stores out in the middle of nowhere, then they'd go inside and bask in wondrous air-conditioning and drink ice-cold soda, then they'd mount-up and ride some more until they came upon little roadside farm-stands where fresh peaches and strawberries could be had for a song. Warm breezes drifted through summer leaves while they bathed in salty coastal airs and everything felt so right and good. Life was all around them, just like the full, ripe peaches that filled their mouths. Her troubled dreams began to fade beyond even memory. Even so, this new world was an overwhelmingly complex place to Dreamaway, and perhaps even to Jimmy; perhaps this was why they sought out simplicity on their rides. In time she came to realize the world was a lot more complicated than she had realized; she saw her lack of understanding as a weakness and wanted to learn more, for there was real life in all the danger and excitement going on around them, dangers that preachers and grandparents had warned her about all her life, but something more was going on, too. Though she was possessed of a very useable past, and she clung to it tenaciously, she grew increasingly curious about the world, about the present, until it got too close - then she turned away from the startling newness of her life and bound her wounds with what vestiges remained of her life on the mountain. When she walked around inside big stores in the town near the base she felt very small indeed, almost like she walked in shadowy wastes in a land where hidden dangers always lie waiting. She would reach out for something on a shelf some days and half-expected a snake to strike out at her, to punish her for the sinful audacity of her choice to leave the mountain. Something was holding her to that life, something vital and important that told her this new life was incomplete. What? What could she be missing? Her dreams would grow unsettled on such occasions and her curiosity wane, and she would think of home if only for a moment... 'Home?' she say to herself bitterly, then truth would return. She never wanted to go back there, up there behind the wall of trees and back into the darkness; of that much she was certain. But... why did she feel so incomplete? Sometimes when she and Jimmy walked around in town together they'd sit on a park bench by the river and watch the little boats coming and going and they'd play a game, make up stories about where the boats might be going... "Where would you go, DeeDee?" Jimmy asked her one sunny summer afternoon. "If you could go anywhere, where would you go?" It bothered Dreamaway that she couldn't think of even one place she'd like to go see. She just didn't know where the clouds went when they slipped beneath the horizon. Yet... she didn't worry too much because there was always Jimmy and he kept her grounded to the life that had claimed her: he went off to work each evening and she held her breath each and every time he slipped away -- until he walked in the door again the next morning. Then she would be swept away in the comfort she found in his arms, and she burrowed into the warmth of his love, never wanted it to end. There was nothing missing, she told herself. Occasionally he went out on a big ship to take care of helicopters that pilots used to rescue people at sea -- but he always came back and she would breathe again and they would hop on the little motorcycle and ride out into the country and breeze along sun-dappled lanes until juicy peaches left streaks of goodness running down their chins -- and in the light of their love for one another everything was alright. She grew comfortable with this routine, wanted nothing more, even if her dreams still hinted at something wrong about her life. One morning Jimmy came in and she knew something was different. He was quiet, he didn't answer her questions and he couldn't look her in the eye when he talked. Finally he told her: there was a war going on somewhere on the far side of the world, in a place called Iraq, and his ship was being sent there. He would be gone for at least a year -- maybe more. "When?" she asked. "Soon," he said. "Real soon." Her stomach rumbled and burned in the all consuming silence. They went to church later that morning and talked with the Chaplain about maybe getting married and the preacher looked at them oddly, like he thought they were married already, then they went for a ride in the country but everything was different now. The air felt wrong, the sunlight carried a hint of darkness - like the coming of winter on the mountain, and the warm breezes of summer had fallen before a growing chill in the air. When they returned to the apartment there was a pale yellow notice taped to the door: Jimmy was leaving that night; he had to pack -- now. They walked inside their apartment in a daze and she watched as he packed his things in a large green duffel bag and she felt herself dissolving when he kissed her and she held on to him for as long as she could... and then he was gone. The air in the apartment grew impossibly bitter and Dreamaway felt the hard grip of an unshakeable coldness descend upon the emptiness that had gathered around her. She turned and looked at the barren walls that suddenly felt like a prison and she began to shiver; the only thing she heard over the hammering in her head was a clock ticking far away -- but it was as if the clock was in another world. The metronomic pulse kept her company deep into the night, but sleep never came for. +++++ For weeks on end she heard from Jimmy day by day, letter by letter; once he called and seemed very excited with all he had seen and done since arriving 'in-country' -- and she felt hurt when he didn't seem to feel lonely at being apart -- and Dreamaway felt oddly detached from life after the call was over and she walked around in a daze for hours afterward. She went to church the next morning but found no comfort in the company of families and she walked into town after that and wandered through the near-empty streets down to the river. She sat on the same park-bench by the water's edge she and Jimmy had and looked at a boat drifting-by silently, apparently powered by broad white cloud-like sails that fluttered occasionally in the cold morning air. Seagulls wheeled raucously in the air behind a fishing boat as it lumbered downriver and soon couples began walking along the waterfront in their Sunday best, most hand in hand and so obviously in love, and she thought -- for a while, anyway -- she could just feel Jimmy's hand in hers and she closed her eyes and felt her face leaning against his sun-warmed back as the motorcycle swept into another turn and memories came to her in a frenzy and she wished more than anything else that he was sitting there beside her, that he wanted nothing more than to hold her, kiss her. And then a cloud would pass overhead and she felt the chill of shadow, and it all came back. Of course he wasn't here, she thought. Happiness was, after all was said and done, something other people knew. She watched the clouds drift away, always out of reach, and she felt like crying. She walked the miles back to the base in silence, her heart full of mounting dread, and so consumed was she with sudden fear she rarely lifted her gaze from the sandy gravel that lined the side of the road. She thought she saw other roads suspended in time over the road upon which she walked, then the base was just ahead and she tried to clear the disconcerting image from the sadness that had come for her. When she walked up the landing to her apartment she saw the Chaplain and another man from the base and they told her Jimmy was dead -- but by that point she already knew that. They comforted her and gave her a number to call if she needed help and were soon gone; she walked into their little bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at his clothes in the closet for a long time. Every piece of clothing held a memory and she held a shirt to her face and tried to breathe in his scent just one more time -- but nothing was the same now, everything was changing again. She held his shirt as she lay down on the bed and she felt the tears come. She must have fallen asleep at some point because she woke in the darkness when she heard Jimmy calling to her and she wondered when he'd gotten back -- then she remembered where he was and what had happened. A roadside bomb, an IED the man from the base had called it. She wondered if that was the other road she had seen on her walk home but dismissed the thought... The next morning a knock on the front door woke her again and she stumbled out to see who it was and found the Chaplain and a woman from the base: they needed to talk with her. The woman asked if she and Jimmy had been married and she told them the truth while she looked at the preacher; the woman looked at the preacher and he just shook his head and they left her with some papers to read and sign but the simple truth of the matter was Dreamaway had no earthly idea how to read and she sat and stared at the paper all day. She had not the slightest idea what to do next, or who to turn to. Dream a Little Dream of Me The woman from the base came back later that afternoon and found Dreamaway where she'd last seen her; she listened while the poor girl talked of her inability to read, and the woman tried as best she could to explain to the girl that as she and Jimmy hadn't been married she would have to leave the apartment within ten days and that she would not receive any assistance from the Coast Guard. The woman from the base left Dreamaway and was ashamed to have had to tell someone so woefully unprepared for life that they were about to be cast out into the night. She resolved to call the base chaplain and tell the old man what she'd learned and see if there wasn't something he could do to help. He had, after all, reported the matter to her. The Chaplain came by see Dreamaway the next morning and learned the girl had already left; cleaning ladies contracted by the base were already clearing-out the apartment and packing up the young man's belongings. "Was she here when you came this morning?" he asked them. "Yeah, she was," one of the women said. "We asked if we could help her or somethin' but she just put her stuff in a sack and left." The Chaplain shook his head and turned to leave, and that, he told himself, was that. +++++ She had no idea what to do or where to go so she walked back to town; she hadn't considered what she might do that night or the next because for all she knew she was having a nightmare and she'd wake up soon and find Jimmy's smiling face leaning down to kiss hers and all this nonsense would be over and done with. That was the only possible explanation because nothing else made sense. She made her way back to the river hoping to wake up sometime soon because she was getting hungry, and she found herself on the same park bench by the boardwalk where she had passed the day before, only now she sat in the fading light and watched as autumn leaves fell from trees and swirled around the concrete before falling into the black water below the boardwalk. People walked by from time to time and some looked at the laundry bag at her feet then at her eyes and she saw an awful mixture of pity and revulsion drift through their eyes before they faded from view; their passing condemnation only strengthened her belief that all this was a nightmare. What had she done to hurt them? 'Why did they look at me like that?' Shadows grew longer and darker, street lights winked on as shopkeepers closed-up for the night and still she sat on the bench -- no longer wondering what might happen and wishing only she could simply dissolve into the darkness and disappear. Before it grew completely dark a sailboat came downriver and tied up at the town dock beneath her bench; a huge man hopped off and tied the boat to the dock below then ambled away unsteadily to a little brick building down the boardwalk and disappeared inside. She looked at the boat, wondered about all the places the man might have been even as the cold evening wind whipped her bare legs; she reached into her bag and pulled out an old sweater and put it on. The man from the boat walked by a few minutes later and looked at her as he drew near, said "Howdy, Ma'am" as he passed and she thought he had a kind face; she watched in silence as the man made his way back down to the sailboat and hopped onboard and she wanted to smile or laugh at him: he looked like a roly-poly in his orange sweatshirt and baggy blue sweatpants. He grumbled around for a moment on the back of the boat then disappeared below and she couldn't imagine someone so huge living in something so small. She heard pots and pans clattering in the darkness then the most God-awful smelling food drifted over the park-bench -- but even so she found she was getting hungrier and hungrier and no matter how weird the stuff smelled she found she wanted some of whatever he was cooking -- 'anything would be just fine,' she told herself as her stomach rumbled. Then she heard the man getting ready for bed -- teeth were brushed, a couple of coughs here and there before a massive, rumbling fart ripped the night -- then the lights went out down below and she wondered what kind of crazy fool would sleep on a boat and what had he eaten to produce a fart that loud? She reached into her sack and brought out Jimmy's big hoodie-sweatshirt and put it on, then laid herself out on the bench with the wadded bag of clothing as her pillow and she closed her eyes. For a while she tried to ignore the growling in her belly or the occasional car that roared across the bridge to the other side of the river, and eventually she fell asleep. She felt light shining through her closed eyelids and opened them, sat up too quickly and halfway expected to find a policeman standing over her -- but then... nothing... she looked down the sidewalk and over her shoulder at the street and she couldn't see anything, hear anyone... "Excuse me," she heard a man say; what? where? from the water? She turned and saw the huge man on the boat, saw a flashlight in his hand... she rubbed her eyes and yawned: "What? Did you say somethin'?" she said as she shielded her eyes from the light. "Uh, yeah, pardon me, but are you sleeping out here?" he said as he turned off the flashlight. "Yep." "Christ! Look, it's forty three degrees out here and it's only midnight. It's gonna get colder than stink tonight!" "So?" "You wanna blanket or somethin'?" "Nope." "Coffee? Or hot chocolate?" Her stomach rumbled and he seemed to hear that and she turned away: "No, thank you," she said dismissively, quietly. "When's the last time you had something to eat?" he said. She shrugged her shoulders, looked down at her feet then up at the man when she heard him clambering off the boat and walking her way. She thought about running -- but where? Where would she go? He didn't look mean -- just huge! She could easily run away from him if she had to... She kept her head down, saw his huge feet as he walked up to her: "I'd be right happy if you just left me alone, mister," she said softly. "I think you are alone," he said. "And I don't think its doin' you much good." "Please?" she pleaded. "You run away from home or somethin'?" His voice was deep and oddly resonant, almost comforting. "What?" "How old are you?" "Twenty! Do I look like I just run-away from home to you?" "You look like you're about half that age! Now come on, no BS, how old are you?" "I told you how old I am, mister! Now, would you leave..." "Why are you out here? I mean, what happened?" She didn't say a word, just looked down at her feet and a moment later she heard him walk away. She watched as he hauled himself up on deck and listened as he thumped and bumped his way down below, then she heard pots banging and soon smelled bacon frying, and coffee... "Bastard!" she mumbled. A while later he lumbered up on deck and hopped back down onto the dock while balancing a plate in his hand; he walked up to her and handed her a plate loaded with bacon and eggs and buttered toast then stood back from her: "You want cream and sugar?" he said. "What?" "In your coffee?" "Oh. Both, I guess." "Right." He turned and thumped back down to the boat and came back a minute later with two huge mugs of coffee. "Thanks," she said, and she meant it. She'd never had better eggs in her life... "No problemo." "What?" "You're welcome. Eat up before the eggs get cold." "I ain't never had coffee b'fore." "Oh, you want something else?" "No, it's real good." She wolfed the food down and mopped up the yolk with toast. "Those were real fine." "You still hungry?" She nodded her head. "Uh-huh." "Look, I'm fine carryin' stuff out here but it'd be easier if you, you know, at least came up and sat by the boat. I ain't gonna bite, ya know?" She laughed a little. "I'm alright here if that's okay..." "Yeah, sure..." He took the plate from her and returned to the boat; she listened while he resumed cooking and suddenly felt ashamed of her suspiciousness and simple bad manners. She stood and stretched, grabbed her things and walked along the dock down to his boat, and while she felt unsure of herself she still felt the guy looked harmless, even nice. She felt stiff all over, however, and was still chilled to her bones -- and besides, the food smelled good, too. She thought a little about lambs being led to slaughter but somehow this guy didn't seem like the type... He came up from down below and saw her standing beside the boat and stopped in his tracks: "You like to come up?" She nodded and he folded out a table in front of a huge steering wheel and put a plate on it, then he reached over and held out his hand to help her up. She hesitated a moment, felt like she was on the edge of a vast decision, then reached out and took his hand and let him pull her up. She put her coffee on the table and sat down; the man trundled back down inside the boat and she looked after him and was shocked by what she saw: It was another world inside, a world of honey colored wood so glossy the walls seemed to glow. Little brass oil lamps cast splashes of amber light onto the impossible wood and the whole effect was to her quite otherworldly and so completely at odds with her expectations that she grew even more unsettled. She saw him disappear at the far end of the cabin then come back a moment later with a huge blue-green blanket; he came up to the near end of the cabin and handed the blanket up to her then turned to the 'kitchen' and started cleaning up. She shook herself free from the spell and looked at the food, then at the man again: part of her wanted to run while another part wanted to stay and understand how all this could be. She took the fork and started eating again, looked at the back of his head and his shoulders while he scrubbed a big shiny skillet. He wasn't fat, really, she saw, he was just incredibly tall and wore really loose clothes. She could see huge, sloping muscles under his shirt; they seemed to angle up to his neck in one smooth, unbroken line, and the back of his head was a series of hard angles. His hair was short, real short, and looked like a load of salt and pepper had been thrown on what once had been very light brown hair. She leaned forward and looked down at his back and his legs: again she was left with the impression of muscle, vast, strong muscle. She was staring at his legs when she felt his eyes on her. She turned back to her food and tried to fight the shame she felt washing over her face, and again she wanted to pick up and run -- but she couldn't. She felt almost glued in place, like a fly in amber, yet for some reason she wasn't afraid anymore. He came up a moment later with his own mug and sat across from her; he crossed his legs and she had the impression that ancient tree trunks were shifting before her eyes... She knew she was unfocused and must look a fool but she found herself speechless and helpless to even move. She looked at the man and he was looking directly at her: "Your eggs get cold?" She could hardly understand what he said: "What?" "The eggs? They're gonna get stone cold if you don't eat 'em." "Oh." She took a bite, then another, suddenly felt full and sleepy but was still afraid to move. "Look, there's a spare bunk in the aft cabin. I don't want you to feel weird about it but feel free to bunk out there for a while." She grew stiff and still, her eyes focused straight ahead... "None of my business," the man said, "but did something happened? Are you okay?" She pulled her knees up to her chin and started rocking back and forth, her eyes now wide open and remained fixed dead ahead... she started humming something her mama used to when she'd been very little and she could see the fields and the mountains and their little mobile home, then she felt a blanket being wrapped around her body and arms closing around her shoulders... "Sh-h, sh-h-h," she heard her mama whisper, "it's gonna be okay now... don't cry, baby... don't cry..." but it wasn't her mama's voice she heard -- she had the impression it was the man's voice because he was beside her now, holding her and rocking her and patting her head. She could feel herself crying from someplace far away and all of the pain and fear and uncertainty of the past two days came boiling out of her and into the night -- onto this man's impossibly hard shoulder -- and while she wanted to run away she also wanted to turn around and look up into his eyes because something told her she had to get to know him before something real bad happened. She struggled with all these impossible emotions until she drifted away in his arms, until she felt sleep come for her. She felt herself lift and float for a moment, felt impossible softness under her and enveloping warmth all around her and incredible peace came to her in a dream and even deep within her sleep she could feel herself smiling. She knew she had found something important. +++++ She heard a muffled 'Goddamnit-all-to-hell', felt hot sun on her face and opened her eyes. There was an odd, sloped ceiling not an arm's length above her and more of that wondrous glowing wood all around her and suddenly she fought the feeling that she was inside an impossibly beautiful coffin. Then she remembered the sun on her face and looked toward the light; she saw pure sunlight coming through a hole in another ceiling higher than the first one, then she heard the man struggling with something in another room, heard him cussing and struggling with tools and she smiled. These were sounds she understood. Dreamaway looked around this little womb-like space: she was in a tiny room that was solid all-glowing honey-colored wood, she was laying in a narrow bed that was incredibly soft -- like a cloud -- and she was covered with a heavy blanket that smelled of flowers and sunshine. She needed to go to the bathroom, she was thirsty and her mouth tasted thick and foul and she sat up and twisted out of the narrow bed and stood up in the tiny room. She was still in her clothes and her bag was on top of a little bureau built into the impossible curves of the room and she shook her head and rubbed her eyes and opened the wooden door and stepped out into the main 'room' and saw the man laying on the floor in his shorts, his arms covered in grease and with a pile of tools laying on towels all around him on the wooden floor... "You alright, mister?" she said. "Crap!" he said as he bolter upright. "Oh, sorry! Did I wake you?" "I need to go to the bathroom!" she said with some urgency. "Now." "Right!" He jumped up and led her forward and pointed out the little cabin: "Just leave it when you're done -- I'll come do the honors..." She didn't understand what he meant and didn't care, she darted into the little room and yanked her pants down and just managed to sit on the likeliest looking contraption before she wet herself. She went for what felt like an hour then she stood and turned on the tap -- and water came out! -- and she washed her hands and rubbed her face with cold water, then looked at the contraption and wondered how the hell was she supposed to flush the thing. She'd heard about toilets before but never seen one... "Excuse me, but how do I flush this thing?" she said through the door. "Don't bother!" she heard him say from somewhere by his pile of tools. "I'll have to show you." She wiped her face on a clean towel and opened the door, slipped out of the bathroom and made her way back to where the man lay on the floor, his hands underneath a huge, gray engine. "You need a hand?" she said. "Not unless you know how to change a fan belt? On an alternator?" "Sure," she said, and she thought he must be like he must be a moron or something. "I can do that." He stopped what he was doing and turned around and looked at her, his lips bunched up under grease smears on his forehead. "Well, I can't! Thought I could, but I can't!" "That the belt?" she said as she kneeled beside him. "Yep." She looked at the engine for a moment, studied it, then sat down and in less than two minutes changed the belt. "My daddy showed me how," she said as she looked up at him. "I'll be ... I see..." the man said as she stood there looking at her. She looked at him and smiled at his discomfort, then she remembered last night and for some reason she felt afraid again. "What happened to me last night?" "You were having a rough time. I got you down and put you in the bunk. Hope you don't mind." "Oh." "You wanna talk about it?" She looked away. "I don't even know your name. Why would I want to talk to you?" "Good point." "My boyfriend was just killed," she blurted without thinking, "in Iraq. I had to move out of base housing." "Yeah. You mentioned something about that. When... did this happen?" "Day before yesterday, I guess." "You have someplace to stay? Family you can call?" "Family, yeah, but I ain't going back. Not like this, anyways." "Have you thought about what you're going to do?" "No." "Well, I'm leaving here, probably tomorrow morning. You're welcome to stay onboard today if you like. Until you figure out what you're going to do." She nodded, didn't know what to say. "And I've got to run to the grocery store in a little bit." "You want me to leave? When you..." "No, no. Stay as long as you like." "Thanks," she said. She walked by him and slipped into her tiny cabin and lay down. She curled up into a fetal ball and did her best not to cry. She heard him leave a few minutes later and closed her eyes. +++++ She was aware of an intense smell again, this time in her sleep, and it was like the stink she'd been covered with the night before, only now it was stronger. She crawled out of the bunk and slipped into the kitchen: the man was frying chicken, but not like any she'd ever cooked. She eased by him and went into the bathroom and washed-up again, then went back and sat across from him and watched him while he cooked. He moved economically, his hands moved quickly and precisely; chicken breasts were dredged in egg and spices, deposited in hot oil; he had done this before and was comfortable with himself -- even with her watching. "What's your name?" she said. "Alan. Alan Whitman." He looked at her, smiled. "What's yours?" "Dreamaway." If he was surprised he didn't show it, and he didn't make any jokes about it either. "So. You're from the mountains? Here, in North Carolina?" "That's right. West of here, I think." He nodded. "Where'd you go to school?" "I didn't." "No? No college? What about high school?" "I didn't go to school." That stopped him -- in his tracks: "Really? Never?" "Well, I went one day but everyone made fun of me so I stopped." "Where'd you learn to read and write, then? At home?" "Nope." He looked at her again with... what? Pity? Concern? She couldn't tell; his expressions were hard to read. "Was your boyfriend in the Coast Guard?" "Yep." "Ever had a job?" "Nope. Except working on my Daddies farm." "Excuse me for askin', but how old are you? Did you say twenty?" "Yep. A couple months ago. How about you?" "The high side of fifty." "You ever had a job?" He smiled at her, at her humor, only she wasn't smiling. "Well yeah. I used to fly airplanes for a living." "No shit! I seen some of those out at the base. Big white ones." "No kiddin'?" he said. "You ever go up in one?" She looked at him like he'd suddenly sprouted an extra head: "Ain't no way you'd catch me up in one of them things. Nope, not me!" He laughed at her reaction: "I know what you mean." He moved and turned the chicken in the oil, turned down the fire under the skillet. "Hope you like fried chicken." "I'm so hungry I could eat the bark off a tree!" Dream a Little Dream of Me "Well, hopefully it'll be a little better than that." "Hope I ain't bein' rude or nothin', but it sure smells funny." "Oh? Not like old time chicken," Alan said -- but he didn't seem offended. "Cook it in olive oil and butter, and lots of lemon and garlic." "Garlic? What's that?" Even though his back was to her she was sure he was smiling. "Kind of like a stinky onion. Mainly in the spinach, though." He took the chicken from the skillet and put the meat on some paper towels atop a plate, then moved to stir another pot on the stove. "Nice out tonight," he said after a minute. "Think you're up to sitting outside?" "Yeah, sure." "Well, head on up and I'll pass the stuff up to you..." She climbed up the steep steps and sat by the opening, took the plates he passed up and put them on the table; he came up a minute later with two glasses of ice water and some utensils and sat across from her. The sun had kissed the horizon and the sky was clear, the moon hung above the eastern horizon like a huge orange lantern and the sight almost took her breath away. She took some chicken and it tasted different. Good, but different. "That's some moon," he said between bites. "How's the grub?" "Good," she said. Is that garlic?" she said as she pointed at white flecks in the spinach. "Yeah. Fresh spinach, a little olive oil and lemon, garlic and white wine and parmesian." "Ain't never had nothin' like it," she said. "Well, hope you don't mind it." "I don't," she said. "And thanks. For what you done." "Yeah? Well, my pleasure, and you're welcome." He looked at her and winked. "You said, 'used to.' Why did you stop? Flying, I mean?" He shrugged, looked away. "Somethin' bad happen?" she said when she saw a tear in his eye. "My boy. My son," he said, but something stopped him. "Somethin' happen to him?" "Iraq," he said. She nodded because she knew exactly what he wanted to say. "I used to help with the animals. On the farm, I mean." "Yeah?" he said as he shook himself back into the present. "What was that like?" "You ain't never took care of animals before?" "No. Well, a dog once, but that probably doesn't count." She laughed a little. "Nope. We never had no dog." She looked at him, saw him look at her legs once then look away quickly and she smiled inside. 'Men must all be like little boys, just all grown up,' she told herself -- because Jimmy had looked at her the same way when he wanted to make love. Did Alan want to make love? She watched him for a while and was pretty sure he did. She finished eating while she thought about that, helped him carry the dishes below and she sat while he cleaned up the mess and she felt very self-conscious even though he'd insisted. "Is there someplace I could take a bath or somethin'? Because I think I'm getting kinda high, don't you?" He looked at her and scratched his head: "You'll have to on-board, I guess. This is the town dock; we can use the public restroom but they don't have shower facilities, at least not this year. Hang on a minute and I'll grab you a towel..." He wrapped up the 'galley' and went forward and got a towel and started her way then stopped: "You need one towel, or two?" "Why would I need two? You think I'm fat?" "God no!" he said -- and the way he said it made her want to smile again. He was getting nervous around her and she could tell he thought she was cute and that made her feel all warm inside. She stood and moved toward him, reached for the towel and rubbed her breasts against his arm and felt the heat from his body as she passed him. "I'll have to show you how," he stammered. "To use the shower. I mean." "Okay." She followed him into the little cubicle he called 'the head' and he explained how the amount of water on-board was limited, and that since there was no drain the water she used would have to be pumped off as well. He turned to leave and she pressed into him as he walked by, felt him respond to her touch; he seemed to pause for a moment, then he shut the door behind her. She showered, was amazed how good it felt to get clean, and she washed herself down there because she knew she was going to fuck him -- she wanted to, badly, and in a way she never had with Jimmy. She thought about him while she touched herself and she felt her slippery wetness through the warm water and her belly caught fire, then she turned off the water, listened, could hear him in his cabin up forward and she smiled as she pictured his nervousness. When she was dry she wrapped the towel around her waist and opened the door; her breasts were exposed but covered by her long red hair -- and she knew this would drive him crazy because it had always driven Jimmy out of his mind. The door to his cabin was open a little and she knocked on it, opened it all the way and walked in; he was under the covers on his bed, reading a book by the light of an oil lamp, and he looked up at her when she walked in and she saw he was struggling to keep his eyes off her chest. She walked up beside the berth and peeled the sheets down; he was in his undershorts but it was obvious his cock was hard. His eyes remained fixed on her, but Dreamaway had her eyes on something else. "Sit up," she said. When he had she pulled his shorts down and smiled, then she climbed up on the bed and straddled his thighs, leaned forward and put her fingers on his chest and let them play in his hair for a moment. She liked the way he felt, the way he looked at her, and she liked the way she felt he she rubbed him -- then she slid forward and raised above his cock and let her pubic hair drift lightly over the gleaming head. She brushed the tip of his cock with her silkiness while she continued to look into his eyes, and she moved as slowly and as gently as she could. She kept it up, slow, soft, for quite a while -- and she watched his face; once a tremble seemed to pass through his body and she lower herself imperceptibly until her cunt just brushed the length of his cock and a much harder shiver passed from his body into hers. She smiled, moved forward some more until she had his arms pinned under her knees. "I gotcha now," she said softly. "You do indeed." "Want me to stop?" "Not ever." She edged forward a little more until her cunt was over his face, his arms still pinned but now under her shins, and she lowered herself onto his mouth. She took her hands and rubbed his face, then pulled his mouth closer, thrust her cunt into his face as roughly as she could and suddenly she craved the sense of union she had with the man. It had been so long... so long... since Jimmy, and never like this... She held his face to her cunt while she rocked back and forth, until she felt her orgasm building in her feet and burning up her legs like the fuse in a stick of dynamite -- and soon she went off like a bomb in the night, her body lost in deep bucking convulsions as wave after wave of liquid heat washed over and through her hot skin; she felt his tongue inside her cunt, felt his own shaking need through her orgasm and she lowered herself down his body until she was poised once again over his cock and she took it in her hand and rubbed the tip of it over her slit until she felt no resistance, then she impaled herself on it. She fell, as if backwards off a cliff, into another massive orgasm; her back arched and her head flew back, then she convulsed and her head arced through the air until her hair wet whipped his face. She felt his hands on her hips, felt him thrusting into her, felt his back stiffening; his cock was deep inside her womb and all was lost inside the frenzied grinding of this unexpected union. She dug her fingernails into his chest and felt all the energy in the universe pour from his cock into her cunt as wave after wave of orgasm ripped through her like a vast, never-ending shock wave. She felt herself falling, falling, and soon she felt sleep washing over her, felt his arms around her, his lips kissing the top of her head. She knew she was smiling because this dream had been good. +++++ She woke in the middle of the night, felt him there beside her and she reached under the sheets and felt his cock, took it in her hand and drew little circles on the underside with her fingernails. Before he could respond she moved down and took him in her mouth and swirled her tongue around the tip of it until it was hard, then she attacked it furiously, moved up and down the length of it until she could feel his need building, then she moved more quickly, until she could feel the entire length of his cock burning and pulsing. Little jets of warm cream flashed into her mouth and she sucked him hard, wanted to savor every drop of him and she milked his cock until he filled her mouth, then she sat up and looked at him while she swallowed. The full moon was high in the sky, silver light flooded in through an open hatch just overhead and she put her hands up onto the hatch frames and pulled herself up and looked outside: moonlight shimmered on a sea of small waves, bare trees across the river looked like distant black shadows, and the world was quiet -- so quiet. She felt him below, felt him sit up and kiss her belly, then her breasts -- and she smiled as the warmth inside her loins began to build again, and spread. She lowered herself onto him and his cock slipped right in -- she put her arms around his and her face on his shoulder while she felt him growing inside, then she began rocking again, rocking until the fires returned and came for them both. +++++ She woke, felt the sun on her face again and looked at the room she was in, his room, and she felt unsure of herself again because she remembered he'd said he was leaving this morning. What was going to happen? Would he toss her off the boat? Would he stay? 'What do I want to do?' The boat was silent, she heard only the sound of tiny waves lapping against the hull and seagulls wheeling through the air somewhere nearby, maybe voices up on the boardwalk... She went into the head, washed up and walked back to the galley. She heard someone whistling and she knew it was him and her heart leapt. She felt the boat move as he hopped onboard and then she saw his tree-trunk legs in the cockpit and she was so happy to see him she could have burst. He leaned over, stuck his head down the companionway: "You up? Goodness me but you sure know how to sleep!" She laughed, smiled, and the uneasiness she'd felt a few minutes before disappeared. 'What did the future hold?' she asked herself again. Didn't mama say I would learn as I went along? He hopped below, seemed embarrassed, almost shy when he looked at her, then he opened the icebox and pulled a pitcher of orange juice out and got out a couple of glasses and filled them. He indicated the table and sat down; Dreamaway took the glass he offered and sat across from him -- her stomach burning with anxiety. She took a sip, then looked down at her feet. He sensed he was trying to make up his mind about something and she felt so unsure of herself... "You want me to go?" she finally asked. She looked up at him, watched his eyes and the indecision written all over his face... "Just tell me... if that's the..." "No. I don't want you to go." There was something in his voice: "But?" she said, dreading what she knew was coming next. He looked at her: "No buts," he said. "Do you want to stay?" "Yep." She saw him smile, saw tension ease from his face. 'So, that was why...' "Come here," he said as he indicated his lap. "Sit." She came over and sat on his legs, put her arms around his neck and kissed him, then he pulled back from her a little and took her hand in his and kissed it. He was so gentle, so completely the opposite of everything she had expected... He took a little wrapped package from his pocket and handed it to her. "Open it," he said. She unwrapped the little package and opened the box, saw a bright silver bracelet inside and gasped: she never had anything like it in her life and it took her breath away... "It's an ID bracelet," he said. She picked it up and held it to the sunlight, saw writing on it and wondered what it said... "Dreamaway," he said when he saw her eyes. "It says Dreamaway." She fell into his arms and held him tightly, smelled his skin and his hair: "Thank you," she said. "No, darlin'; Thank You." She pulled back and looked at him and saw he was smiling and she wanted to bask in the warmth of it. She didn't understand but she knew that didn't matter -- he was here and she was with him and right now -- today -- that was all that mattered. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be happy, then looked at Alan and knew it was. +++++ He backed away from the dock and drifted out into the current, then slipped the motor into gear and turned downstream and motioned for her to come... "You're gonna steer for a while, okay?" "What! No..." "Come here, stand behind the wheel, take it in your hand..." He put his hands on top of hers and moved the wheel and she could feel how it worked. After a few minutes he pulled his hands away: "Now, steer for that red marker sticking up over there," he said as he pointed downriver. Then: "Atta-girl. You got it." He went up on deck and pulled in fat rubber things that had been hanging down by the water and he tied them off, then looked up at the sky for a moment before he came back to the cockpit and started pulling on ropes. A sail rolled out of the mast and two more sprang to life from up front and he adjusted them on big metal things, then he reached down and flipped a switch and the motor died... They were moving, and fast too, but now everything was silent -- except for the sound the wind and the waves made... "It's magic!" she smiled out loud, and he nodded. "They look like clouds!" The red marker got close and he pointed out another one downriver and told her to steer for that next one and she did: "I can do this!" "Of course you can. You just need a good teacher." "Will you be my teacher?" He smiled, looked at all her purity and innocence before speaking: "I will. You've taught me a few things too, already. You know that, don't you?" She smiled, blushed, took her eyes off the water and the sails started to rumble and shake and she panicked... He was beside her instantly and put his hands on hers again, showed her how to regain control, then he made the sails shake again on purpose and let her fix it this time and she did. She jumped up and down a couple of times and squealed: "I did it! I did it!" and he laughed with her, then he came and stood beside her. "You been to Florida before?" "Alan, I ain't never been nowhere but Elkin and Elizabeth City..." "Fair enough. You wanna go someplace where the water is clear and the air is warm? Where there are beaches that look like fine sugar and that go on for miles and miles?" "Yep!" "Then we'll have to get you a passport." "A what?" "Nevermind. We'll figure that out tomorrow." She looked at his smile, at the warmth in his eyes. Tomorrow. The word felt so good now, so good coming from his lips, so good resting on her soul. But tomorrow didn't concern her anymore; no, not in the least. She found herself thinking about the coming night, and what she planned to do to him, and she smiled again. And she smiled because she knew she'd finally found the clouds, and she wondered where they would take her. * ©2008-9:6/8/09AL