The Dream

He comes to you in a dream, though it is so realistic you don't realise this until afterwards. The dream is unlike any others you have had: it is in no way sexually-motivated or wet. There is no primal desire nor does it leave you waking up the next morning with a mess to clean up and questions as to how loud your expressions of ecstasy had been. In fact, it is almost no different to your life. Although, It is not a problem and neither is He. 

No, this time you start off in a public place with your mother. You are accompanying her on a weekend errand run and currently find yourself at the bank. In a queue. Where else?! As you wait you have a look around the bank, trying to find something interesting in this most mundane of places. Your mother is worrying about what she needs to explain when she finally gets to the desk, so the stilted conversation you had been having has now ceased. Your eyes have explored the entire right wall, with all its grand posters each exclaiming, in bright letters, a different spectacular feature of the financial institution where you are stuck in line. Your eyes continue to wander around the room, ever moving clockwise, when you notice someone your own age is waiting in line behind you. He sees that you have become aware of his presence and without hesitation he remarks, "Boring isn't it? I hate banks and their stupid promo posters, though I'd have to say that one is my favourite." You both chuckle at the poster proclaiming the nation's best customer service.

 You wonder whether he realises he has revealed, inadvertently or not, that he has been watching you for a while, by this comment. Granted, they are the closest thing to interesting here, but your gaze and attention left the posters a long time ago. But apparently, you've managed to catch his interest and, for once, keeping up a conversation with a complete stranger is easy for you. Without needing to think about it, the words, questions and answers slip smoothly from your lips. 

You find out that you have a mutual friend. One who is having a party on the next weekend, to which both of you are hoping to go. Though as you explained to him, parties are somewhat of an unexplored realm for you. You don't mention your normally faltering conversations as a main reason for this.

Without drawing your attention away from your newly found connection, your mother has reached the desk and had her worry sorted out. She makes her way over to where you are, as the lady at the desk becomes increasingly impatient with he who has made the remainder of your wait go in a flash. However, now it is his turn. "This won't take long", he informs me before rushing up, apologetically, to the desk. 

"He seems nice." These words bring you back. Your mother is smiling at you. 

"He's a friend of Jarryd's", you explain. Not because you need to hide this from her, but because, just for the time being, you want to keep what you have found in him, hidden. 

Your eyes return to the desk, where he is finishing up. You take note that he has managed to put a smile back on the desk lady's face. It seems he is quite good at creating smiles. He reaches you and your mother, "Is it okay if I tag along with you for a bit?", he asks. Instantly, a 'yes' bursts to the edge of your mouth, but before you can let it out, your mother's, "sure", beats you to it. You wonder if she can feel the glow off of your face as she says this. "What did you say your name was?" 

"Henry."

 You like the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. The way it suits him and how you know it's a name you'll never forget. 

The three of you wander in and out of the various shops as you work your way down the list of errands. All the time the conversation flows freely between you. He is not daunted by her, indeed, he takes it in his stride effortlessly. His confidence and easy-going nature put you at ease, while his smiles and the sparkle in his eye as he looks at you, send your heart racing and give birth to many a stomach butterfly. 

When you have come to the end of the list, you're mother looks at you, knowingly. Without you even needing to ask, she gives you the answer you had been wishing for, "I'll see you when you get home. I trust you'll make sure my son gets home safely, Henry."

"You've got it Mrs G. I'll drop him off once we've finished here." With that your mother leaves you about to melt, as you wonder how this day could get any better. And then it does as he wraps his arm around your waist and directs you into the next store. It's a clothes store and the normally boring activity has found a sudden new appeal.

He takes you to the jeans section. "Mind helping me pick out a pair?", he asks, "It gives you an excuse to have a good look!" Although this could come off as arrogance in many people, that word couldn't be further from your mind or the truth about him. Though the smile that spreads to his face would give him enough reason to be, if he was like that. 

"What? You mean to say I haven't already?!" He laughs and then grabs two pairs and ducks off to the fitting rooms.

Before long, he is back out with you, modelling them as if on a catwalk. In your opinion, he should be on a catwalk, although, having said that, that would mean you'd have to share this experience with others. Let's just keep him modelling for you, you think. Every pair he tries on looks great, but eventually the two of you narrow down the options and finally pick one. After going to the counter, he tells you "I'd better get you home. I don't want to get on your mum's bad side." 

"I don't think that's possible. Even if she likes you only half as much as I do." You beam as you say this and he beams back at you.

"Still, if I wasn't allowed to see you, I don't know how I'd cope." With that he leans over and kisses you. It feels so right and you know this is where you belong.

You walk back to his car, he chucks the jeans in the back and opens the passenger door for you. You slide in and he hops into the driver's seat. "Now", he says, "where are we going?" You realise, with a shock, that this is just the first time you have met. He doesn't know where you live, even though you have spent the day feeling like the two of you have known each other for years.

You tell him where to go and how to get there. When you are a street away he pulls over and you begin to tell him he has gotten a little confused, but then you realise what he is doing. You lean over to him, as he does the same, and that feeling of being home returns, growing stronger. 

Once you are done, you regain your composure, and make sure you look all neat and tidy. He pulls out onto the road again and drops you off outside your house. "Thanks for today. I had a great time", you confess and you can't resist kissing him again before you leave. 

"You kidding? The pleasure's been all mine. So, I'll see you at Jarryd's?"

With a moment of poise you didn't know you possessed, you reply, "Maybe. We'll see..."And with that you leave, with a skip in your step. 

The week drags along ever so slowly and the weekend seems like a far-too-distant mirage. But, eventually, it does come and with it, the party at Jarryd's. 

You arrive and you immediately start looking for him. He finds you, greets you with a kiss and a firm hug. "I thought you'd never get here," he tells me. "There's this place I found that I want to show you", he informs me as he grabs your hand and leads you towards the park that backs onto Jarryd's place. 

The party has obviously been going on for a while, because as you walk, you pass various couples who have claimed their own bit of grass. Their shameless displays of intimacy, many of which should definitely have moved to a bedroom, would normally have made you uneasy. However, with Henry by your side, you feel like you could handle anything. You reach the edge of the trees and as you walk underneath the first one he takes your hand and places it on his hip, drawing you closer to him. "I hope you don't mind, but it's a bit chilly." He smiles. As do you. He knows this late summer's night couldn't be described as chilly by anyone's standards. But he doesn't need an excuse anyway, "As long as your happy to do the same for me", you say. 

"That was the plan", he confesses and the cheeky grin returns to his cute face. 

And then his face blurs, the trees fade away and you notice the feel of your doona on your skin. With a rapidly sinking feeling you realise it was just a dream. You wish with all your might that it wasn't so, but you can't escape the truth. You grab at the the few fragments of the dream that remain, willing yourself back to him. But you can't get there. The problems return, as menacing as ever, and He blows his nose. An air horn, blasting you back to reality...

The significance of Him having no part in a dream that felt so perfect does not escape without you noticing. But more than that, the dreaded isolated feeling returns and it nearly brings you to tears. It had felt so real. So right. He had been completely original, so unlike many of the guys you had defined as your 'type'. Nevertheless, you and he had fit together. You belonged together. Yet he was merely a figment of your imagination, trapped in the world that was The Dream. The one that you would never, ever, forget...

_________________________________________________________

Things are getting pretty hectic at school, so I doubt I'll be able to post anything more before the holidays in about 3 weeks time. I hope this is enough to tide you over until then...

His is heaven

There he is. All yours. There is no one to disturb you, nothing that could interrupt or spoil this moment. Finally, the wait is over.

You wrap your arms around him, trying to draw him into you. Inhaling his scent and learning all the curves of his body. Feeling his muscles working against yours...

And then, he pushes you away. Confused, you wait, as he does it again. This time it is with more force and he pushes you, roughly, onto the bed. He takes a few steps back. Normally, in a situation like this, you'd be scared, but not this time, not with him. You slide up the bed and rest your back against the wall, completely at ease.

He's smiling at you now, and you are smiling back. His grin becomes cheeky as he lifts up his top teasingly slowly. He looks even better at this close range, or is it the look he is giving you, the one challenging you to find fault with what you see, that is really what is getting your blood pumping?

He reaches for the button on his jeans, works it through the hole and then agonisingly lowers the zip. The more he reveals, the more you want. God he's gorgeous!

You watch the muscles ripple through his body as he moves back towards you, in nothing but his underwear. He reaches the bed, and your feet. He grabs them and drags you towards him, flexing his arms as he does this. He reaches for your socks and, using his teeth, he rips them off and then works his way up your legs to your own jean button. He places his mouth over it and somehow manages to undo it. He feels how excited that made you. His eyes lift and stare straight into yours, making you want to melt. His mouth never losing contact with your zipper as he works that undone as well.

Now, he lets the zipper fall from his mouth. His head snakes upwards, brushing against your underwear, but continuing up along your stomach and across your chest. His hands are busy continuing where his mouth left off, slipping your pants off from around your legs. His mouth reaches yours and he gives you a real taste of his skill. Your hands are wrapped around his waist, trying to tame the beast you have unleashed. But this primal animal is contagious. You push and pull on his waist, starting him in a rhythm, as you lower his underwear.

He is fully exposed and his cockiness, in more than one way, is really turning you on. This is a guy who knows what he wants, and you're gonna do your darndest to make sure he gets it. It doesn't matter how quickly this has all happened. That you only made the breakthrough last week. All that matters is that you're on the same page now that you've confessed your feelings for him. But better still, you're on the same mattress, and it's not the only thing groaning from the activity.

All your senses are in overdrive as you present for him, knowing he'll do the same for you not long from now. Everything becomes more frenzied, escalating. The noises and even the smell, now laced with some sweat. If his was a perfume, you'd buy out every shop.

His hands are racing over your skin. Wherever they touch, bursts into flame. This sensual fire continues to burn hotter and hotter, until...

His arms come together around your stomach and chest. They squeeze tighter and tighter, as it is he who tries to draw you into him this time. He stiffens and then the fire becomes an explosion of passion and desire. You collapse onto the bed, and he does the same onto you. He runs his finger along the ridge of your back as you both prepare to switch roles.

But he gets you before you can get him. He takes you where you are most vulnerable. He knows the spot to hit and his tongue knows exactly what to do there. Again, your ecstasy soars upward like a rocket and you have to turn over to stop it from hurting. He doesn't let you rest, he is hungry, almost ravenous. His mouth reaches its target and he starts off on a new rhythm, once again looking straight into your eyes. And you wonder why it took you this long to find. How you could have faultered at that vital point for so long. What would have happened if he hadn't taken the lead. However, more strongly than any other, the desire to never lose this rings throughout your head.

For The Love Of Ball Games

You wonder how they'd react if they knew. How things would be different if they knew that their parading arounding the changerooms is as good as a trip to a strip club for you. Team sports are just that: sports built around the team. So what happens when your teammate receives the pass from you and instead of focusing on the play necessary to clinch victory, he's worrying about whether you were just checking him out.

Teams are built on trust. Break that trust, and 'team' flies out the window. There's no 'I' in team, but there's two eyes in suspicion.

You're so glad they can't hear your thoughts; your fantasies. If they could, you wouldn't be able to look at them. And more than likely, they wouldn't want you to either.

It's almost as if it's set up so as to cause the most problems possible. The public nature of the changeroom area. The community showers, limited clothing. All supposedly help achieve a greater level of team bonding. But in your case, it has crossed the line. Gone over the top.

They joke with each other about liking each other that way and wanting to have some fun. But they really are just joking. How would they deal with you, not saying such things, but knowing that that is what you mean and want?

Your attack on the ball, your unquenchable hunger for winning it on your own merit. Would that become a joke about your interest in other things bally? Would they still give you the pat on the backside when you put in a good effort? If they knew how excited even that small gesture made
you? How much you enjoy laying a hard tackle. In all its forms, even if you do feel guilty about it.

But you love ball games and you wish that you could find out that your preferences were no barrier, without actually having to expose yourself and put yourself out there. But unless someone else, unexpectedly, takes the plunge for you, you'll not get that opportunity.

The Fatal Urge

Pete walks along the street. The sun is setting and a chill is descending on the world around him. He doesn't feel it though. He is numb. Headlights approach from ahead. Like a wild animal he is caught in their seductive lure. They are willing him to meet them, take them on. He realises that would involve jumping in front of the car and he resists. He continues walking, but takes the first side street, so that he gets off the main road. Further away from temptation.

He reaches home and goes to the kitchen. He's not hungry, but grabs some food anyway. He sees the knives. Notices how they glint. Imagines their sharp edge and how it would feel to have it slicing through his skin. That alive feeling that would come from seeing his red blood flow from his wrists because of something he did. Again he resists.

He heads to his bedroom. His name on the door, as it has been since he and dad put it there on his third birthday. That birthday had come a month after they had moved into this apartment. He'd been so excited that he'd have a staircase to use his slinky on. There was one inside, from the living areas to level with the bedrooms. And then another one, outside the apartment, used by those who scorned the elevator.

He stared out of the large window from his bed. His view was spectacular. His vision, however, was severely inhibited by this numb feeling. He went out onto his balcony, to try and freshen up. The temperature had dropped a few more degrees since he'd got home. Still, the cold air did nothing. Pete didn't notice the dragon breath coming from his mouth. Something else had grabbed his attention. The height. He could look down far below to the streetlights. The tree directly beneath him shook in the wind. A branch curled, creating a smiley face between it and the two neighbouring lamp eyes.

He climbed onto the ledge. Another gust of wind moved the branch again. Now it grimaced. Pete knew it was a reflection of him. The headlights and the glint of the knife had been tempting. But this, this was irresistible. He leapt towards this face that revealed the true him. His dragon breath was not accompanied with wings, nor did he want them. He was never one to soar amongst the clouds.

He didn't let a sound slip from his mouth. He was numb all the way down. Even right up to the thump of his impact, he felt no more alive than he was after it. He skipped pain, going straight from numb to no more. Yet another failed attempt to feel something other than nothing...

Lust vs Love; Him vs Her

You see him in the changerooms. She is in your dream.

Both make you feel hot under the collar and increase your heart rate.

They take their tops off. His reveals a flat stomach, yet to be invaded with the hair that no doubt will be there soon. Hers gives you a glimpse of the past. It's that 4th date. The one where things could have gone so much further than they did. It was your doubt, which made sure they didn't. You still remember the sensation of her smooth stomach to your hand. You're reminded of it again now. You had her, but you let her go.

Painstakingly, you try to avert your eyes from him. You know sooner or later one of the other guys will notice your gaze, or worse, he will. But, the thought of how long it could be until you can get another glimpse causes you to hesitate. Your eyes linger, while his look up.

The memory continues. The way she worked your top up and then off. Her fingers tracing figure-8s and the shortening of your breath as she did. The smile as she saw your excitement.

You know you've blown it. You can see him looking at you, eye brow slightly raised, questioning. God it looks hot. You shake your head, trying to clear that thought from it. You focus on your clothes, getting changed and then getting as far away from here as quickly as you can. You can feel your cheeks glowing red. Hopefully he'll dismiss it as you still cooling down after training. You can feel his eyes still boring into you. Your hands are shaking as you pull on your pants.

And then the frantic nature of her hands as they began to expose your underwear. Like snakes, only the venom wasn't poisonous, but still damn intoxicating. Your breathing quickens, your body tenses and you let slip a quiet moan....

You rush out the room. Bag barely on your shoulders. You head for the street, but you turn away from the bus stop and head in the opposite direction. You can't bear standing there, waiting for the bus to come, or for any of the others to walk past. Just walking, in the general direction of home, but in no rush to get there.

She is lying next to you. You can feel her warmth and pressure on your skin. And then there is a crash. A plate slamming into the bench. Someone is up. And now you join them in the land of the conscious. The dream, the memory, is just that. Nothing more. No matter whether you want it that way or not.

You're kicking yourself. How could you have been so stupid?! You're not thinking about where you're going, you can't. That thought circles around the inside of your head as you walk in automatic. You try to come up with ways of explaining it to him, or anyone else that asks, but no excuse comes to mind. You replay what happened. However, the top comes off and the frame freezes. His torso takes hold and your imagination runs wild. 

You lay there. Trying to work out who it is that disturbed you. You've released the pillow, the one that had been her. Is that what it is though? Is it the situation, or her, that gets you going? Do you love her, like you thought you did once? Or is it what she does that you lust for. 

A bare chest. Figure-8s. Hands grappling with underwear. His underwear. You are no longer with her. Instead, you are doing what she did to you, for him. You imagine the feel of it on your throat, as his breathing becomes more shallow. You feel that intoxicating venom again, although this time it is different. It is pulsing from him, to throughout your body. 

You're home, finally. Exhausted, physically and emotionally. You head straight for your bed. In seconds you're down for the count. And she is removing her top...

What is this? What is going on? How can you swap and change so readily from one to the other? How long is it until they are both there, at the one time? What would you do then? WHO would you choose? Him or Her?

The next day you get your answer. He confronts you after school. He takes you to a corner. Not accusatory, but curious. Initially on the back foot, you see this and steady. He is interested. He asks about the change rooms and your wandering eyes, which did anything but. He asks if you got a good enough look yesterday, but doesn't wait for an answer. He sheds his top again, revealing his now very familiar upper body. Only, it's no dream, and it's no accident. The tonsil hockey the two of you are playing make that blindingly clear. Thoughts of her drift out of your mind. To leave forever, or to be stored for a later time, you don't know. Nor do you care. Here he is. Now. And you're not going to let this slip. Although your hands do. Down. So that you can feel how much he is enjoying this and make him enjoy it even more. 

Everything has that amazing freshness of something new. It's not something you've known before, but now that you do you sure as hell want to repeat the dosage. As for the boxing match that was going on inside you, he just landed the knockout blow. She is down for the count. Time will only tell if she gets up again....