The stuff of dreams. Or nightmares.
Sheila awoke, feeling suddenly alone. The small clock on her bedside table said that it was two o’clock in the morning.
Something had awoken her, but she heard nothing now, just being left with that uncomfortable feeling that all was not as it should be. Was she in a dream? Had she only imagined yesterday?
She swung her legs out of bed. A sudden pain from her ankle reminded her that some of it had not been a dream. She reached for the crutches, thankful to find that she was able to get around much easier than earlier. There was a walking stick too, that Peter must have put there without her noticing, and she could use whichever was easier for her.
Peter was in her mother’s room. She would make sure that he was still there, and that this was not just some strange dream she was having.
She breathed a sigh of relief, seeing him asleep on top of the bed under the window where the cool air could blow across him. It was too warm for him under even a single sheet.
It was obvious that he did not have pajama bottoms on, nor undershorts, either. Nothing! He was too hot to wear anything, relying upon her being immobile enough, and tired enough to stay in her own bed and not to wander. She could not help but look.
He was lying on his back with one leg half bent. One hand was resting on his chest and the other on his inner thigh next to those male items, with his balls—they were his balls, and to hell with that more polite word; ‘testicles’—resting on his leg too, with his phallus… penis…; dammit, his cock, lying alongside his hand.
It was not as intimidating now as it had been for her when he had been attending to her needs in the gully. Even so, she noticed that everything from his balls to the full length of that other item lying along his groin, and from his balls to the end of it, was much longer than his entire hand that was holding it; with it even extending well above his wrist, and he didn’t even look stiff; not yet fully aroused!
She held her own hand up in the dim light to get some indication of his size. As bad as that was for her to contemplate... she winced, feeling a sudden discomfort between her legs… she knew his hand was much larger than hers.
Her mouth went dry.
'He was…!' Words did not come easily. She had never seen anything that caused her so much questioning and uncertainty, but that was the price one paid for getting close to a man. Everything about him was changing and moving even as she watched. He was restless in the heat. Then his hand moved to reposition that weapon of his, and to lift his testicles, pulling them around so easily by grasping at the loose skin on them, so that everything was more comfortable for him.
She almost laughed.
He was still damned-big to her view of things, and it was at least the size around of her wrist… and surreal in the dim light, appearing to move, even when it didn’t. Yet it did move, as though imbued with a life of its own, or as though detecting her presence and was beginning to seek her out.
Oh Lord! She clenched her legs together hard. All of that was destined to enter, and to be in her body in her very near future; certainly, before next weekend; definitely, before university started again; and probably, before she knew it or was ready for it.
She had never seen those male things in real life before except for a few hours earlier when he had turned his back to her and taken his underwear off to dry, nor had she clearly seen that other item she could also see sticking up from his body now in the same place. He had been bigger then, but not that much bigger. The mind and the memory deceived. She hoped he was asleep and had not heard her come in.
She should not be here. But couldn’t leave; curious, needing to learn what she could.
She looked away from him for no less than a minute, wondering if she dared to sit down and stay with him for the comfort he provided for her, despite the unspoken threat of that other presence.
Could that really be him? This was not Cupid’s delicate little love-arrow, that the poems hinted at, but an intimidating weapon of war! She began to giggle nervously. Seeing it that way made her tense up, as though it were coming for her even then!
Everything she’d been taught as a girl; what she should never do, or dare say, or think about when a man came into her life, was about to be overturned and pushed into the background. Every rule was about to be broken; every caution pushed aside when this thing came at her. Would she dare welcome it. It was a difficult thought.
There was a new game in town. This man, and that priapic item.
Item: One massive prick, his; erect, hard; insistently coming at her.
Item: One quim, hers, small, virginal, tight, not ready for this eye-popping, mind-opening awakening.
She should not be here! What if he woke up with her giggling, and saw her staring at him from just three feet away? What would he do? How would he respond?
Impolite words sprang into mind as she castigated herself for her stupidity and foolishness. Peter would not hurt her. Not deliberately. But that thing going into her could never be gentle.
She should stop worrying so much! He’d had opportunity enough, time and again, to do whatever he wanted to do with her in her helpless state earlier on the fell; then taking her out of her bath, especially then when she had been entirely naked, tempting him without even trying to do so; then helping her to bed as she’d changed in front of him.
He had not taken advantage of her at any of those times, so he would not do so now, as she had heard was what a man inevitably did when presented with such easy opportunities, and never mind what the girl wanted or didn’t want. And never mind that time of the month either when they were really in that mood!
Everything between them had been a learning experience for her. It had also been gentle..
He had been curious about her; her breasts, and what her panties barely were able to hide when he had first taken off her shorts. His focus told her everything he was thinking and feeling for her, causing her to panic, even though he had said nothing; done nothing to harm her.
Now, it was her turn to be curious. She was interested about him there as he moved around restlessly, to find some cooler place near the open window. She smiled now, not looking away, needing to see everything about him.
She knew she should not be here, and she should not stare, or be curious about that item. If she were seen to be too curious about it, she would only invite trouble. Men did not respond well to a woman being curious about them there, unless she wanted to really learn about it.
There had been a secretive discussion in her last year at high school by some of the girls, as to what, controlled what, on a man. Did he control that part of his, his dick (well at least they had been polite about it) or did the dick, control the man? Which ‘head’ did the thinking, and which, the leading?
It had been a question without resolution.
She almost fell over in the dim light, losing her crutches, seeing the way it responded as he moved, and as though it had a life of its own.
It was common knowledge at school, that young men woke up that way (as one of the girls had so authoritatively stated from first hand experience); aroused and horny, coming at her again, but she hadn’t known they were that way in their sleep too.
There would be no hiding that behind any fig leaf.
She should get back to bed before he woke up and saw her, wondering why she was here and staring at him.
Despite that, she was thankful to see that he was still here.
Her mind must have been playing tricks on her in the dim light, seeing everything bigger than in real life. It couldn’t possibly be that big! Could it?
She returned as quietly as she could to her bed, being careful not to hit the door frame with her crutches.
No sooner did she lie down than the noises started again.
She should have stayed with Peter, and damn that other problem of her own, or that male thing!
She began to panic, bringing the covers over her head, calling out for Peter, and never mind that fear of what would happen if he were actually in bed with her with that… that… monster. You had to choose what to be afraid of, and she was not afraid of him, or that (it was not coming for her yet), but she was afraid of those noises.
He responded immediately as though he were wide awake, asking if she was alright.
She sounded scared.
“Will you stay by me tonight?”
“I did. I am. I am right here.” He couldn’t understand what there was to be scared of.
“No. You are not, ‘here’. You’re not where I can see you or feel you. I meant closer than just in the same house. I meant, here, with me.” She emphasized what she meant by repeating it.
She’d let her fear and her imagination get to her to allow her to be so daring. There was nothing to be afraid of in the house, except for him, of course, but when fear took hold, there was no reasoning with it.
She heard him climb out of his bed. She was being either very brave, or very stupid to be courting such trouble. Annie had warned her. Men did not ask permission; only forgiveness.
He came into her doorway as she peeked out from under the sheet hoping that she would not see… relieved to see him in his underwear he was pulling them up on his body. He was still aroused and was very obvious, behind there.
Even partially dressed, he was covering himself with his hand, keeping that other thing out of the way of her seeing it in all of its previous glory of a few minutes ago.
Her imagination didn’t help. His covering it to hide it from her made everything so much more threatening than it was, but she had to decide what she was more afraid of; what she didn’t know about those noises, or him?
She was not afraid of him in the same way she was afraid of those noises and various unknown things that went ‘bump’ in the night, threatening to stop her heart beating, and totally robbing her of sleep.
Peter had not given her any reason, outside of her own imagination to be afraid of him. She kept telling herself that, no matter how often he had challenged that belief in indirect ways.
In each of his interactions with her he had been only gentle and considerate, even if he’d set her heart pounding, with her never sure what he would do next. But that had been in only the first few minutes of meeting him. It had settled down after that when she had got her own clothes back and she’d realized that he wasn’t going to harm her.
She swore at herself. She had better learn to trust him better than this! She’d asked him… he’d offered… to stay with her and get her out of a difficult predicament with the calves and the hens, and she had accepted without any hesitation.
Annie knew he was here!
But how could Annie knowing he was here, be any protection when she was alone with him now, at night, and with them both so lightly dressed and so conscious of their awakening feelings for each other?
Annie was a lifetime; away. Too far away to intervene to protect her virginity, with Peter only a hop, skip and a jump away from her, and not even that, now.
“Those noises woke me up again, Peter. I need you… I want you to be close to me where I can see you and hold onto you, if you don’t mind.”
She needed him. Not the wisest way to put it.
“Please sit here with me.”
He knew it was not a wise request, but she wasn’t asking for wisdom, she wanted his protection now. She wanted to be comforted.
“I need to know where you are, Peter. To be sure that what happened yesterday—between us—was not just a dream, and I need you with me.”
That was expressive enough. No man could refuse that plea, but he still felt the need to caution her.
“I’m not well enough dressed to be with you as you want, Sheila.”
No, he wasn’t, but he was mostly covered.
“I’ve scared you more than enough for one day.”
“That was then, when I didn’t know you as well as I do now.” He laughed at that piece of naïvety.
“Besides, I don’t care. I’m scared. I wasn’t dressed at all when you got me out of the bath. I was much more vulnerable then, and yet you didn’t take advantage of me as you could have done if you had been that kind of a person.”
He laughed again. “I wanted to take advantage of you.”
She’d known it too.
“I think you sensed that about me. I will always want to. I’m a male and….” He sighed. “However, I value my life and my future; yours too, even if you do drive me mad.”
She couldn’t respond to that truth, so she would ignore it, but what he said, about her driving him mad was certainly flattering in a way, as well as sobering. She was playing with fire; a moth dancing carelessly around a candle’s scorching flame, about to get its arse burned, and hers even more damaged by encountering that weapon of his, as he reamed her a new vagina. She should be more cautious.
She tried to get beyond that gentle admission of him so wanting to take advantage of her that she drove him mad, and it’s strange, deeper implications. He was affecting her too, and had done even from that first moment he had come to her.
That was why he was constantly excited around her, even in sleep. Her proximity to him acted like a pheromone upon him, wafting out from her, calling out to him, bringing him in, like moths to mate. Or like a bitch in heat, drawing the dogs in from miles around!
She wasn’t comfortable with that last analogy, having seen how the male dogs were constantly at that bitch; as many as ten of them at a time following her around, waiting for an opening with her, and then mounting her in some contested order of succession, one after the other, tongues lolling out in absolute sexual exhaustion, penises hanging loose when they eventually let go from being lodged within her distended doggy vagina, and then the next one took over as the one who had just left was too exhausted to do anything for a few minutes; still in a sexual daze, unable to believe his luck, and soon aching to get back there.
Hour after hour of endless ‘rape’ for that poor bitch, until one of those millions of sperm found a home and triggered a biological change that caused her to rebel, and to stop signaling all of those dogs to fight to breed with her.
By then, the dastardly deed had been done. The character of the pups would tell everyone which dog, or dogs, had won that disgusting race, and whose genes would get passed along.
Seeing it, and thinking about it, made her uncomfortable and she’d felt sorry for that bitch with her having no choice about any of it, constantly trying to escape, and never being able to, then dropping with exhaustion to lie there with them standing over her, with their erect, not-so-small-penises dragging on the ground, ready to perform again; puffing and blowing as though to say ‘mine. I’m next’, ‘get in line’, licking at her sore, engorged, and distended opening, nosing at her to get her to her feet so they could continue shagging her with those still always-ready penises.
Thank god, humans were not like that. She hoped.
Hormones were the problem. But they were internal messengers, not so much, external, except there were awkward body responses; odors strong enough to repel anyone at that time of the month. Or drag them in.
Except they hadn’t repulsed him, as she was still afraid of doing.
She was beginning to rummage through her biological learning, but there hadn’t been anything about humans in any way that was pertinent to her, except for one word.
Love! And that other word, ‘lust’. And love and lust were not defined in biology where she had been able to see them. Lust was the same as ‘must’, in elephants; an instinctive drive which over-rode all rational sense, to mate at a certain oestrus cycle of the female, as with her own monthly cycle. She sometimes felt strange at times, and with no sense or reason behind what she was feeling.
She had been attracted to Peter in a subtle way, but there had been nothing subtle about his shocking response to her when he was close to her, even now.
“Please stay with me, Peter. I’m not scared of you now.” She repeated that statement, almost denying it by saying it twice, like that. Did it need her to say it three times to make it true? “And if I didn’t feel as though I could trust you, I wouldn’t have asked you to stay with me.”
He felt as though she had just thrown a bucket of cold water over him, but that wouldn’t harm. It was what he most needed anyway.
“Besides, Annie knows.”
It always came back to that defense, which was like putting an umbrella up in a hurricane, or to protect you from an avalanche.
Did she really need to warn him about that to keep him in line? It was almost as useless as bleating out that age-old stand-by of; ‘I’ll tell my mother about you,’ after he had taken off her knickers and was already going into her no matter what she said. She would never dare tell her mother on him after that, and he knew it. And after that first time, it would be often repeated or he would threaten to tell her mother what her daughter had let him do to her. It was a no-win game for that poor girl, getting fucked all the time after that, whenever they met in an out-of-the-way place.
They were a bit too old for that foolishness.
He wouldn’t tell her that this was different. She didn’t have all the answers any more than he did. She didn’t have the first clue about a man like him suddenly dropping into her life as he had, any more than he could have resisted her plea for his help.
And Annie wasn’t here.
Sheila was scared of something else, more than she was concerned about him, her eyes darting around the room into the dark corners.
Something had got her started, but he didn’t know what. She would need to be calmed somehow, and he was hardly in a state that would calm her down if she saw how he was.
If she knew what he was feeling, and had any sense; how his hormones were going wild, she would ask him to get dressed properly and to leave her presence and her home ‘immediately’ before it was too late, but she didn’t.
He sat by her, relieved to be able to hide that other problem by siting down on the bed with her.
“Thank you.” She reached out for his arm, needing to touch him, to feel him there, and to know that he was actually with her, and was not a mirage.
Her touch only made him come more alive, conscious of how lightly she was dressed, half-sitting up with him, holding him close, never intending to let him go.
He was wide-awake now; sleep, long gone.
He tried to change the direction of what was happening and to take his mind off her.
“It’s raining outside.” That sounded a weak kind of distraction. “Rain always causes things to sound different, cooling things down and getting things to contract. You might even hear the grass grow when it gets a good shower.”
The humor of that remark bounced right off her.
“Lie beside me please, Peter. I would like you to stay here with me tonight. We can share my pillow. We can talk, and you can hold me if you would like to, until I go to sleep.”
If he would like to? God, how he wanted to hold her, but probably not where she had in mind.
He wanted nothing else but to be close to her, holding her, but she shouldn’t invite him to do that. It was as though she saw no danger in him being so close to her.
No matter. She’d insisted, so if she did not see the danger in it why should he be the one to argue?
It would be safer if he laid behind her and held her—though there were dangers in that too—rather than face her, but she would have no patience with that.
When she slept, he’d do that. Or he’d go back into the other room.
He lay beside her as they turned to face each other, looking into each other’s eyes, just visible. She was more afraid of something other than him or his inability to control his own body when he was close to her.
He took the initiative, unable to ignore her silent pleading, took her into his arms to comfort her, and they talked. He was deeply conscious of her breasts touching against him—they were soft, and warm—and of her breath in his face. He could breathe the same air as her, all night. He brought his knees up to shield her from detecting that other, more-alive part of him as they moved closer together.
Where had her previous shyness gone?
“Did your mother call, this evening?” He had to say something other than what was on his mind, pushing him along.
“You did tell her about what happened to you today, didn’t you?”
She mumbled into his chest.
“I meant to, but I forgot. Mom managed the entire conversation as she usually does, and it slipped my mind. Besides, you told Annie. That’s the same thing.” That was about the fourth time Annie's name had come up.
“Will you hold me in your arms, Peter, until I get to sleep again?”
“If you put your legs down, there will be more room for us to get close to each other, and you will be able to hold me better. It’s only a small bed.”
He swore inwardly but did as she asked, conscious of his own problems, moving his legs part way, feeling her move closer to him too, and then gently push them down for herself. Insisting. Brushing by that other, too obvious part, as she did so.
He responded by turning more onto his back and adjusting the position of that other rebel to point away from her, feeling her move closer to his side.
Even a playing card could not have been placed edgewise between them.
If she opened her eyes and saw him poking, pointing at the ceiling with that uncontrollable thing, pushing out of the front of his underwear, like a monument to his feelings for her, she would panic again. He was not usually like this. But he certainly was now.