Oh That Dream Again...

I stared at Mark over the table.

He was lovely in the candlelight. He looks like a surfer boy, I thought. He might even be prettier than I am. Blond hair curled appealingly around his neck and framed pale blue eyes, tan skin radiated health and was - no doubt, the envy of his family in Holland.

He was a diver and a swimmer, his long, lean body a testament to his love of fitness.

A bright moon shone from a bed of stars in the Caribbean sky, and faint strains of salsa music harmonized with rustling of palm fronds and swirled around us.

Mark and I had casually dated a while ago, and then drifted apart with no hard feelings.

When he'd texted out of the blue, I agreed to go for drinks with him.

We'd ordered very large Mojitos and a cavalcade of tapas. We were outside with a cool, clean wind chasing away the heat of the day. Everything was perfect.

Except for the fact that I was fucking bored to tears.

Seriously.

I'd somehow forgotten that the only redeeming qualities this man had were on the outside.

Instead I smiled, nodded politely and tried to focus on what he was saying. He was talking about his work.

He'd just been promoted to head chef at a very exclusive restaurant. He was redesigning the menu, and had invented a soup served in bowls made from hallowed out, de-spiked Cacti and blah, blah, fucking blah blah.

The Mojito had given me a slight buzz and that was not helping my attention span.

A shooting star caught my eye and I remembered the last time I'd seen one.

I'd been on the beach and had only seen the heavenly flash of movement out my peripheral vision because my full gaze had been locked into deep brown eyes, on a slow magnificent smile...on the face of the man I adored as he filled me and brought my body screaming toward unexperienced highs. His thick, hard cock buried inside me...

Oh, Fuck!

Wait. What?

Was Mark talking about stampeding Elephants? How did we get here from Scallops and Risotto? Ahh...his trip to Africa. I remember now. Oh, he's looking at me...better say something. Oh, crap. What was he talking about?? I have no idea. He's looking at me expectantly now...this is a long pause. Better not mention the elephants, ummm...just change the subject.

"Wow, amazing." I said with as much sincerity as the clueless can manage. "So, what's your very favorite dish to make?"

He took out his phone and flicked through about 1,000,000 pictures before he said, "This one." and passed the phone to me.

I took it and had absolutely no idea what I was looking at.

There was a square, white plate with some green leafiness spread about, a solitary shrimp adrift in a sea of some sort of red speckled, yellow sauce and a fluffy white pouf of something on a tower of... whole grain couscous, maybe?

I employed a tactic I reserve for children's indecipherable art projects and said, "Tell me about this."

He did, ad nauseam...and finally asked me what I thought.

"Well, honestly... I think it's a bit pretentious."

He shot me a look of affection and said, "Thank you." with no trace of sarcasm. None.

Wait. What?

Did he take that as a compliment? Does he even know what pretentious means?? What time is it??

It was only 9pm and the food had yet to make an appearance.

I slurped my drink and asked him to tell me more about his work. As he began I sat back and made no further attempt to pay attention. With minimal effort on my part the conversation rolled along through another round of drinks and the appetizers.

I was lost, remembering another date, another time, another man...

Mark may have developed the notion that I was mentally deficient or possibly hard of hearing (based on the amount of times I'd asked him to repeat himself) by the time he dropped me off at home. That fact didn't stop him from leaning in for a goodnight kiss.

I managed to tap into the matrix for a moment, deflected the kiss and turned it into a half hug followed by a brisk handshake.

He asked if I was free over the weekend and I shot a list of things I needed to accomplish (most fictitious) at him machine gun style leaving no hope that I was free for the weekend. Or the rest of the century.

As he drove off, I felt a slight pang of regret.

He was a nice man, he would have been the perfect distraction from my current state of lonely horniness, but I didn't even have the heart to try. As a matter of fact I'd only agreed to the date in the first place to try and jog myself out of the funk that had taken hold of me since the last time I saw 'him'.

I gave myself a hard look in the mirror as I readied for bed.

"You're being a stupid girl about this. You need to get over it. It's over, the fat lady did seven encores already and you need to move on."

I pointed at my refection for emphasis. Then rolled my eyes and brushed my teeth.

Disgusted with myself, I switched off the lights and climbed into bed, beat my pillow into submission and promised myself I wouldn't dream of him. I prayed I wouldn't dream of him.

So...of course I did.

*****************************

I was alone, lying on a blanket in the sand of my favorite private beach. No ambient light to challenged them, the stars shone brightly, twinkling jewels in an inky black sky.

The moon played hide and seek with swiftly moving, silver-lined clouds and I smiled, feeling uncommonly peaceful as I watched the world turn and listen to the Oceans song.

And then he was there. Out of nowhere, he appeared...looming over me. Framed by moonlight, smiling.

His eyes burned into mine. There was so much to say, but none of it was necessary.

As he came to me our cloths fell away and I was finally where I'd longed to be in his arms, skin to skin, genitals aligned, eyes locked in silent communication. No time had passed, it was yesterday again.

He touched my face and I leaned into his hand. I looked up at the stars and the closed my eyes.

His mouth possessed mine. I felt the kiss race through my blood like fire. His is tongue mimicked long, slow fuck strokes in my mouth, awakening sex butterflies, sending shudders to my swollen clitoris. His arms wrapped tight around me, mine exploring the planes of his lower back...his sexy ass.

I was wet and getting wetter by the moment. His hips ground against mine, he was hard, straining for me. In the past he'd been so gentle, treating me like a wild, skittish creature but now he sought to claim me. I loved it.

He slipped his cock past my pussy lips and rubbed across the length of my sex without penetrating me.

He sighed against my lips and murmured that he'd forgotten how wet I get for him, how ready I always was. I was busy trying to get him inside me. He laughed and said that first he'd have a taste.

And then I was lying on the blanket looking up at the stars and his head was between my legs and he was sucking on my clit, kneading it with his lips, licking the very heart of it with a pointed tongue.

My thighs were trembling around his head, my hips involuntarily thrusting into his face, my pussy dripping. I was making pathetic mewling sounds in between ragged breaths. My body had missed him, had remembered the feel of him and craved it every day that he'd been gone.

"Please...oh, please. I want...I need..."

One, lonely finger slipped inside me and found my g-spot, just like that. Then I was squirting, gushing and he was moaning as he watched. Oh, the things that this man did to me. My orgasm was so intense and followed by shuddering aftershocks but I still felt empty. I still needed...

And then positioned himself over me. He looked at me, and ran along the inside of my thigh, over my stomach, up the curve of my breast and traced a path down my arm. He encircled my wrist, and pinned it above my head. He did the same thing on my other side.

Still holding my gaze and my arms he slipped his cock inside me. Slowly, but without stopping until he was completely buried inside me and then he paused, kissed my neck and whispered, "Here's the game: I know you love to stargaze, Darling. So you count them and I'm going to count the amount of times I can make you cum for me."

He withdrew a little and thrust back in as he said it. Hard. I came and felt his cock twitch inside me in response. I came again. He growled something that sounded like, 'Game on', and began fucking me in earnest.

The stars blurred and I couldn't focus on them.

All I could feel was this man, pounding into me, the sound of the ocean pounding the shore roaring in my ears and the sensations in my body, centered in my core building to a fevered crescendo.

He kissed me then. I felt his lips on mine, felt more deeply connected to him and...

Woke up.

Alone and reaching for him. I was in a rapidly cooling wet spot on my bed, with hard nipples, pulse throbbing through my clit and the too real feeling of his kiss on my lips.

I felt empty, hallow and mildly depressed to find I had such little control over my subconscious.

"Oh, Fuck this shit" I thought as I shook off the fantasy. "I'm going to get a boyfriend. Or a vibrator. Or a Hooker. Possibly all three."

Wetness between my legs and the sound of the ocean still in my head I tried to forget the way my dream made me feel and started another day.

Without him.