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My childhood was not your normal, typical childhood. As most kids were chumming around with others, I ended up spending most of my time at home, or with my dad or uncles. Interestingly enough, I went a number of times with my dad to his favorite hangout; a friend of his operated a gas station that was frequented by truckers. So, by the age of 13, I had been exposed to every known word in the book, along with stealing some glances at the magazines that they had there. Seemed like some of them used used “fuck” for every other word coming out of their mouths. Needless to say, this left me with an idle curiosity of women as a whole.

As I grew older, my dad started taking me on jobs with him; he ran an air conditioning business on the side. One of his clients was the apartment complex next to the high school I was going to. I’d go with him on these jobs, helping him out with the ladders, installing Freon, swapping out compressors, etc. Occasionally, we’d have to go into the apartments to make sure that the air conditioner would kick on and cool down the apartments.

Well, one day there was a problem with the air conditioner in apartment #2301. Needless to say, since it was a saturday, I went with dad to help him. We’d went to the apartment manager’s office to get the work order, and then proceeded to the apartment. When we got there, we found that there was a leak on the roof, and that it would require only a small soldering job, along with filling up the unit with more Freon. After doing this, we went down to the apartment itself, and knocked on the door. A woman, I’d say in her late twenties, answered the door. We told her that we had worked on the air conditioner, and wanted to check to make sure that it was cooling her apartment. She invited us in, and let us go to the thermostat. My dad started to play with the controls, as I just scanned my eyes around the room. She seemed to be into computers, and music (which was my pastime; I was programming in three different languages, and enjoyed computer music/synthesizers). We started to get into a conversation, and then wouldn’t you know — dad said all looked okay and that we should go. As we were leaving, the girl gave me a slip of paper. Not thinking anything about it, I put it into my pocket.

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It had been months since I had seen him. Three months to be exact, three months of loneliness and frustration of the emotional and sexual kind. The intensely sexual kind. Three months of becoming literally a mistress of the art of masturbation and self-pleasuring. Three months of experience which I couldn’t wait to share with Brian.

These were the thoughts that filtered through the sleepiness of my jet-lagged brain as I stared out the tiny fiberglass window of the plane. Not that there was anything to see but the fluffy whiteness of clouds, so there was no view to distract me from my contemplation. And considering the reunion soon to be at hand, I could think of little else but finally ending three months worth of grueling celibacy.

I checked my watch again. Still an hour and a half remaining in the flight. With a sigh I lowered the window shade and nestled my head against the pillow I had stuffed between the seat and the wall of the airplane. My gritty eyelids inexorably lowered, and I dozed…

He stroked my face and gazed into my eyes as I squirmed underneath him. I gazed back earnestly, all of the need and desire mirrored blatantly there for him to see. But still he teased me. Lifting his hips, he probed my pussy with just his cock head, and in my sensitized condition, could almost feel the slit slide like a custom-made groove over my clit. I arched against him further, seeking to suck him inside of me, needing the penetration so badly I thought I would die.

Although I knew he wanted it almost as badly as I did, he still withheld. “Just a second,” he said, “Need to make sure you’re wet enough.” Then his mouth was on mine, his tongue plunging into my mouth aggressively. My eyes were closed, my head swam, but still I could feel his hand snake down between our two sweating bodies, inch into my damp muff, and slide a finger slowly over my clit and down between the cleft of my slick pussy lips. He pushed his finger inside of me, up to his bottom knuckle, and wiggled it around, testing the waters, as his knuckles continued to grind into my hot mound.

“Oh God…” I moaned shakily, “Please…” His hand left my soaking cunt, and slithered up between our torsos, leaving a slimy trail up my abdomen. He stopped to cup one heavy breast, and roughly pinched my nipple. I gasped.

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Well, today is another gray and rainy day in this town. Kind of makes you think that life is nothing but a succession of shadows and gloom, dark clouds and chilly winds, interspersed with the promise of a little sunshine now and then to maintain enough of a fiction so everyone keeps going. Gray and cold. Old and gray. Wet and chilly. That’s how the day looks. That’s how I feel. That’s what this day makes me feel, as if I’m immersed in reality.

Good thing that I still can dream and fly. And it’s always harder not to wander away. To warmer places. To sunnier places. To places in which I can be whoever I dream of being. To places where I can meet the woman I want at will.

If I look through the window I can see her walking. Funny thing. I haven’t seen her face, ever, and yet here she is: smiling, saying nice things in a voice that’s caressing me, full of sweet overtones.

“Hi. How are you? You look as if you need a break. Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me? Well, we can go to this coffee shop, close to my place. So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go”

And all of a sudden, we are neither in this time, nor in this town. We’re somewhere in the middle of a dream, looking at each other, sipping cappuccino and talking of our lives. We’re frozen in time. Words coming and going without a finish line. Words coming and going, dancing with the music of our eyes, following the rhythm of a more intimate connection. Here we are: the first man and the first woman, repeated ad infinitum. The first blood and the first heartbeat. Always the same and yet always new.

Her face is changing with the slow movement of the moon. Her words are wrapping me with the laces of rainbow. Her eyelashes are hypnotic. Her mouth is more than tempting and this is not a coffee place, this is a forest and she’s casting her spell. I look but I want to see. I see but I want to dream. I dream but I want to have. Her words are falling and they sweep me.

I’ve played the game of seduction many times, but every new look, every promise of flesh anew, every new whisper of the garden of wantonness washes out my old sins. It’s me, fresh, again. It’s my skin without memories, without owners, without repeats. I’m a virgin one more time.

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She awoke at midnight again, the way she had for the past three nights, the sheets twisted tightly into an umbilical cord binding her to the sweaty womb of her bed.

She disentangled herself from the tangled topsheet and laid back, closing her eyes. Immediately the dream from which she had awakened flashed into her consciousness: the utter darkness and the sudden, dim, slanting light; the stranger, the man she had seen and followed; the small anonymous room; the smell, the feel of him; the awful, all-consuming hunger.

She opened her eyes quickly, sat up and turned on the nightstand light to dispel the vision. No sense trying for sleep now, she thought. Why the dream had come, why it affected her, consumed her like this, she did not know; but for now it would not leave her.

She lit a cigarette, hoping to concentrate on that and occupy her mind, dispel the terrible demon that was the dream with the mundane, the ordinary. She sat back against the headboard, and without thinking closed her eyes tiredly.

Instantly the dream filled her vision again. A dark restaurant, club, bar, a place she had never been; a man she did not know — no, did not *want* to know; the small room, featureless apart from a bed against one wall, without blankets or frame or headboard; the feel of him against her, on top of her; feeling him between her legs, parting them, dividing her (divide and conquer, a part of her mind thought, unbidden), opening her….

She started suddenly, looking down. As of its own volition, her hand was caressing her bare thigh, grasping it, pulling her leg away from its mate…opening her….

She stubbed out the cigarette and jumped to her feet, her heart racing, pounding. This is ridiculous, she thought, pacing the floor. It’s a dream. *Only* a dream. I’m in control; it only affects me as much as I want it to.

Instantly upon thinking the phrase she stopped her pacing. The truth penetrated her mind: she *did* want it to affect her, to consume her. She wanted a reality to match the dream.

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August 6, 1990

What makes a person crazy? I mean, how do I know when I’m losing my mind? Maybe I’m just imagining things. Stress, yeah that’s it. Now, calm down Amanda and just try to be calm.

There it is again!

For God’s sake, why doesn’t it leave me alone?

I keep hearing this voice. It’s calling my name. I know, I know, how can such a simple thing scare me so much? Well, its weird! I can be working, or reading, and suddenly I hear, clear as a bell, “Amanda.” I turn, and there’s no one there. I’m alone in the house right now. My roomates are still at work – I came home early because of this stupid voice.

It’s been going on for nearly 3 months now. Since I graduated, in fact. It started out as maybe once or twice a week, now it’s up to several times a day. Out of nowhere, “Amanda.”

It’s a male voice. I know that much. So I’m hallucinating that a man is speaking to me. Maybe I’m desperate. I’m smiling as I write that, because, no, I’m not desperate. If I were desperate I would have agreed to go out with Shane last week. But no, I won’t date him. I’ve heard too much about his fast hands. Rob on the other hand is a possibility, but he’s not even noticed I’m anywhere around yet.

Okay, I’m calmer now, and I think I’ll be able to sleep. I’ll just turn out the light and sleep, and there won’t be any more strange voices to bother me.

August 17, 1990

It’s 4 AM and I just woke up from the strangest dream. The sheets are soaked with sweat and my hands are shaking so hard that this is hardly readable. I’ve never had a dream like that before in my life. I wish dreams weren’t so hazy. If I could only recall it clearly I think I might understand…

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