Sunday, October 12, 2008

Traveling Time


Saturday night and I was going to bed after taking the kids back to my house-- the house I didn’t live in anymore. Since I was flying to the East Coast mid-morning on Sunday I only had the kids for 24 hours this weekend. My clothes were packed so I would only need to throw together the last of my work stuff before the car for LAX arrived at 8 AM. I crawled into bed and called Jane. Thank God, she was home. I didn’t like calling her on a Saturday night. If nobody answered I wondered if she was out with some guy. We talked for an hour or more. Around midnight I told her I’d call her from the road over the next two weeks. I didn’t need to tell her that, she knew I would. But really, what difference did it really make if I was on the road or home? She was in the Bay Area and I was an hour plane ride away even when I was home. The only difference between calling her from Southern California and calling her from the hotel in Manhattan was the time difference. What a fucked-up deal. After a good-bye that took fifteen minutes I hung up and went to sleep.


What the fuck do you think you’re doing bitch? You’re dressed like a filthy whore… you wanna look like a whore then be a fuckin’ whore you dirty bitch… get on your knees, put your head on that pillow, and reach back and spread your ass cheeks… yeah, that’s a good slut… now hold still while I lube your tight little puckered hole… good girl… now take your hard ass-fuckin’ … that’s it baby, scream for it….......... now take that load all over your pretty face… lick it all up, bitch………………………


I gained consciousness slowly. I looked for the magazine with Jackie as the centerfold model. I had just seen it. I had just seen her in a glossy magazine layout. It was Jackie, except she wasn’t 20 like I remembered her. She was in her 40’s. She still looked great and her ass was in the air. I tried to remember what had happened. I was going to fuck her in the ass, but I never did. I was shooting cum on her face—or rather a picture of her face. In a magazine—Playboy? Penthouse? Hustler? But there wasn’t any stroke book in the bed. It had been a dream, right? In it she was real but she was also a picture. Pictures, plural. A whole layout in all sorts of poses. Dressed for fucking. But there was no magazine anywhere in the bed. There was a ton of cum though. I sat up in the dark, the only light in the room was from the streetlight just outside my townhouse.
Awake finally. I felt sticky, thick cum all over my stomach and on the boxers I had worn to bed. A huge wet spot on the bed too. Fuck, what a mess. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a wet dream. When I was getting regular pussy I never had nocturnal emissions. Hell, these days, with no pussy, I jerked off enough to keep this mess from happening. What the hell? I took the boxers off, wiped everything up as much as possible with them, tossed them on the floor and got on the dry side of the bed. Nothing to do about it now. Back to sleep.



The alarm sounded. I stripped the bed and threw the sheets and crusty boxers in the washer and started it up, the coffee maker was next, then I shaved, and showered. I thought of having awakened in the middle of the night covered in jizz. I remembered the first time I ejaculated. It was the summer I turned 12-- or was it 13. A summer day-- the family had just gotten home from church. I changed out of my Sunday school clothes and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I went out to the living room. My dad was in his chair reading the Sunday paper. Mom was in the kitchen—we always had a big lunch after church and then nothing but sandwiches or soup for dinner on Sunday nights. Mom said it was her half day of rest a week. My sister was probably in her room studying her Bible. She took Sunday school and church pretty seriously.


I took the comics from my dad’s “read” pile. I flopped on the couch face down so my head hung off the cushion and I put the comic pages on the floor and started to read. Read ‘em all, except Prince Valiant. P.V. seemed almost like school work, not the funnies. Peanuts, B.C., Blondie. That Dagwood was one lucky guy—Blondie was stacked, and she dressed nice for an old lady. Apartment 3G— I didn’t completely get the appeal of that one. Three girls in an apartment dating a series of dorks? Big deal. Then I saw Li'l Abner. It so happened that Daisy Mae was prominently featured that day. I was reading the strip, looking at Daisy and it just happened. I got a boner. I, seriously, did not really know the connection between Daisy’s huge tits, round ass, shapely legs and my hard dick. And then, suddenly, I was afraid I was wetting myself. I was not a bed-wetter! what the heck was happening? It scared me. I had taken a leak when I got home from church, so what was going on here? And then it was done. My penis started to get normal again. I kind of rolled over a bit and saw this big dark wet spot on the shorts I had just changed into. Jeez! Worse yet there was a wet spot the size of a silver dollar on the couch! Nobody had seen anything though. I got up off the couch and quickly went in and put on a pair of clean underwear and a fresh pair of pants.


Daisy Mae got my cherry. You know, it served Li'l Abner right—he treated her like she wasn’t even there. One of the running gags in the strip was that she was this incredibly sexy babe and he was too big an idiot to pay attention to her. She chased after him and he ran as fast as he could. He avoided her advances and her attempts to get hitched because that’s what guys and gals did… or something. The natural order of things I guessed. Comedians on Ed Sullivan always told jokes about wives as nagging shrews and spoilers of male fun. So, it all seemed to fit. Lots of that stuff wasn't very clear to me as a pre-teen. But now that I had ejaculated for gorgeous Daisy Mae things would never be the same. Daisy, the buxom beauty from Dogpatch, had opened my eyes. Sure, she was just a drawing, but she had made me spurt sticky stuff from my dick. Imagine that kind of power.


Thirty some years later and I was having a wet dream, like some teenager, about a woman I hadn’t laid eyes on in 24 years. I still wouldn’t see her for almost a week, assuming our meeting would actually take place, and I was cumming in my boxers dreaming about her. At least I thought it had been her—I still hadn’t figured out how she got in a magazine. And, since I was trying to ass-fuck her in my dream, was that an omen? I had no idea. At least this time my poor mother wouldn’t be the one putting my cum-stained skivvies in the laundry. Why wasn’t it Jane in that dream? I had just talked to Janey before “lights out.” I had even been thinking a lot about Kendra Saturday afternoon as I was getting ready to take the boys over to the house. No matter what had happened between Kendra and me, she was prime wet dream material. But, no, I had a really nasty, filthy, sexy dream about Jackie-- someone I hadn’t seen in years.


I rolled all of this around in my brain on the way to LAX. I considered it some more on the flight to JFK. Was this even a good idea, meeting up with Jackie again? I don’t often remember dreams. Maybe once or twice a year I could actually recall in the morning something I had dreamed. I assumed I had dreams but just couldn’t remember them. By the time I got to JFK I had decided. Yeah, we were going to get together Friday, Jackie and me. No doubt about it. And we were going to see just how far Jacqueline wanted to go with a one-on-one reunion. After all, I had dreamed about it.
Riding into Manhattan I called Jackie's cell hoping she was still at work.
"Hi Wil! Where are you?" she said.
"On my way to the hotel from JFK. May I ask you a delicate question?" I said.
"Sure, Mr. Wilson. What about?" she said.
I figured the "Mr. Wilson" was a sign people were coming into her office or something. "Did Playboy ever do an entire issue dedicated to you?" I said.
"Mr. Wilson, I don't know what to say to that. Let me think about that point and I'll get back to you in, say an hour. OK?" she replied calmly.
"Sounds great to me, Ms. Sampson. It was a spectacular layout, by the way. Especially that one shot on the bed in nothing but 5 inch heels with your ass in the air," I said. I caught the driver's eyes in the rearview and grinned at him.
"OK. Very good. I'll get back to you soon about that," she said.
And then the line was dead. I chuckled. The driver said, "Sounds like fun is brewing,"
"I hope so. I'm going to a reunion this Friday. A twenty-four and a half year reunion," I said and saw the driver look at me and furrow his brow.

14 comments:

Ms. Inconspicuous said...

Let us hope that Jackie is a woman skilled in interpreting subtle (or not so subtle) instruction.

On a side note, your red text made me rather red in more ways than one. . . ;)

suburban hotwife said...

Whew, that was an interesting read, Wil. So much information to take in!
That was some dream, too!

I must admit, even as a reader from the early stages of your blog, I am having trouble keeping the women in your life straight in my mind!

L. said...

Awesome narration as always, Wil. *Especially* the stuff in red. For some reason, I have no doubt that you are very, very, very good at giving instruction...

I have personally always thought that some dreams are predictive. Because it is so much better than boring old Freudian analysis, e.g. sex dream = want sex, flying dream = want to fly, running dream = want to run. It's really not that complicated.

Now get on to the reality part.

College said...

I'm sure he was furrowing his brows because he could remember an old fling that got away,and well maybe he'll get on the phone and try and find her. You know the butterfly effect Professor Wilson.

Man things are heating up and Wil is rearin' to go!

Or hes just jealous of the old man who obviously still got Game!I know i'd be!

Cheating Wife said...

Fabulous...especially hearing about the sexual awakening of a *seriously* sexy man.

;-)

Coquette said...

Now I've got Daisy Mae singing, "I'm past my prime" in my head.

But you obviously weren't. Not even for wet dreams.

Kyra said...

Very interesting. Both the dream and the flashback.

I'm sure Jackie was having quite a hard time feeling professional on the other side of that phone call!

As for the red, can't see it on my phone and I get the feeling I'm missing out.

Tiffany Cavalli said...

candy ass in the air? heels? yummy! sounds like my kind of girl! lovely! and as usual im waiting for more! iv taken my whippin wil lessons seriously.. and im thinking of makin my readers wait as long too.. seen you are first up at the bar and grill.. Again! :) love Tiff

Wil said...

Ms. I- Not very subtle, true.

SH- Yeah, when I jumped this story ahead it caused a lot of problems since "characters" nobody had met were suddenly involved. I probably should have stayed with a chronology. Too late now, though.

L- Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I note that you are giving direction there at the end. :-)

Wil said...

College- I've heard of that butterfly effect. It's why I spray for insects... can't afford having my life influenced by little critters.

CW- That is so kind I'm blushing. Well, I would be if I was capable of blushing.

Coquette- You kids and your crazy music! Now get that party of my lawn!

Wil said...

Kyra- Oops. Sorry about the different color. I was trying to make sure it stood out and I made it disappear. :-(

Tiffany- That sounds like a case of mistaken identity. I haven't been anywhere in days-- except for a brief college campus visit.

ez cheese said...

The cabbies always seem to know what is going on, don't they?

Wil said...

EZ- Yep. They've seen it all.

Riff Dog said...

For me, it was Betty and Veronica. Amazing what a few simple line drawings could do.

Love that dream, by the way!