4:45 AM – Yes, this was the wake-up hour marked on the clock sitting on my nightstand. Any other school day it used to be 5:45 AM but on Thursdays I had to move it an hour earlier. It happens when you have to care for a commuting kid. Today was the last 4:45 AM ring because today is her last high school day. For her ensuing graduation exams there will be more normal wake-up hours; and for college she plans to join her sister in the campus. Another child leaving and giving me the empty nest syndrome. How interesting can it be: my nest keeps trembling under the frantic buzz of two fighting twins in their teens but I still can’t help myself out of nostalgia for their grand sisters.
If you think that this post will be a lament then you are right. It was short before 4:45 AM when I woke up by myself, with a fast beating heart, bit sweating, short breathing, terribly shocked. I looked around to see Don charging his batteries in glorious silence. Thank Heavens, it was just a nightmare! What nightmare?
It happened that, in my sleep, I parted my legs to welcome what I believed that it had to be Don’s dick. Bit it was something different, seemingly thicker. It made me wonder. I then opened my eyes and saw Don sleeping alongside while NOBODY was NOT penetrating me. In my dream, I only felt an alien dick, or could that have been a dildo? Abruptly, I jumped out of bed (yet not out of my nightmare), rushed to the kitchen and read through the local paper — on the Hooker Page (is there such a page in our newspaper?) — that I was listed with my address. Me! Listed on the Hooker Page? Shock after shock, sweat after sweat, suspicion after suspicion, I wake up. Thank God it wasn’t for real.
Before 6 AM, at the real kitchen table, I tell Don about my nightmare, wailing to him that I didn’t want to be listed as a whore, to be shared with strangers, to be a shame of a woman. He comforts me with reassuring words, saying that spoken out dreams vanish like cigarette smoke, good that I don’t harm myself by keeping the worries inside me, best is to express such nightmares and flush the ghosts away. He then reads me from the Scriptures, as he uses to, just before our noisy twins descend for breakfast. An hour later, after sending them to school, Don approaches me gently, from behind, whispering to my right ear: “See, bunny, be happy that you’re haunted by this kind of nightmares and not by the hollow menopausal aging desperation. You’re not concerned about frail bones, losing your muscular mass, getting sick, hot flushes, etc. This nightmare of yours is an indicator of how much vitality your soul still gathers.”
That was sweet of him and — I wish to think — also true. He led me on this daring path. He made an exhibitionist out of me! He is the one doing all this to me! HE! Am I angry on him? Sometimes, yes. Good that I’m not panicked anymore…
Before I had the chance to publish this little post, Don came to me, showed me his well-known tool, inviting me away from the laptop, back in our bed, where he ate my pussy and made love to me nicely and longly, never too hard, until I turned ecstatic. Minutes later, one of our neighbors brought me a present, see it in the pictures below 🙂