Flashback: September 2008

We lay in her bed. Lights out. It'd been a rough day. I'm on my back wearing boxers and a cover. She has her head on my chest, her hand lying gently on my stomach. I wrap my arm around her, rub her back and fiddle with her hair as I begin to drift off to sleep. It's been quiet for the last 35 minutes or so and she shifts her head forward a bit for comfort. I can feel her perky breasts pressed against my side. No bra, just a tee shirt and panties. I feel my body react to that kind of thinking, but I'm too close to sleep for it to matter.

I feel her shift again. This time she puts her head on my stomach and pushes the covers down a bit so it's not in her face. I start to come out of stupor a little and begin to get anxious. "Is she gonna do what I think she's going to do?" I thought.

She moves again and pushes the blanket away. This time she reaches into my boxers and pulls out my hard on. She strokes it a few times before I feel the heat of her mouth on the end. She licks it and puts it in her mouth a little at a time before I feel her start to go up and down on it. Her hair dances over my stomach as she starts to really work it. After a few minutes she stops to catch her breath, but continues to stroke it, before she giving me more.

She had always told me that she doesn't give head. It must just be my lucky day.

Magdelina (Fiction)

A cold draft woke her late that night. A frozen breeze drifting out of an open mausoleum during a starry winter night. With it came the musky smell of mildew. That of old newspapers stuffed in the attic and stumbled upon after years of a leaky roof's water damage. With sleep still clawing at her weary body she pulled back the blankets with a heavy arm and sat up. Her shoulder length brown hair danced like will-o-the-wisps on another chilly gust of air while she attempted to collect her thoughts. Like an old man in fully body armor or a deep-sea diver looking out from behind his goldfish-bowl helmet she stood up. Her frame swaying back and forth from the lead weights of fatigue. Her eyes were more closed than opened as she drifted from her large wood-frame bed to the old, mahogany carved balcony door. An enormous, full yellow moon transformed her shape into a glowing white specter as her nightgown caught the pale light. The thin, satin curtains reached out to her like an expectant lover waiting for an embrace. The winds howled as if in pain and the curtains whipped back and forth.

"Come to me." Came a voice. In her sleepy state she couldn't discern whether the voice echoed from her dreams or if a man uttered those three quiet words. And if it was a man, then from where did his request come? Certainly not from in her room or from outside.

She leaned on the edge of the window a bit confused. The curtains now wrapped around her body, softly caressing her back and arms. The satin felt like a baby's skin or what the touch of an angel must feel like.

"Come to me, my Magdelina." The voice came again. This time it wasn't a request. It was a command and she stepped out onto the balcony.