What Dreams May Come 1

I was in the midst of a very good dream featuring one of my favorite celebrities kneeling before me and taking my hard cock in her mouth when I was suddenly woke up from my nap. My first vision was my wife Ann, her head on my stomach and a grin on her face. My erection was poking her in the chest.

"You must've been having a really good dream," she said, looking up at me with her beautiful brown eyes.

"This is better," I answered, and I meant ever word.

She smiled and started lightly kissing my stomach, moving downward and deftly removing my shorts. "Let's see if we can improve it even more."

She took her time gently teasing my hard cock, kissing it and lightly licking it, before she slipped it into her warm mouth. After a few long, deep strokes into her mouth, she settled at the top and began her ritual of blowing my mind. She loved giving head, and she had developed a unique style. Rather than pump her mouth up and down on my cock, she would stay in one place and actually suck my cock with her tongue and mouth. I wasn't sure how she did it, but her incredible oral skill was one of the many fabulous qualities that kept me madly in love with her, even after 25 years of marriage.

She looked up at me, her eyes shining through a mane of brown hair, and she watched my pleasure grow as her mouth caressed my cock and she lightly tickled my balls. I didn't last long under this treatment, and as she always did, she swallowed every drop with relish, then slowly kissed and licked my cock as she eased me down from a fantastic orgasm.

"I just didn't want you to forget about me while I was gone," she smiled.

I shook my head. "No way that's gonna happen," I replied. "I'm the luckiest guy in the world."

She patted me on the stomach. "Well time to get up, Mr. Lucky, or I'm gonna miss my six o'clock flight."

I groaned my dissatisfaction but we both got up, pulled on some clothes and headed out the door with her luggage. Her recently divorced sister had asked her to come for Christmas, so she was flying out Dec. 20 and coming back Christmas Eve. Our daughter was coming in later that day, so I was staying behind.

At the airport, I was helping Ann with her luggage when we ran into an old friend of mine, Robert Davis, who was flying out for a few days on business. Robert lived five doors down from us on the beach. After a few moments of chit chat we determined that Ann and Robert would be on the same flight. As we talked, a tall, thin girl with long brown hair walked up.

"You remember my daughter, Sara," Robert said.

I remembered that Robert had a daughter, but I was remembering the 15 year old that had spent some time with my daughter five years ago. She had grown up to become a beautiful woman. I remembered that her mother had died a few years ago.

"Nice to see you Sara," I said. "You've grown up quite well since the last time I saw you. Are you traveling as well?"

Sara blushed a bit at the compliment. "I don't get to go, I'm just the chauffeur," she said.

"Me too," I smiled, holding up my car keys.

We had reached the front of the ticket line, so the conversation came to a close. Ann got her ticket and I gave her a warm hug. She smiled her beautiful smile. "I have a surprise for you," she said. "On the computer, when you get home."

Anne loved giving surprises, especially sexy surprises, so naturally I imagined something naughty she had left me. I hugged her again and told her I loved her like crazy.

Then she was gone.

As I was walking across the airport parking lot I saw Sara again and gave her a wave. She smiled and waved back. She cut quite the figure in her light sweater and tight jeans. As I watched her walking to her car, I was surprised to see a few trickles of snow begin to fall. It almost never snowed in our little beach town. I saw that Sara had noticed it as well, and had stopped to hold her hands up in the air to catch some flakes.

"Maybe we'll have a white Christmas," I yelled over to her.

"Miracles do happen," she laughed.

When I got home I went straight to the computer and found a folder on the desktop marked "Surprise." I opened up the picture inside and it was Anne, dressed in sexy lingerie, holding one of her favorite life-like dildos up to her mouth and giving it a delicious tongue caress. I was immediately hard as a rock at the sexy picture. The caption read: Surprise ... just a little something to think of me while I'm gone...

Wow. Who needs porn, I thought. I jerked off to the sexy picture, made myself some dinner, and passed out on the couch.

It was about six hours later when I got the call, waking me from a dead sleep. As I slowly gathered my wits about me, the words began to come together to form meaning. "Engine failure...emergency landing ... deeply sorry ... no survivors." The plane had crashed, and my wife was lost forever.

The next 24 hours went by in a blur. Notifying family members, starting with my daughter. Hundreds of calls from devastated friends, offering what comfort they could. Calls from the media, attorneys, insurance companies. All the while, trying to deal with the devastating loss of my wife of 25 years and my best friend in the world.

On the second day, the airline had all the survivors come in for a group meeting. As I walked into the room, the first person my eyes focused on was Robert's daughter Sara, and I suddenly realized I had all but forgotten about my friend being on the flight. I made my way over to her and gave her a warm hug. She seemed to melt into my arms, and I felt her gently sobbing into my chest. As shocking as it was to lose my wife, Sara had lost her father and final parent.

We sat beside each other at the meeting, and I had to keep an arm around her to keep her from falling out of the chair. As the presentation was made by the airline, from technical advisors to grief counselors, I tried my best to console Sara as her body shook from stifled sobs. When the dog and pony show mercifully ended, we stayed on until we were the last two in the room. Sara didn't seem to want to move and I didn't want to leave her alone.

We sat, side by side, not saying a word, but sharing in our mutual pain. After a long silence, she finally spoke.

"This all just seems like a terrible, awful dream," she said distantly. "Like my dad is suddenly going to appear and say this was all just a joke."

"I know what you mean," I replied. "I can't believe it either."

We sat in silence for a while longer before I spoke again.

"I want you to know, if there is anything I can do for you, anything at all, I want you to call me," I said. I put my hand over hers and squeezed gently and we exchanged phone numbers.

I didn't really mean that, it was just a standard thing to say to close the conversation and move on. All I wanted to do was to curl up in a ball, with a bottle, and turn the world off. Which is what I did, for the next two months. I did the minimum work to get by at the law firm, turned down all invitations from friends, and mostly sat alone in the dark, thinking about my lost wife, wishing I were dead.

Then one night, when I was passed out on the couch from drinking, I heard a knock on the door. It was late, and I was not expecting anyone. But when I answered the door, it wasn't just someone I wasn't expecting. It was someone who didn't exist. It was Robert. The Robert who had gone down in the plane crash.

I stared at him in disbelief. "Robert, how are you..."

Robert cut me off. "Tom, I don't have a lot of time", he said. "I have something very important to ask you."

A rush of thoughts went through my head, but all I could stammer out was "But you're dead."

"Right. Listen carefully," Robert said. "Sara needs help. She is not handling this ... situation ... well, and she needs someone to help her get her through this."

My mouth was still hanging open. "But you're ..."

Robert interrupted again. "I need you to promise me, Tom, that you will help her. Promise me."

Despite all the questions that were flying through my head, I felt the overwhelming urge to nod my approval with the request.

Then I jerked awake, in a cold sweat. It had been a dream. My heart was beating rapidly and my mind was in a swirl. I spent the rest of that night staring up at the ceiling, recalling details from the very odd, very realistic dream.

I had all but forgotten the dream the next day, but I was looking for socks in my drawer late in the afternoon and came across a balled up piece of paper. When I opened it up, I saw the name Sara on it and a phone number, and the dream came flooding back. Remembering my dream promise to a dead man, I picked up the phone and dialed her number.

It was a dozen rings in before she answered. It sounded like she may have been asleep.

"Sara, it's Tom Simpson here, I just wanted to call to see how you are doing, see if there is anything...any way I can help," I said. I felt foolish as the receiver went silent. I was about to hang up when I realized she was sobbing.

My paternal instinct kicked in, and I became fearful that something wasn't right. "Sara, where are you," I said sternly.

She paused before answering unsteadily. "At my dad's house," she said.

I threw on some clothes and took the short walk over to Robert's house, which was almost completely dark. I knocked on the door but it was open, so I went in and called out Sara's name as I walked up the stairs to the living room. She was sitting on a couch, looking out over a large window over the ocean. I noted that it seemed eerily similar to my own nightly ritual, sitting on a couch overlooking the ocean. Except that she had an open bottle of pills on the table in front of her.

"It's ok, I didn't take them," she said listlessly. "I was going to, but when the phone rang earlier, it startled me and I spilled them all over the floor."

I sat down beside her on the couch and put my face in my hands. I half wanted to suggest that we could just both split the bottle and die together. But I had a dream nagging at me in the back of my mind, and my friend had asked me for help. Even if he was dead.

So we sat there in the near dark, for a long time we were both silent. Eventually, we began to talk, sharing our thoughts and feelings. Even though I had lost a wife and she had lost a father, our experiences were very similar. And we both seemed to have hit a road block to recovery and were wallowing in misery.

So we talked and talked, cried and laughed, and at some point late that night or early the next morning, she had settled down enough that I felt safe leaving. I insisted on taking the pills with me. We made a pact to meet for coffee in a few days and then I left.

Walking home on the cool clear night, I felt better than I had in a while. Somehow I felt like I had a purpose again, a reason beyond my misery. It felt good that I had helped Sara.

It also gave me something to look forward to, another chance to be helpful, and I very much looked forward to getting together for coffee. It was awkward at first, she was embarrassed, but we had a common connection that really pulled us together. We both seemed to realize that we were helping each other. The conversation flowed and an hour was gone in no time. We shared a hug and made a promise to meet again the next week.

Meeting for coffee became a weekly ritual, something I looked forward to very much. Helping Sara had become very therapeutic for me, I had stopped drinking myself to sleep and hadn't had any more weird dreams. I got the sense that she was doing much better as well, and I did my best to act like a father figure for her. As winter turned into spring we started getting our coffee outside, then going for walks, and eventually we ended up turning it into long afternoon walks on the beach.

While I was very aware that Sara was a strikingly beautiful girl, I never thought of her as anything more than a friend. In addition to the fact that she was half my age, I wasn't really ready to move on. But I would also be lying if I didn't admit that it was great taking sunset walks on the beach with a beautiful young girl.

Spring turned into summer and we still kept our weekly ritual, every Wednesday afternoon, we'd meet on the beach in front of my house and take our long walk. We talked less and less about our lost loved ones and more about our lives in general. I could tell she was doing much better.

So much better, in fact, that I started getting the impression that she was getting bored with me, that she didn't need me any more and maybe she was hanging out with the sad old widowed guy out of pity.

One late fall day as darkness was descending on us as we ended our walk, I decided that I needed to be the strong one and allow her to move on on her own. I felt like it was what she wanted.

"Sara, I can't tell you how much our time together has meant for me, I feel like we have helped each other through a very tough time," I said. "Maybe we've reached a point where we need to move on with our lives, and maybe the loss we share together is keeping us from moving on."

It felt like someone else was talking, and they weren't making any sense. Sara was not saying anything, and I couldn't tell what she was thinking. We had reached the end of our walk, in front of my house.

We stopped and faced each other, though she didn't really look directly at me, her eyes were downcast. She moved forward and embraced me in a hug, pulled me close and held me. "Thank you, so much," she said. "Thank you for everything."

Then she was gone. I guess I had hoped she would disagree with me, that she would insist we keep seeing each other, continue to take walks and have coffee. But her reaction led me to believe that maybe she really did need to move on. I sat on the beach for a long time, watching the waves roll in as a gnawing feeling of emptiness began creeping in.

The next few months were hell. Every Wednesday I would find myself looking for Sara to walk up on the beach in front of my house, and every week I'd be disappointed. Once again, I felt like a part of me had been taken away. I missed her beautiful smile, her wavy brown hair, her brown eyes that had gone from being sad to being happy.

One night I was sitting on the couch overlooking the cold ocean when I heard a noise behind me. I turned around and saw a figure dressed in a long white gown walking towards me through the darkness. As she came into view I realized it was Anne. She was wearing a full length white bathrobe made of the sheerest silk I had ever seen. She melted into my arms like she had never left, and as she pushed me back onto the couch and straddled me I came to the realization I was dreaming, and I focused my entire concentration on not waking up.

Suddenly my pants were off and Anne was sliding my cock inside her, and then she was moving up and down on top of me, kissing me all over and holding me like she would never let me go.

"I've missed you so much, " she said softly.

"I've missed you too," I answered.

I moved back onto the couch and she sat up on me so I could look at her face, feel her body with my hands, caress her breasts. It felt incredible to be inside her again, though there was something hollow about it. As I looked up at her in the darkness, her face began to fade, and I desperately tried to refocus to see her again. As she came back into focus, her face had changed.

It was Sara. Suddenly I was dreaming that I was making love to Sara.

The jolt snapped me awake, and I found myself alone in the dark on the couch. I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. When I opened them back up, Anne was back, standing in front of me.

"I have a surprise for you," she said.

Once again, I jerked awake, this time from the dream within the dream. This time, I was alone. I had an overpowering feeling that I would be alone forever.

Things didn't improve over the next 30 days. It was getting close to Christmas, the one year anniversary of Anne's death. My daughter had decided to spend Christmas with her boyfriend's family, I expect she didn't want to suffer the memories of being home. So I would be spending the holidays alone.

By the time the afternoon of Dec. 20 rolled around, I had reached the lowest point in my life. I had gone beyond not caring if I lived or died, I had moved on to just wanting to end it. Ironically, I came across the pills that I had taken from Sara. I threw on some pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, got a bottle of bourbon and the pills and sat down in front of the window facing the ocean. I got so engrossed thinking about Anne, and Sara, and the aching sadness inside me, that at first I didn't notice the snowflakes that began drifting down. I watched it for about an hour, picking up gradually in intensity. Perfect, I thought. Just like a year ago, it's snowing. That should make for a good obit.

Just as I was reaching for the pills, I heard a timid knock on the door. At first I was just going to ignore it, but then it came again, a little louder. I walked down and opened the door.

It was Sara, standing in front of the door, dramatically underdressed in jeans and a white silk shirt. Her eyes were misty with tears. She raised her arms and smiled weakly up at the snow falling.

"I didn't know where else to go," she said.

There were no words. I held out my arms to her and she practically collapsed into them, shivering and crying and holding onto me like her life depended on it. She was freezing. I leaned down and slipped an arm behind her knees and lifted her up into my arms, and carried her over to the couch. We sat down together, her not letting me go and me not wanting her to. We sat there for what felt like hours, quietly watching the snow fall, holding each other.

At some point I realized I had dozed off, because I found himself looking at Anne. I was sitting on the couch and she was right in front of me, smiling, looking peaceful. "I have a surprise for you," she said.

I woke up from the dream to find myself lying on the couch, Sara on top of me with her head resting on my chest. As I slowly regained consciousness, I became acutely aware of a situation. My cock was hard, as in rock hard, and was poking into Sara's midsection. She seemed to be asleep, but I was still in a predicament. If I moved, I would wake her up and she would wake up with a boner in her stomach. But if I didn't move, she would eventually wake up to the same surprise. I tried to kill my erection by thinking of anything else but having a beautiful young body lying on top of me, but not having sex for a year was making that pointless. The erection was staying.

Just then I felt her shifting and stirring, and decided my best bet might be to feign sleep. I closed my eyes and waited to see what would happen. There was no way she wouldn't feel the hardness poking through my thin cotton pajamas. I could feel her moving around, I could tell she was awake. I felt her lift her head up, to look at me sleeping. I imagined her being embarrassed for me, easing up off me, going home and telling her friends about the pervy old horny guy. But then something very different happened.

I felt her move her hands up onto my torso. I felt her move her chest down some, so that my straining cock was now coming in contact with her breasts. And I felt her, ever so delicately, moving her lips so that they were contacting my stomach. And then very softly, I felt her lips kissing my stomach.

She wanted me. Suddenly, knowing that, I realized that I wanted her. And almost simultaneously, I understood what Anne was saying. It's time.

Emboldened, I lifted my hand up to the side of her head, touched her hair lightly, and stroked her head gently. She tensed at first, realizing that I was awake, but then she recognized the feel of a hand caressing her. She slowly tilted her head up so that she was looking up at me, and our eyes came together with a moment that overwhelmed us both.