Transgressions
Sunday morning found me under the covers, lathered in perspiration. Even my hair was wet with it as I crawled out of bed, my little nighty plastered to my body. Not being a morning person, I didn't think much of it then. Having lived in Iqaluit for so long, sleeping above the covers was a difficult thing to get used to, and I wasn't surprised that I'd gotten under them at some point during the night.
My double size, red coffee mug was down on the main level, and it wasn't until I'd gone down the stairs to get it that I was reminded of the real reason for my having slept the night under the covers.
The chair was still just as I'd left it the night before, (of course) and as I looked at it, suddenly recalling the details of what had happened, those tingles and shivers returned to cover my body. And, like the night before, I could only stand and stare as the hair stood up on the back of my neck.
As I've mentioned, I've never liked basements, most especially unfinished ones. There's always been something about them that gives me the creeping jitters, and the events of the night before really didn't help.
However, with a shaky, deep breath in the morning light, I was able to overcome my baseless fears to quite an extent. Though still staring somewhat fearfully at the questionably secured basement door, I passed it in order to get to the kitchen. Even on my return trip, I eyed it, glancing at it again as I mounted the stairs, hurrying back up to the upper level with my boobs bouncing in the drying nightie.
After three cups of coffee in my cozy, undecorated living room, I was more or less back to normal, at least normal enough for a little research on my laptop. I curled into the corner of the sectional, the morning bathing me in its light and warmth through the east facing windows as I googled, 'sleepwalking', and here's what I found:
Sleepwalking is more common for children than adults, though not at all uncommon for adults. Generally, it's caused by sleep deprivation, though other factors such as febrile illnesses and certain medications including sedatives and alcohol can be a factor. In children, sleepwalking often occurs in conjunction with bed wetting, sleep apnea and sleep terrors. Like sleepwalking, sleep terrors, also known as 'night terrors', tends to run in families. Behaviour during sleepwalking events can range from sitting up in bed and looking around, getting out of bed and walking around, urinating in closets, (more common with children) screaming, violent episodes and even more complex behaviours such as driving long distances. Finally, because a sleepwalker is usually in a deep sleep during the event, he or she typically has little or no memory of the episode.
All in all, this didn't help much. Up to that night, I'd been sleeping well, I wasn't taking any medications and I never drank alcohol. I was quite sure I wasn't suffering from a febrile illness and, while the weather had been hot, actually thirty-one degrees Celsius the previous day, I doubted it was hot enough to elevate my body temperature to feverish levels. Also, I remembered perfectly well getting out of bed, going downstairs, opening the door and saying the things I'd said... just not why, or how it was that my conscious mind didn't seem to know what I was doing as I was doing it. I hadn't been wetting the bed and, to my knowledge, I've never had any episodes of sleepwalking in the past, not as an adult or as a child. No, sleepwalking didn't seem to fit the episode in question, however, in the absence of any other plausible explanation, my sleepwalking theory nonetheless remained.
Probably in an effort to shake off the creeping feelings of paranoia and fear, my mind gradually turned to other things, namely lesbians. Proving that Donna hadn't after all cleansed my soul of its afflicting porn addiction, I watched some lesbian seduction videos, then went to some picture galleries of the same theme.
Sometimes I find that a series of still pictures can offer my perversion more fodder than a video that sometimes inhibits my imagination. With a good series, I can improvise a whole premise that adds so much colour, so much vivid detail that porn almost always seems to lack in some way and, sitting there on my sectional, it wasn't long before I found a good one.
It featured three women of about Donna's age sitting on a couch, watching television while eating popcorn. The one in the middle, a blonde, dropped some popcorn on her chest. The collar of her low cut top held it at the top of her cleavage until her brunette friend on the right picked it up with her mouth. The blonde found this funny and harmless, watching as both brunettes began making a game of eating popcorn off her chest until they had to go digging for a piece that went down her top. She wasn't wearing a bra and, while she watched one of her friends sucking her nipple, mouth open in surprise and pleasure, the other was spreading her legs with a sleazy little smile as she checked out the crotch of her white panties under her short skirt. By the time they'd gotten her down on the couch, one of them sitting on her face while the other fingered her pussy, she seemed to have abandoned herself to their will, and the ensuing scenes of half-dressed boobs and pussies got me off in yelping orgasm as my fingers rapidly flicked my clit.
"Lord Jesus, please forgive me," I whispered afterward.
Staring at my finger as it ran with my own juices, I asked for forgiveness again, silently as I slowly put it in my mouth and sucked it clean.
"Mmmm..."
That was new.
Feeling much better, I stood in front of the basement door five minutes later, still in my little sheer nightie. Without much hesitation, I took the chair from its post and returned it to the kitchen table before coming back to stand in front of the door again, closer this time. Reaching out my hand, I grasped the knob, turned it and pulled the door open, wincing at the squeak of its old hinges as the smell of must instantly assaulted the scent of fresh paint that now pervaded the house.
Stepping forward, I returned to the spot I'd been the night before, the small, dark landing at the top of the stairs. Because there were no basement windows, it was still pitch black down there, even in the daytime, until I reached around the doorframe and turned the lights on. From my vantage point at the top of the stairs, there didn't seem to be any monsters down there, but actually starting my way down the creaking stairs took some doing just the same.
With my slippered feet on the rough, concrete floor of the basement, I still saw no monsters as I looked around. It was a shadowy place where only dust kept the ancient oil furnace and its supply tank company. With no small amount of trepidation, I started towards the far corner where these seemingly lone inhabitants resided.
The furnace was actually a respectable distance from the tank, this being a fire safety necessity, and looked as though someone had recently cleaned it up. What I assumed to be the hot water tank that fed the faucets squatted to its side, connected by copper pipe and, like the furnace itself, hiding no little monsters behind it.
Approaching the large, dark red supply tank, I noted that it looked somewhat new and I wondered how in blazes the installers had even gotten it down there. In any case, it was set right against the wall with no space for anything to get behind it and hide. A quick look underneath its belly revealed no creepy-crawlies there either and, with this visual information, it was time to investigate under the stairs.
Like everywhere else in the basement, this area was clean of any clutter or crouching monsters, and it was time to get out of there. I mounted the foot of the steps, looking up to the open doorway that spilled daylight into the landing area at the top, and a horrible thought burst into being within my mind. I imagined the door suddenly slamming closed a split second before the lights went out, plunging me into total darkness. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck again, and I had to force myself not to run up the stairs, but I was unable to refrain from looking over my shoulder a few times as I hastily made for the main level.
Slamming the door shut, I put my back against it, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out as I tried to calm myself.
"Dammit."
Moments later, I turned off the light and went back upstairs. I'd established for myself in no uncertain terms that there was nothing evil lurking in the basement, at least not then, but that was apparently not enough to placate my irrational fear of dark holes in the ground.
Monday morning came around without any further incidents of sleepwalking, or whatever. Obviously, I didn't mention it to Donna because I didn't want her to think I was a crazy idiot, but also because, at that point, the event had mostly taken a backseat in my mind anyway.
"You are so hot in that uniform," she said, sitting at the kitchen table with her morning coffee and a smile that looked as though it would start drooling saliva at any second.
"So, you like girls in uniform, huh?" I teased, putting my hair up so I could don the bowler hat.
"I sure like
this
girl in uniform. I bet you're wearing some sexy lingerie underneath it too, aren't you, sweetie pie?"
