I mean, it's not like John didn't know it was a dream. You always know when it's a dream, or at least you're supposed to, anyway. If you don't know, that means you are crazy, and as best John could tell, he wasn't crazy, and this was a dream.
But this dream sure felt different somehow. For one thing, he was very conscious that it was a dream, very aware that the young woman on top of him, sliding her unbelievably wet and tight little pussy up and down his engorged cocks wasn't really there.
So he knew that her dark eyes staring down at him without expression weren't really there. He knew that if he reached up and touched her breasts, tight on her chest with dangerously pointed dark brown nipples, that he wasn't really going to be touching her. He knew that if he reached up and caressed her black hair that it wasn't going to be a real human being he was touching.
No matter how real it felt.
She continued to rock her slender and angular hips up and down on him, grabbing at him and pulling, making him gasp with pleasure, her expression unchanging, unblinking.
He also knew that cumming inside this young woman would be a bad idea.
And he knew that he was going to do it anyway. After all, he'd came the other times when he'd had this dream, hadn't he?
He grabbed his sheets with his fist even tighter. He clenched his teeth, bit his lip.
She continued to look down at him with almost no expression, maybe a slightly quizzical look in her eyes from time to time- but that was all.
He, though, definitely had expressions on his face. His jaw was open, slack, he was gasping with pleasure as she rode her pussy up and down on him.
Why are you doing this, Wei, he wanted to ask. But he couldn't. No talking in this dream.
Instead he closed his eyes- can you close your eyes in a dream? Can you close your eyes in a dream, and imagine that the woman fucking you in your dream is
another
woman fucking you in your dream? Is that even
possible?
John didn't know. But he tried. In his dream, he closed his eyes away from Wei, and thought of Lynda, who he really wanted to be the person fucking him, grabbing his rock hard cock with a tight and drenched pussy, sliding herself up and down him strongly and powerfully, making him gasp, making him cum...
In his dream, he opened his eyes as he began to squirt uncontrollably, grabbing at his wet sheets, moaning and cumming. But it wasn't Lynda up there in his dream, it was still Wei.
In the real world, he woke up to his alarm. Monday morning.
His belly and sheets were covered with his ejaculate, cooling now, congealing now.
Considering he had the same dream Saturday morning, and then Sunday morning after that, he was surprised at how much he had squirted all over his bedding.
He hit the alarm and began to wad up his sheets and blanket. Again. Being a bachelor, it's not like he had a lot of bedding.
What the fuck, he was thinking as he started his washing machine.
***
The interns shuffled in, one by one. They looked wide eyed, haunted, exhausted. They were almost all late. It was clear that none of them had the slightest idea how to process what they had been seeing out there on the streets the night before.
So Lynda decided to call a meeting of them.
She was in the kitchenette next to the conference room making a second pot of coffee, but she could still hear them in the other room.
"I can't believe how much was burned down last night," Zoe was saying. "That beauty supply store. The Walgreens. Shit! There was stuff burned down right down the street from Maxon here and this is like, a
nice
part of the City."
"I've never been anywhere where there were riots before," Morgan replied. She took a cup of coffee from Lynda. "Thanks. Last night was
bad
... all I could hear was sirens screaming up and down my block. All around me. I couldn't sleep at all."
Morgan looked around.
"Where's Wei?"
"She was the first one here, as usual," Lynda shrugged. "She'll be around."
"I can't believe that the cops just shot that kid," Zoe babbled. "I mean, I was hearing on the news that this kid was no angel or anything, I guess he'd been in some kind of trouble with the law before. Probably drugs or something. Still, for the cop to just shoot the kid like that, in the back, when the kid had his hands up -"
"Why don't you say his name," Brandon said quietly.
"What?"
"He had a name, Zoe. His name was Shawn. Try saying that for a while. Something like, that cop shot
Shawn
when
Shawn
had his hands up."
"What difference does it make?"
Brandon shrugged.
"Probably nothing. It's just that... us black men, we have names, you know? Names, and mothers. Hopes for the future... shit, hopes for the fucking
day. All
that shit. We might not be 'angels', right? But we at least have
names."
Morgan laid a hand on Brandon's forearm.
"Come on, Brandon," she said quietly. "You know she doesn't mean it like that."
Zoe was nodding.
Brandon sighed.
Lynda put her hand on his other forearm and gave him a reassuring smile.
"Thanks for having a little meeting with me, everyone," Lynda told her interns. "I know this is crazy. I've never seen anything like it. I thought that maybe things were getting... better, maybe? I don't know. But I sure didn't see this coming."
"What the fuck was that cop thinking?" Morgan wondered. "Did they think that video wasn't going to be released showing that the kid-
Shawn,
sorry, Brandon
-
didn't have a weapon and wasn't attacking anyone? I'm talking about the cop that did all the shooting- not the black one- but that white one- "
"Rex Sanders," Zoe said quietly. "The officer's name is Rex Sanders."
She looked at Brandon.
"I guess I know
his
name, right? Sorry, Brandon."
Brandon forced a smile on his face for his friend.
"That's OK, baby girl," he said. He reached out and patted her hand. "I know you aren't one of them."
"Anyway," Lynda interjected. "Does anyone need to go home for the day? I'll record your hours towards your internship. I don't think I'm going to be able to get any work done myself, and fucking Excel- excuse me, but Excel can do without any of us for today, anyway. Also, Maxon is bringing in a dedicated grief counselor for employees to be able to talk to, and while I don't know that interns can use that service, I don't see why not and I'll certainly- "
The door opened, and Wei came into the meeting room, bobbing a tea bag up and down in a hot cup of water.
"Lynda, can we
please
get some green loose-leaf tea around here?" she asked. "This black tea bag is only something Americans use. Chinese don't like this kind of tea. We like green tea. Can we please get some?"
Everyone at the table looked at her silently. Wei bobbed her tea bag up and down.
"OK, Wei," Lynda said quietly. "I can get you some green tea."
"That gunpowder green tea is very good," Wei said, dropping her tea bag into the waste bucket and sitting down.
"Now," she said. "How is everyone doing? What are we meeting about?"
***
Less than an hour later much of Maxon had cleared out. Most of the staff had taken the day off to tend to their families, schools had closed due to the protests, parents wanted to be home with their children. No one was focused enough on work anyway, what with the smoke from the night before still in everyone's nostrils, and there was going to be more fires tonight.
All of the interns had cleared out. No surprise there.
Lynda was finishing the last of her emails and was going to head home to her husband. There was a light knock on her door.
"Come in," she said curtly, trying to type the last message of the day.
She looked up to see Frank standing there. Her eyes narrowed.
"Hello, Franklin," she said, the scorn undisguised in her voice. "Close the fucking door."
He did.
