It was if I were in a dream -- I'd woken in pitch black darkness to the sound of my ears ringing. My heart was pounding hard and steady, and the remnant of a sigh was still snaking its way through my lips.
Someone had pulled the neglected window curtains closed. The room was darker than usual without the regular streetlamp glow shuffling in between the slatted blinds. For some reason, none of the lights throughout the rest of the apartment were on. I did not feel alone in my room.
I immediately pushed myself to the headboard, propped back against pillows onto my elbows to survey the quiet room-scape in utter stillness; my blind eyes must have been wide like saucers. Something was so odd. I couldn't tell if I sensed or simply imagined some shifting of air current in the dark. Was that a soft, nearly inaudible brush of fabric? Or a stifled panted breath? Was it in my head, in my bed, or across the room? I realized slowly that I had been so focused on my bedroom, I had temporarily forgotten myself.
I looked down at where I knew my body would be in the dark, but I could barely see the outline of my bed so there was little hope of picking out detail of my own form by sight. I had an inexplicable urge to check my body. There was no thought process behind it, only an instinct that something was different or needed attention. Shifting my weight to my left arm and sliding my right hand down along my body under the ruffled blankets, I paused for a second. I must have kicked the sheets partially off in my sleep as I sometimes do during the summer months, but just then I found the strewn bedding disconcerting. As my hand rushed down along my soft flank and curved over my abdomen, I yelped in shock as I felt a thick, wet residue seemingly spattered across my smooth skin. It quickly began drying, turning sticky and globular along my front as my hand brushed up and down to try and identify the fluid. It traced it as far up as between my exposed breasts and as far down as my pubic hair nestled at the top of my clamped thighs. It was so wet and thick down there, I wondered if I'd somehow been sick in my sleep. I drew my hand cautiously up to my face, trying to gauge where my fingers were in relation to my nose. The powerful scent of the fluid helped me more than sight. It was so strange - something so familiar about it, and yet completely alien to my own body. I risked licking one of my fingers out of curiosity. It didn't taste like bile or blood, but it was faintly bitter and salty; it tasted just as it smelled.
What I found most odd was my body's reaction to it. Something deep in my abdomen tightened like a small, but not entirely unpleasant cramp. My mouth watered and my pulse quickened into an exciting wash of sensation along my body. A wave rolled over and through me, and somewhere in the back of my mind I felt rather than heard a deep, vibrating whisper. It seduced my senses, easing this new experience away from fear and towards craving. I quickly inhaled as the wave swept over me again. That silent whisper caressed its way from the back of my neck and curled along my collarbone, it slithered down and grazed my chest, I felt my nipples budding into beacons on my soft flesh. Another wave flooded through me as that silent whisper rushed from my nipples to the center of my now rhythmically undulating torso. It rushed down my front, searing a new circuit of sensation deep past that slickened patch of softly curling hair where I was shocked to find my own hand between my legs, rubbing myself without finesse. My hand was completely inexperienced in delivering this pleasure, but my body knew what it wanted, and it guided me as though I'd enjoyed that path many times before.
I realized I was panting, gasping at little shocks caught when I rolled my hips. The sounds coming from deep in my throat only fueled the warmth growing in my belly. The intoxicating scent of that strange liquid mixing at my crotch with my own new, sweet juices sent me into a trance. I made leaps from sensation to sensation, thought to thought, like some vivid web was growing as the heat and rolling wave spread throughout me. I imagined water from the fountain of life. I imagined it coursing through my body. I imagined it springing deep within, somehow forced into me by a higher power. By something or someone stronger than myself. I was surprisingly dumbstruck by the realization that this must be what sex is like, in some way. What would sex with a man be like? What would be different? Would it hurt? Why did the thought of some deep ache, some brief piercing pain cause me so much more pleasure? I was reaching some unknown critical peak, but I urged myself to imagine a man inside me, stretching my unclaimed depths. Someone larger and stronger, someone learned in this literally awesome experience. I imagined him holding me with a fierce intensity, hands at the small of my back and gripping the back of my neck, keeping me from being shoved too far away as he thrust so hard and so deep. Was this what "sluts" thought of? I Imagine him forcing his way inside me as he called me his good little slut. My mind crashed, my body contorted as I gasped, crying out.
