Many thanks to, my friend, Broadsword, for his inspiration, and to my editor, Bill, for his time and kindness.
It's Saturday evening and she sits in her home as lonely as anyone can be. She's felt very much like a woman all day, a woman who needs to be loved in the most intimate of ways. If the male of the species were there with he, he would surly sense her need and smell the scent of a woman in heat. She's had to change her panties twice today; such is the flow of womanly juices unclaimed. Her bra can barely contain swelled breasts that ache to be suckled and ravished.
Where is the justice or sense of reason that one who so desires, is left to burn alone, left to only dream of lust and wanton abandon with someone of like passion? Where is it written that this torment must be so? A woman sits there, whose needs are growing with each breath, whose desire is beyond anything imagined, a woman whose passion is unchecked, whose soul yearns for a kindred spirit to take her places she's never been, a woman who desires to give herself over to sexual pleasures, to give of herself, and take that which is only a dream in the far reaches of her mind.
When she closes her eyes, she can almost see the phantom that invades her mind and is just out of reach. That person who calls to her—from she knows not where. He comes to her at night, in her dreams, and fills her body with desires she can barely contain. He makes love to her dream spirit in the most sensual of ways, bending her to his will and making her the woman of his desire. He visits her unannounced, and fills her being with passions she only imagines, yet they are so real she can never deny them.
She awakens from a sleep she wants to remain in—where he is—where they are—together. Her day is filled with thoughts of him and her body responds as it does in her dreams. It betrays her and puts an aura of lust about her that others see, yet cannot define. She aches to run to him, to leave the day behind and find solace in the night when he comes to her unannounced. She lives for her dream state, where she comes alive in wanton abandon with her phantom lover.
He came to her that night—from a far away place—a place she had never seen before. Was he at last going to reveal himself to her she wondered? She had never seen his face, only his body as it burns upon hers. His body and his passion that take from her what he wants and gives to her what she has never imagined. But, where was this? He was walking away from her—not toward her. The place he was at was hot. She could see heat rising from the ground and hear the air sizzle and buzz. Sand was everywhere. What was that she saw, Humvees and soldiers? Could it be a far off firebase in Iraq? It couldn't be, but it was. Everyone was in uniform, including him. He walked into a tent, closing the flap behind him.
It seemed as though she was watching a movie in slow motion while hanging in the air above, looking down upon the scene as if she was a camera—filming. Once in the tent, he sat in front of a laptop computer with his back to her. It was a small tent, with several sleeping bags upon cots containing weary soldiers. A small stand stood in the corner, where the laptop was busy booting up.
He began typing and within seconds a website came onto the screen. She saw him scroll through an index and click on a link with stories, erotic stories. First he looked at the picture of the authoress, a pretty woman, a mature woman with blonde hair and a seductive smile.
'That's me', she thought, 'He's reading my stories!'
