THE SUMMER OF THUNDER
They were calling it the Summer of Thunder because of the many thunderstorms striking the area. Some were near, some far away. Some brought pouring rain, some gentle drizzle.
Some were loud, like a metal spoon beating on a pot; some were quiet, like the rumble of a distant train. Some came with the constant crashing of thunder; some were accompanied by the occasional roll of timpani.
Perhaps the storms felt more frightening because our home was isolated from all the neighbors. I had inherited a 500 acre farm and grown rich selling off pieces to be subdivided and redivided into suburban enclaves.
All except the farmhouse -- my house -- which was at the center of 20 otherwise empty acres. The surrounding suburbs were hidden by a border of hedges and trees.
At night, in the middle of a storm, it was easy to imagine we were the only people in the world. Easy to imagine that all the thunder and all the lightning was aimed at us and only us.
I had spent two days prepping the garden for spring. Monday through Friday, I sit behind a desk, reviewing ad copy for errors and offensive content. That doesn't keep me in shape for heavy physical effort. I was exhausted.
Usually, I stay up to watch the news and weather, but by nine o'clock, I could barely keep my eyes open. Telling my daughter, Janie, good night, I tottered off to bed.
It was a holiday weekend. A good night's sleep and the extra day off would go a long way toward my recovery. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.
- MIDNIGHT -
I awoke at midnight. A granddaddy of a storm was raging. Bright flashes of light were followed almost instantly by the loud crash of thunder. Sometimes, the noise was so strong it made the windows rattle. The storm seemed to be directly over the house with no intention of waning or moving on.
Janie stood next to my bed, seeking the safety only a Daddy could provide. Thunderstorms had always frightened her, though I thought she had outgrown the fear. But this was not your typical storm.
I raised the covers. She clambered onto the bed and laid on my chest, a long established habit. I've always carried a few extra pounds, so I'm an adequate substitute for a mattress.
At 19, my Janie is a grownup, but she's tiny. Barely five feet tall. Laying down, the top of her head rested under my chin, her torso went to my hips, and her feet were by my shins. It was a comfortable arrangement for both of us.
She murmured and fell asleep. The warmth of her body soothed my aching muscles. Mindlessly, I rubbed her back. Drifting off, my hand slowed and settled into gentle caresses.
My brain was foggy with fatigue. I was in that netherworld between awake and asleep when something startled me.
I sought the reason. The moonlight let me scan the room, but nothing was out of place. I checked my other senses. My mouth was dry, but that was normal. There was nothing to hear except the storm.
A pleasant odor of feminine soap wafted up to my nose. Lavender. I relaxed. Janie's body lay soft and warm against mine. I caressed her back, casually noting how thin her nightgown was.
I drifted off to sleep and dreamt. Like many dreams, it was absurd.
Janie was wearing her nightgown, and I was naked. We chased each other through a sunny meadow full of flowers and rolled down a hill. She landed on top of me.
Fade out... fade in.
I'm lying at the bottom of the hill, but Janie is gone. My hands are resting on two large dinner rolls.
Like I said, the dream was absurd.
- 1:03 AM -
My eyes slowly open. It's dark. I'm in my bed, but I'm still holding the two large dinner rolls. It makes no sense.
Lifting my head, I see the dinner rolls are actually two rounded mounds. My daughter's ass cheeks. They fit nicely under my palms.
I decided I must still be dreaming. I would not fondle my daughter's ass if I were awake.
Dreams can be a way our subconscious brings sensitive issues into the light. A way to study and resolve those issues. I pondered that.
Was my dream exploring a hidden desire for my daughter? Was fondling my daughter in a dream a way to confront the issue before tucking it away again?
I squeezed both cheeks. They were very soft. I squeezed again. They felt nice and firm. Only in a dream can something be soft and also firm.
I relaxed and let my hands go exploring. One hand on each cheek, sliding over the nightgown, tracing the curves of my daughter's ass.
A delightful sense of the erotic filled my body, and my breathing quickened. There was a little murmur from below my chin.
If a little exploration felt this good, more would be better. I stretched my arms until my fingertips touched the hem of Janie's nightgown. I eased the hem higher and savored the feel of her bare skin.
I clenched my fingers, dragging the hem still higher, imagining her naked thighs coming into view an inch at a time. My arousal was growing. So was my cock.
The hem came to a sudden stop. I tugged harder to no effect. Her nightgown had bunched up near her hips and was trapped between our bodies.
I felt guilty, wanting to feel my daughter's naked body against mine. But it was just a dream. A way to resolve subconscious desires.
I went back to sleep.
- 2:16 AM -
A sudden silence roused me. The lightening and thunder were gone, leaving a gentle rain pattering against the window.
My cock was in an uncomfortable position. I worked my hand between our two bodies so I could adjust it. I was surprised to find it still hard and began to play with it.
My free hand went around my daughter's waist. It was bare. The nightgown was now bunched under her breasts. How had that happened? I shrugged. Strange things happen in dreams.
Caressing Janie's bare back, feeling the warmth of her body as I stroked my hard cock was wonderful. The sense of the erotic was replaced by desire. Desire for my daughter.
Strong emotions like grief, fear, anxiety, love, and desire can be overwhelming in real life. Dreams tamp down these emotions so we can safely experience them. Surely, that was what was happening. A safely modulated exploration of inappropriate desires to be experienced. Once experienced and satisfied, those desires would return to the depths of my subconscious.
