𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗬 𝗣𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗦

chapter twelve

CASEN
2009

I HAVEN'T HAD SEX in nearly two months, maybe even a little less.

     Which isn't too bad when you really think about it. Do I need to fuck to operate? No. I've never thought of myself as the type of man who goes after women like a rabid dog in heat. Yet, right now, I feel like a prepubescent teenager who has just discovered what a boner is for the first time in his life. Horny and insufferable.

     And I'm fucking horrified about it.

     Because last night I had an awful dream, not one from my usual series of vicious nightmares, no, one that if I wasn't trying so hard to be a gentleman and a good guy, I may have even enjoyed the thought of when I woke up from my deep sleep. Two months ago I would have laughed it off and never thought about it again, two months ago I would've tried to somehow repeat the same dream in my head before I went to sleep the following night. Yet sadly, I don't have that same fucking luxury as I did two months ago. So I may as well mourn over the little things I used to be able to do whilst I wallow in self-hatred right now.

It was about Sloan. The innocent and beautiful girl who had befriended me on the odd chance of thinking I'm a good person. The same female who sees me as a friend and trusts me with the precious time that she willingly allows me to spend with her. I'm a fucking lucky guy. But I am inevitably bound to fuck it up at some point, one way or another, maybe this is the tip of the iceberg that will slowly sink our ship.

In the beginning, it was tame, and quite polite, in fact, it followed on from the night we were drinking in my apartment. She was just sitting there, staring at me with her big doe eyes looking beautiful as ever, it felt so real, and it was I who made the first fucking move— you can imagine what happened next. I've never had a dream like it, whispering sweet things in my ear as she writhed beneath me.

Maybe it was consciously teasing me, creating the scenarios that I wish to happen in real life and torturing me with them in my sleep. My secret lust for her has made its way into my dreams, even though I was working so hard on keeping it tightly tucked away in the back of my mind. I didn't want to take advantage of such a beautiful thing, a genuine friendship that is blossoming organically between us.

We're not in an intimate relationship, we have a mutual connection and a preference for spending time with one another because we enjoy each other's company.

But man, it's so fucking hard to do so when Sloan is that goddamn beautiful and everything she does has me feeling a certain type of way. I'm so deprived of sex that the pigment in her lips has me feeling all hot, just enough for my mind to work in a wicked way and imagine her in the most betraying way possible.

How will I ever look at her with the deep shame that now burdens me? Knowing that whilst she slept soundly in bed one night, my mind was racing with the dirtiest scenarios of me doing all kinds of things to her. Hearing the echo of my name slipping sensually off of her tongue like smooth chocolate I want to lap back up with my tongue.

Though I suppose it's natural to have dreams like that, as a human being, there's nothing wrong with having an intimate dream. So why do I feel like a pig? Probably because she sure as hell wouldn't look at me the same way if she knew of how I had seen her in my subconscious. It almost felt like a betrayal of some kind, guilt weighing down heavily on me like a ton of boulders.

I'm done for, completely and utterly done for. I may as well just off myself now and get it over and done with, I'm a dead man fucking walking.

When I woke up this morning, stunned by that imaginative sex I had just indulged in, I almost thought that it was real— that it wasn't my ludicrous subconscious and that it had really happened, that she may be sleeping soundly at my side in my bed. A mutual, real-life decision. But once my frantic twists and turns examined my bedroom and saw no sign of the female's presence, I realised what exactly had happened.