After checking the stores closing hours, I continue walking home, and as I stand on the front porch of my house, I hear shouting coming from my neighbours across the way. Again. It’s the same couple that Logan and I saw arguing two weeks ago. Through the windows into their living room I can see arms gesticulating madly in time with loud, incomprehensible yelling. I pause momentarily, wondering if I should do something, before deciding that it’s really not my place.
Good luck to them
, I think, stepping into my home and closing the door on their row.
Before I get to do the fun, birthday-related things, I have to do the responsible,
grownup
things. My plants haven’t had water for nearly a week, so they’re my first port of call. Then I empty the fridge of everything that’s too old to eat, I put clean sheets on my bed, and I do a quick dust and vacuum of the whole cottage.
An hour later, my chores done, I excitedly gather everything I need together, placing my bag of shopping, along with Logan’s presents and few blank sheets of paper and some pens, onto the dining room table, and I then head into the living room to turn on the television. I navigate my way to the music channels, settling for the Chillout Lounge, of course. Humming along to a familiar song, I embark on my gift wrapping and card creating. Picking one of the most memorable times that Logan and I have had sex, I draw on his birthday card a very detailed, very accurate depiction of me standing flush against the glass window in his bedroom, with Logan standing behind me. I take a lot of care to draw our faces so that they convey the amount of pleasure we felt at the time, and I find myself becoming aroused as I think about that morning repeatedly, capturing it on paper.
When I’m satisfied with its level of eroticism, it’s then time to write the insides of both cards. The sexy one is easy, as I write simply,
our imminent activity
, hoping his birthday will start, quite literally, with a bang. However his other card, the one for public display, takes me longer to pen. There are so many things I want to say to him and so I just start writing, putting down in words all of my reasons for adoring him, all the ways that he’s made my life better, all the ways he’s helped me to grow.
Logan, there are just a few things I want you to know…
In a way, without saying a word, we have dared each other, and pushed each other to open up more, to trust more, to fall more in love, and we keep achieving new heights. This is completely new to me.
With you, love feels real. Like, REALLY real. I’ve never felt so loved and respected and appreciated as you make me feel, and you make me feel like that constantly, just for being me. That’s new as well.
You’ve made my everyday sweeter and brighter, and brief though our relationship has been, I cannot imagine living a single day of the rest of my life without you. I love you more than I ever thought I was capable of loving someone.
I wish for you the best birthday that you’ve ever had, and I hope that the next thirty-five years (and beyond) we will continue to grow side-by-side, because if there’s one thing that I know with absolute certainty, it’s that we’re better together.
I’ll love you forever. Thank you for being YOU.
All my love, Gemima.
It’s in this immensely thankful and loved-up mood that I crawl into my fresh, newly-made bed. As I lie, looking up at myself in the mirrors on the ceiling, two thoughts go through my mind.
The first is about Amber and Seamus — the mirror implementers. Their heartwarming announcement makes me reach for my phone and spend the next ten minutes trawling the internet to find them a suitable pregnancy present. I buy them something called a foetus-scope, which I find a sufficiently
different
gift to give. They won’t be expecting something usual from me, so this is perfect.
My phone then back on the bedside table, next to my packet of the pill which looks untampered with, the second thought goes through my mind. Me, lying here last Monday, about to embark on my special assignment from Logan — touching myself and bringing myself to orgasm while thinking about him, during our only night apart since we’ve gotten together. Oh, that was fun, I muse, allowing the gratifying feelings to flow through my body, enlivening it, sparking a desire to reenact that assignment. The image I drew earlier of Logan and I against the window comes back into my imagination, driving my desire higher still. But I don’t touch myself, I doze in the delicious, sensual sensations as they carry me off to sleep.
* * *
I wake many hours later with Logan lying over me, his head on my shoulder, his hand on my chest and his leg resting on top of mine. I’m steaming under the covers, and not because our combined body temperatures are hot, but because I’ve just awoken, quite suddenly, from the most sexually explicit dream that I’ve
ever
had.
I would swear on my life that it was real. I’m sure I was
just
coming over and over and over again…but it was all a dream.
Jeez
, my imagination is wanton! My heart pounds madly, and I’m panting as though I’ve actually just had sex. Down below I can feel my wetness and if it weren’t for the aching feeling in my clitoris I would think that I had an orgasm in my sleep. But that dull ache tells me that I haven’t, I woke up on the verge.
Dammit
!
I’ve never, ever woken up feeling so horny and raring to go. How is this even possible? How can I possibly be right on the verge of an orgasm simply from a dream? It was Logan, I remember, it was the incredible, heightened things he was doing to me. Oh, I want the dream to finish.
“Logan,” I whisper loudly.
But then I blanch, and scold myself,
Gemima
,
what the fuck are you doing
? You can’t wake him up and demand sex just because
you
had a sex dream! Immediately, I know my scolding-self is right, but Logan shifts and mumbles next to me.
Don
’
t wake up, please
,
don
’
t
, I scream in my mind. I really don’t want to have to explain myself. Chiding myself again, I think,
you
didn
’
t think it that far through
,
did you
,
Gem
?
I lay very still, hoping that he’ll settle and continue sleeping for however long we’ve got before my alarm goes off. Tentatively, I glance over at my nightstand, trying hard to move my eyeballs and nothing else, to check what time it is.
Shit
…it’s only five AM.
Logan wriggles and mumbles, “S’matter?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, feeling tense all over. My dream will just have to wait to be finished. “Go back to sleep,” I tell him, though I feel like I won’t be able to do anything of the sort. I’ll probably lie awake, growing more erotically charged until daylight brings some sweet reprieve. Logan will wake up and my desire will be quenched. Maybe two times, or three times, I think hopefully.
His head shifts over my chest and a second later, he freezes, his body becoming stiff and rigid. He lifts his head, suddenly alert and stares at me through the darkness. “Gemima, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice terse.
“Nothing, go back to sleep,” I whisper once more.
“No,” he says, “your heart is beating overtime.”
Fuck
! Please, don’t make me say it, Logan. “I’m fine,” I say, stroking his cheek with my hand.
Logan momentarily flattens me, reaching for something on my nightstand. The feeling of him on top of me does nothing to stem my rapid heartbeat or the intense feeling of longing that’s potent in every cell of my body. Suddenly the bedside lamp comes on, and I scrunch up my face against the unwelcome light.
“What’s wrong?” Logan demands to know, still on top of me.
Oh, this is beyond embarrassing! I desperately wish I’d kept my mouth shut. I could have snuck out of bed and crept into the bathroom, and taken care of business myself, I realise too late. Then I’d be coming right now, instead of having to explain my rudeness. I cover my face with my hands, partly to block out the light, partly to save face.
It
’
s confession
time
,
Gem
.
“OK,” I begin. “
Nothing
is wrong,” I point out firstly, so that he’ll stop worrying. Then the words just pour out of me. “I had a sex dream, and it was incredible, and I woke up feeling like I was
just
about to orgasm and that’s why my heart is racing, so I tried to wake you up to convince you to have sex with me, but then I was like, hang on a minute, you can’t just demand sex from him, he’s sleeping, don’t be so rude.” I take a breath. It might be the longest sentence I’ve ever managed without one.
Logan is silent for a moment, taking in what I’ve just divulged.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I tell him, peeking through my fingers. “It was very inconsiderate. Go back to sleep.”
His face is filled with humour. “That’s not fucking likely,” he murmurs, shifting himself so that he’s properly on top of me. He buries his face into my neck, kissing my skin.
“Oh, I love doing this with you,” I breathe, everything in me reigniting. My dream is becoming reality.
“The feeling’s mutual, I promise,” he chuckles.
I grin, but feel the need to say, “Please don’t feel like you need to take care of anything. I mean, if the table was turned and you woke me up after having a sex dream, I’d think,
that’s nice
, then roll over and go back to sleep,” I tell him truthfully.
“Ah, but you see, we have differing processes of arousal,” he counters quickly. “I have a one-second startup on my engine, where as yours is a little slower,” he says, mercifully aware of our differing bodies. “So, no, I would never wake you up and demand sex, because it’s not really the same thing when the table is turned,” he says.
Oh my god
, I love this man! His sensitivities, his understanding. He’s letting me get away with my rudeness! Can this be? A smile spreads across my face. “The fact that you’re aware of what you just said makes you so fucking sexy, Logan.”
He smiles against my lips, “It’s just biology, baby.”
He begins kissing me, slowly, sensually. His hand moves southwards, towards my sex. I open my legs gratefully, so ready for him. His fingers glide over me easily. I squirm against them, wanting both to feel them and to escape them. I’m so,
so
close!
“
Gemima,
” he sighs, his voice full of as much carnal desire as I feel within me. “Baby, you’re so wet!” his voice is my detonator, pushing me to the edge.
“It was a
good
dream,” I pant.
“Was I in it?” he asks, chuckling. He
so
knows the answer to that.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I say, throwing my head back into the pillow and arching my back against him. I groan loudly.
He plays with me, stroking me softly. “I love feeling you arch against me,” he whispers in my ear. “I love feeling you so wet.”
“S’your fault,” I moan. “The things you did in my dream…
ah
…they were very similar to this.” The weight of him on top of me, his fingers on my sex, his words in my ear…it’s all too much. “Logan, I want you inside of me,” I beg, my hand finding and rubbing his erection. I seriously don’t have long left.
“In a minute,” he says slowly, enjoying himself.
I tremble under him, my self-control slipping away fast. Then he slides two long fingers into me, making a sound of such gratification at my warmth. Immediately, I feel my legs stiffen.
“Already?” he asks, reading me correctly.
“
Yes
,” I moan into his mouth as he starts taking me, sliding in and out quickly.
Ah
! Closer, closer. He sinks into me for the final time and I call out, pushed too far. I orgasm stupendously, my mind vaguely wondering if I’m
still
dreaming. But I’m not, Logan’s lips on mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth confirms this for me. He withdraws his fingers, and positions his erection at my entrance. I reach down and grab his backside, squeezing it, willing him forward.
He fulfils my wish, again, immersing his rock hard member into me, all the way to the hilt. There’s something different, something
more
about feeling him fill me, feeling his sex stimulate mine in
all
the right places as his body drapes over mine. I tangle my hands in his hair and kiss him hard. All of a sudden I’m
very
happy that I woke him up. Oh,
yes
, I’m happy. He thrusts into me over and over, fully exploring that sweet spot within.
Ah
!
“
Logan
,” I mewl.
“Best. Wakeup. Call. Ever,” he says into my mouth, before claiming it again, crushing my tongue with his own.
Down below, he quickens the pace. I’m drowning in pleasure. I’m actually drowning; there is nowhere I can escape the satisfaction that’s building in me, no way to stem it. He’s got me pinned down, forcing me to accept every beautiful, incredible, indescribable feeling. And I
love
it! I
love
being pinned under him, feeling his weight on me.
He runs a hand down one of my legs and pulls it up under the knee, changing the angle that he enters me and then he thrusts deeply.
Holy
fuck
! Right there!
“
Logan
,” I cry into his mouth.
Ah
, he feels exquisite!
Logan takes me at this new angle and my drowning continues. I’m pummelled by wave after wave of ecstasy, building up to something deep and powerful.
“Yes,
yes
,
yes,
” I susurrate.
“
Ah
, Gemima,” he groans, provoking me with unfailing precision.
He pushes my leg higher and I whimper in rapture. So close!
So
fucking good! I feel both of our bodies tense as we reach the very edge, and then, when there’s no chance to turn back, no chance to back down from our inevitable explosion, when one more fast thrust would send us both flying, Logan slows his pace drastically. My body trembles violently and I scream in sexual frustration and pleasure (though mostly pleasure) as I come slowly, too slowly, so slowly that every feeling is heightened and drawn out, engulfing me over and over again, in an oddly similar fashion to the dream that I just had. Holy
shit
! This feels phenomenal!