I rode him hard, grinding my hips down on him, jamming his stiff prick into me from below, hot and thick, as the darkness of midnight swirled around us. My body felt like it was acting on its own, a second being with its own brain, its own desires, its own means of getting what it wanted. I leaned forward, fingers splayed over each one of his hairy thighs just above the knees while I dropped down harder, barely able to take him all the way in.

What am I doing? I had to ask myself. I don’t do this kind of thing. This isn’t me, this isn’t Sheryl Francis.

I turned to look back, spine straining as my hips bobbed, my blonde hair falling over my blue eyes. Can’t make out his face, I heard my own voice echo in the back of my mind. Gotta see his face.

It was only then that I realized I wasn’t even sure who it was. The room was dark, and I wasn’t even sure if it was my own. The fixtures and pictures were blurred and hard to make out in the deep shadows. The thrill of it struck me hard, question mark curling in my crotch, my brain swimming with possibilities crashing like waves against my inner walls.

Is this it? I asked myself, suddenly more interested in myself than my lover. Is it finally going to happen? Please, God, please let it happen. My own begging voice turned me on, cracking with helplessness and brimming with hope and craving. Please, please, please… finally make me come!

I ground down harder, up and down and in circular motions, a lump rising in my throat. My fingers clawed into his muscular thighs, tightening under my grip. He bucked hard, pushing me up like some great Brahma bull trying to throw me. But I held on. Neither of us wanted to be separated from the other. We only wanted to get closer. He fought to push himself all the way into me, and I struggled to wrap my body around him, shaking and pounding and grinding and bucking, the bed straining beneath us, springs crying out for mercy.

I wanted to speak, but the words got caught in my throat as my breath huffed out and my head fell forward in helpless resignation, hair damp with my sweat and falling in stringy sheets over my face. I could feel it coming, that mythical explosion I’d never managed to set off, a tripwire no man had stumbled upon despite feverish searching.

It felt like it was rising in me, the way it had so many times before, but it remained the tickling promise of something grand, something incredible, something still beyond my reach.

And my lover seemed to know it. He wanted me to come, he wanted to be the one to make it happen, and I wanted to beg him to be the one, the man I’d been waiting for, the man of my dreams.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t come, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t breathe.

My lover knew these things too, and his strong arms reached up from beneath and behind me, hands finding the back of one of my thighs, pulling it up as the other hand eased me around until my palms and knees were flat against the mattress. He knelt behind me, his amazing meat still deep inside me, and the twist and wrench as we changed positions was almost enough to send me over the edge.

Almost.

He thrust his hips in a back-and-forth piston pounding behind me, deeper than before, my splayed legs giving him more access, deeper thrusts pushing the blood faster in my veins as my sweat glands struggled to keep up.

He shook his hips occasionally to interrupt his rhythm, which only got faster after every frantic shake. Shake and pound, thrusting hard and deep. My fingers dug into the bed sheets, already damp and curling around my trembling fists.

“You like that?” he asked. At least that’s what I thought I heard him say. His voice wasn’t clear, wasn’t recognizable over my own heated panting. I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t, so I settled for huffing and nodding instead. I did like it. I liked it a lot.

But not quite enough.

My legs splayed wider, knees sliding on the bed sheets, body sinking lower as he railed me, every bit of his effort and attention fixed on the same spot as my own: that mysterious curl in my loins, rising and expanding but refusing to burst, contracting and recoiling back into my most secret recesses. No, I wanted scream at my elusive orgasm, don’t you do it again, don’t you run away from me!

But even if I couldn’t put words to my needs, my lover seemed to understand. And he was ready to take measures I’d never expected. The slap came hard and quick, a lightning bolt of stinging pain shooting up my body with the crack of his palm against my left butt cheek. The second slap was even harder, the effect even greater. His strong fingers kneaded my ass, hard and soothing, and my nerves trembled under his commanding grip.

Another slap filled the room with that crisp snap. I sucked in a gasp while he kneaded even harder, my muscles tensing and relaxing, my whole body shaking with that strike and the next, each punctuated with hard squeezes which nearly made my knees buckle.

My lover rasped, “You been a bad girl?” My ears twitched to hear his voice, but I still couldn’t place it. My ears and my ass were still ringing with those hard slaps when yet another came fast and sharp to derail my train of thought. There was no deducing anything, no thinking about him or myself or anything else.

Except one thing.

His other hand reached out from behind me, grabbing my hair and closing around those sweat-damp locks in a fist, his gentle power easing my head back with just the slightest pull. My skull rang out with a slight electric charge, manageable and even desirable pain shooting straight into my brain, ringing in my ears. A bit further back and my spine arched, hips curling upward, ass ready for another hard crack from that big, flat palm, fingers digging in for another deep massage.

Thwack!

My orgasm started to roil inside of me. I knew it was going to happen. Another few strikes and there’d be no turning back.

Thwack!

My walls pressed together, taught and tight, clamping down on that delicious dick railing my pussy. His hands were slapping my ass and pulling my hair, stinging, hitting me from both ends, top to bottom, meeting somewhere in the middle. My stomach rolled, my lungs cramped, my pelvis shuddered.

So close, I heard my own inner voice reassure me, so… so close… so… so….

My spine clicked and popped as he pulled my head back just a bit further, another hard slap punctuating a harder, deeper pump, each one registering in the back of my head while the rest of my body pushed and pulled in response to his pummeling prick. My teeth clenched, my eyes clamped shut… and that orgasm slithered away, just out of reach.

No, I wanted to cry out, no, come back, damn you… come back!

My lover wasn’t ready to let my climax escape my clenched grip any more than I was. He flipped me over and my back hit the sheets, legs swinging around under his certain grip as he deftly manipulated my body to be just where we both wanted it to be. I looked up at him, finally able to see his face, bathed in a shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window. His hair was long, casting a shadow over his features. But he was not a man I knew, or at least not as I knew him.

Is this somebody I know as I wish he was, as I’d want him to be? No, nobody I know, nobody who could possibly exist; a fever dream, a figment of my imagination.

There was no more time for reason or wonder, no room for doubt or concern. My body was fractured, squeezing out the last of its strength to corner that climax and force it out of hiding. But the more I searched, the more I struggled, the more I realized how futile it was.

“C’mon, baby,” my lover growled, his voice still strange to my ears, foreign, “you can do it, I know you can!”

I shook my head. “No,” I rasped out, “I… I can’t… I… I can’t!”

He eased my legs up, knees to my breasts, shifting up and forward and driving me even harder, and suddenly my body was collapsing around him like an old house whose occupants still remained hidden within. Crack and crash, slap and pump and clench and curl, I fell apart under those twin wrecking balls, my walls crumbling, clouds of dust rising up around us.

And I disappeared in the wreckage.

***

My eyes shot open, unfocused, as my mind swam to place itself. Spine stiff, arms at my sides, I looked around in a pitch of urgent confusion. My little Brooklyn bedroom surrounded me, familiar photos of my parents on the walls, souvenirs of my life back in Oregon. I sighed, perspiration trickling down between my breasts as I dropped my head back onto the damp pillow.

Just a dream, I told myself yet again. Countless midnight disappointments such as this had lined up to tell the story of my life, if it could be called that.  Just a dream, and this damn dream never comes true!