Three months later…

.

Unable to decipher if the surroundings were light or dark, where they were, or who this advancing figure was, Sabra’s senses defied logic to stay calm and open to whatever happened.

The responsible adult—aka boring—part of her mind went offline. Trifles like cares, reasoning, logic, and etiquette slid away and were left behind. To her surprise, Sabra embraced the anomaly and snubbed her usual wariness to enjoy the ride.

Before her stood a man, who continued to manifest as if going through a downloading process. What she could already make out was that he was overtly interested in her—indicated by his movements and demeanor. The atmosphere popped and sizzled with sensual interest as she took in his not quite clear yet visage.

Who are you?

Not sure how she knew, but Sabra had no doubt he was incredibly handsome.

Steady yourself and don’t screw this up, she found herself making the internal warning as she continued to watch the spectacle unfold.

More of his details began to define themselves. She liked what the results revealed. Loose waves of deliberately defined dark hair crowned the Adonis’s head.

He didn’t flinch as his form appeared to take all her in. Primal and proactive, his essence encouraged wild abandon and wanton lust to have their day. Her base nature lurched forward to bask in the radiance of unbridled sensual proclivities she’d always starved and ignored.

Whether she wore clothes or not was a mystery, Sabra couldn’t care less than half a rat’s tail about at the moment. As the idea formed of being naked, a stronger sentiment of not giving a shit squashed it.

This thing between them, right here, wasn’t a beauty pageant for her to be judged and scored. All traces of pageant piety were exiled and banished from any and all parts of her being.

He was no pageant judge with the way he acted toward her and Sabra for sure as sugar wasn’t a contestant trying to act pure and perfect. She was a woman in need of sexual attention and affection. This man was here, and she was ready. Heck, yeah, she was going to shoot her shot!

If only she could settle on the detailed features of his face, Sabra would focus on transmitting her intentions to his eyes.

Towering over her, his presence offered a promise of as much protection as it did pleasure. The man claimed her complete appreciation and admiration.

He crossed the barrier of intimate proximity to hover within a hair’s breadth of her body. His closeness emitted both a message of intimacy and a heat that penetrated her heart. He wanted her touch. Sabra’s hand reached up. He leaned in and down as she began an expedition of his offering.

A smattering of sensations erupted and sizzled as he nuzzled her neck. She visualized coarse facial hair as he rutted about and caressed the sensitive skin beneath her jawline with his warm lips and stubbled chin hairs. Sabra sunk deeper into the cocoon of protection this man erected around them.

There was nothing like being in the strong arms of a man able to fend off every foe. This notion of his ability to protect her was her perceived impression of how that would be since no man had ever done that for her.

Shaking off the naysaying inner thoughts, Sabra allowed herself to enjoy the immersive experience of her flawlessly hair-endowed hunk of a man.

Alternating between his thick mane and lush beard, her giggle of delight shocked her for how girly it sounded. Sabra had always equated masculine strength with a full beard. Her love of bearded men didn’t make sense, and it didn’t have to. This was her perfect man, and she’d enjoy the idea that he hosted a full manly beard.

Another scruffy nuzzle, and she wanted to fall into him whole never to separate herself from his perfection again.

Spatially, nothing made sense. Their vast height difference should make it hard to align their bodies, yet she had full access to him. Were they standing or supine? Again, logically nothing made sense. Who was he and why was he so into her? That question Sabra pushed aside deciding it was better to enjoy him before he realized she wasn’t the one he must think her to be.

There was a familiarity between them that she couldn’t explain, though. Had they been together before? Her mental musings ceased as soft tufts of voluminous locks greeted her fingertips.

Sabra’s nimble fingers traipsed an intrepid path through his dark mane with confident exploration. His hair, dark and luxurious in its striking appearance, produced a yearning in her to take more. She whimpered in pleasure as the sable mane enveloped her roaming fingers’ inquiry.

All her training as a professional hair stylist didn’t prepare Sabra. The enchanted hair spell wove itself around her as sentient strands of hair responded to her caress in perfect obedience.

The alluring incense that accompanied the closeness of his presence disbanded any competing influences on her attention. She succumbed to a greater impulse.

An invisible cloak of a pheromone-infused, testosterone driven, scent cocktail swathed Sabra in protection and comfort. The cornucopia of decadent masculine olfactory delights overrode her tactile explorations. Her fingers ceased their movement as her senses diverted all attention to capturing his scent. Sabra’s highly attuned sense of smell embraced the pursuit with vigor.

She needed more—more.

Sabra released more guarded layers and allowed herself to be engulfed into the magnetic attraction she had for her mysterious companion. An aromatic mix too exquisitely balanced to decipher individual notes beckoned her to draw close. The resulting pheromonal effect rendered her incapable of denying him any part of her.

A brushed thigh, gently but fleeting caress of her torso and a hover of warm lips close to hers did little to assuage her need for his body against hers. Cotton candy held more substance than the gossamer-light touches of their entwined forms. Her yearning strained to connect and consummate their union. Sabra’s body shuddered under the press of need and longing.

His presence was real and phantom alike. Like vapors and mist, fulfillment evaded her grasp. No matter how hard she tried, wished, or pleaded, complete satisfaction always eluded her. He was the stranger she longed to never leave.

Never able to get a good look or impression of her intimate partner, Sabra strained and yearned for his attention, touch, and emotional connection. Her current encounter sent subconscious messages that it was like others before.

How?

Sabra’s body shuddered at the potential ecstasy that seemed imminent but always teased and taunted. Robust and testosterone filled, his musk calibrated itself to elicit the most arousal and interest. Involuntary reactions played with her sensory-connected emotions in perfected mastery.

She might as well be the nymph to his Pan-infused seduction. Sabra wanted to be taken and ravished in a take-no-prisoners scenario.

The way he brushed against her and closed in, her body responded in bone-deep pleasure. Her core sizzled with arousal as he did things to her body that her mind couldn’t comprehend. Moans and pleas for more hovered on her lips, shy to speak lest he drift away.

Then, as if obeying her fears, he was no more.

Awareness of conscious thought ate away the thin veil of impossible possible as realization mounted its heinous attack.

“No, don’t leave!”

Sabra’s audible cry of frustration carried enough energy to pull her back from the cliff of longing. She stirred enough to realize the encounter for what it was—another wanton dream for a man that seemed far out of her league in reality.

Graveled and garbled her words slunk out, slow and sad. “Damn it—another dream. Ugh! Sorry body, not happening anytime soon. Not with someone like that at least.”

Ache was a poor description that lacked the truth of how much her body wanted to be consumed and taken in an avalanche of pleasure. Could she die from sexual frustration?

But the encounter had been so expressive and vivid, like those old movies in Technicolor. Damn how Sabra wished she could be that smooth and free in real life. She’d been a sexy siren this time. The way she led him directly to that exact spot—yeah, the one that made her want to faint, that one—was exactly how she wanted her sexual encounters.

“Stop it. Time to get up.”

The words cut through her drowsiness enough for Sabra to catch herself before she fell back into the pull of the illusion. That’s all this was—a seductively enticing encounter that was nothing more than an illusion.

Her sigh punctuated the desperation of her soul.

The dream was the same. It had slipped into her slumber more frequently of late. Comforting as it was sensually pleasing, the dream and more importantly, the man in the dream was the best medicine for an alienated existence.

He would come to her like a wave of restrained power and intrigue. She would explore his form and essence with fingers thirsty for touch. He would return her affection with the closeness of his body, a sensual concoction of musk she could never recreate outside of their shared fantasy, and a protective shroud from the cares of the world that blanked out all her worries.

Without the sexual attention she received during these encounters, Sabra would have cracked all the way by now. Outside life was too brutal. As the days progressed, it appeared that Tilar couldn’t always be right. Instead of getting better, Sabra’s worst fears had come to pass. Today was the final nail in the coffin.

Maybe these dreams where what Tilar had seen in her reading? Nah—Tilar never explicitly said anything about Sabra having a new bae. Desperation still was no reason to edit the memory of what her friend had said.

Wakefulness smothered her connection to the dreams as thoughts and cares from her conscious world crowded in. Red numbers on her digital clock confirmed her need to get up and start, but she didn’t want to. Her hand reached out across the body-warmed sheets in vain to touch her phantom man.

An unexpected wave of emotions rushed in. A crescendo of loneliness crashed into her emotional defenses without warning. She rose to escape the empty warmth of the bed only to discover the dreams aftermath. Her body hadn’t recovered from the explicit stimulation. Panties twisted from her nocturnal gyrations were bunched and pinching. A quick hip thrust, garment adjustment, and realization that the crouch was wet, and Sabra hated her life.

Lusty dream make-out sessions with a sexy phantom couldn’t be the only way her sex life expressed itself. A lingering blush of sensation from the dream coasted through her body to nest at the sensitive entrance to her womanhood. Just a few minutes to finish off and she’d be set.

The idea of self-pleasure didn’t appeal to her in comparison with the real—or dream version of real—thing. Plus, Sabra had a long day ahead. No time to dilly dally.

A little laugh escaped at the thought of connecting the words—dilly dally—with her previous idea. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to find a great guy, but that was what happened when she worked almost exclusively with children and mothers.

Still, someone should have crossed her path by now. Sabra pushed the debilitating thoughts down to keep herself from fouling up an already tenuous mood.

Why couldn’t she find a good guy with great looks, sound morals, and flexible standards for the opposite sex who would be interested in a broke, overweight, average-looking but extremely hard-working woman with a shaky reputation?

Frustrated at the state of her body without any hope for satisfaction, Sabra inched out of the lonesome bed and padded toward the bathroom. She plopped down on the toilet to sit, stare, and strategize her day ahead.

Finished, she cleaned herself and prepared to enact her plans only to have her world flipped upside down. No, not this. Not today.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” She looked down at the crimson evidence of her monthly torture.

With all the worry and bustle in her life, she’d lost track of her personal calendar. The wetness of her panties was more than arousal—her cycle had started.

“Damn it to hell.”

The next week would be trying as she thought about her usual symptoms of headaches and cramps during her cycle.

As if conjured from the thought of them, both started to make their presence known. Sabra finished her morning bladder relief ritual and began her morning routine.

Her electric toothbrush tumbled into the pedestal sink. The toothbrush’s base was too broad to share the narrow width of the sink with the tube of toothpaste and her other morning ritual instruments for socially accepted hygiene. A long sigh pinged off the small enclosed space to bounce back into her. It would take some getting used to the smaller accommodations of her temporary living quarters.

After a good cry, a vigorous scrubbing of her body and thick mane of coiled hair, and a quick pep talk in the bathroom mirror, Sabra was a little closer to starting the day.

Moving day—why did those two words strike fear in her heart? It was the most prudent thing to do. Her business was no more, and Sabra’s perseverance had taken the last chump shot she could endure with the last court ruling not going in her favor.

Dressed in moving-friendly sweats, Sabra took a last look at herself in the mirror.

“Whelp, this is the last part of your former life. Get in, get it done, and get on with your life.”

Another pep talk completed, she left the tiny bedroom. The industrial motif of the condo did little to mitigate the boiling emotions that simmered close to the surface. She wanted to cry. Her life had been reduced to a pitiful shell of itself.

Sabra almost tripped and fell on a faux jewel encrusted, six-inch heel that was longer than her forearm. That was the perfect incentive to remind her this would be as temporary as possible. Nothing like a great reason to get her butt in gear. Sabra would do everything in her power to make this situation a pitstop and not a phase.

Recovered from the near fall and raring to go, Sabra grabbed her purse, keys, and yelled in the direction of the other bedroom of the cluttered little condo, “Chloe, I’m ready to roll. Let’s go!”