A Lust to be Awoken

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
She is in a very lustful relationship with a man that has her in the throws of passion. Or so she believes.

Submitted: May 22, 2019

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Submitted: May 22, 2019

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As I slowly awake from a very erotic dream, I open my eyes up to realize that what I thought was a dream is my life. I bring drowsy eyes to meet the man sleeping deeply and peacefully in a bed that once knew the accompaniment of only one. As I look over from head to toe this sight, pleasant and very arousing, it brings to me a smile. Tousled hair of black ink that usually is so exactly coiffed. A mustache and beard of the same color, thick upon a face deep in sleep. Looking at the color of his skin, it reminds me of the color of Bustillo espresso coffee with loads of milk, Puerto Rican style, which makes me wonder if the taste would be as sweet as the loads of sugar I’ve witnessed being added. Tracing my fingertips down the fuzzy, hairy down of body hair that to touch is soft, with solid flesh underneath. A road map to limbs and areas that would have been explored the night before are destinations on this map.

 

 

Slow and as if this man would disappear, I touch what was so vibrantly awake and alive underneath me hours before. Recalling the moans, groans, and an uptick of breath that rose and fell and hitched. The words, demands, and the unintelligible utterances that we spoke. Remembering the velocity of the sex we had that fell off into a lazy, luxuriating and rhythmic lovemaking. A thrust and stroke to ease even the most savage of feelings and quenching the thirstiest of sexual thirsts. As I look upon him, I notice that despite him being heavy in sleep, he is somewhat erect. I touched the head of that arousal making it twitch and throb, sending similar and familiar twinges of lustful throbbing not only in my hands and head but to the very core of my sexuality. A stuttering inhale has me wondering what today’s sex adventure would be like.

 

A quick touch test informs me that he will need a release, but to me, allowing him his sleep will have to suffice as nature has other plans now. I rise off the bed we share, moving like a cat burglar at a heist. Already missing the warmth of both the bed and the presence there, I turn towards the bathroom and smirk. Sauntering to the small room, I think of the reality of what is happening in my forty-something years. I wake up to a man, young in appearance, tall and intense. A man willing to meet me halfway on so many levels. A man that has allowed me to share some of his life as I have so reluctantly allowed him to share some of my own. This is a relationship. Our relationship. A reality.

 

Shaking my head in awe, I enclose myself in the bathroom to handle the needs of a full bladder. The quiet lavatory, mixed with a cool, floral antiseptic scented cleanliness seems to make the necessary seem a luxury. I sit upon the toilet to begin the task of emptying my bladder. As the stream begins to flow, I sit with eyes closed, in all my nude glory. Not at all sleepy anymore, I begin to push aside nagging thoughts and to-do lists that seem to come as soon as the morning light hits the beautifully ornate windows of this abode. My ever-present consciousness speaking gently in the background and placing me in a lull.

 

As I prioritize my thoughts and acknowledge that they make me who I am, I receive one clear thought. Will he stay or will he have to return to the obligations that are his and his alone. Taking in a long inhale to release as an even longer exhale, I try to push away the emotions that seem to be building and lingering more and more. As I settle a little, I begin to feel the aches and pains that have haunted me for some years now. I ignore them as usual and repeat my daily mantra of “I can not control the thoughts, words, and actions of others. Only my own.”

 

Working through my daily mantra, I hear soft footsteps coming near. As we have been at this for a few months, there is no hiding what I once was so hesitant and reluctant to share with another. I sit, continuing to empty a seemingly never empty bladder and looking in the direction of what soon would be the now awoken male that has graced my life and my bed for months now.

 

I sit as is, not even bothering to make sense of now longer than mid-back curly, wavy, frizzy and tangled masses of hair that seems to think that it rules my life instead of me myself. The only thing I can do to make this morning meet up less awkward is to grin. Or at least attempt to.

 

Trying to rearrange my face to look as nonchalant and happy to see him as possible, I become aware of this male. This companion and friend that has been a steady fixture in my life for several months. This male with the heavily accented English and soft gentle hands. This male that makes me hope and dream.

 

As I prepare to say hello, I hear soft humming. It is nothing that I have heard before, but as I know my companion is from a foreign country, I listen intently. Suddenly, I hear the voice of a female and that makes me start. “How is she this morning?”, my companion whispers in his lovely accent that sends me to vibrate and almost giggle. “She is about the same doctor. I have set her up to empty her catheter and flush her for this shift. She has had some EKG changes that you may want to look at. Also, I have noticed some minor muscle movement.”, states a matter of fact female voice that would usually turn my face to stone at the very first word. Immediate dislike drenches the thrills and twinges that I had settled into. Who the heck is this invader of my morning soliloquy?

 

“Let me see those readings. Now. How minor in the muscle movement? Explain. Now.”, come that fantasy of a voice I have be hearing for months. But there is an edge to it. A seriousness that I have never heard. What is going on here? What has happened?

 

“Look, Dr. Ijaz, she is grimacing. Ah, look, she moved her head too.”, say this invading cock blocking female. God, please explain to me why there are no honest men in the world. Okay, okay. Don’t jump to conclusions. Not yet. There are always three sides to the story. I must hear his first.

 

“I need to you to page the lead neurologist and his team, whoever was on shift last night and I need phlebotomy in here to draw labs, STAT.”, comes the voice I have been with, fell in lust with and have held dear to me for months. “If she has significant EKG spikes, it can be an indicator of changing brain function. From the records, she has been in this state for over thirty years. It could just be momentary brain function”, came the voice that sometimes wakes me. His voice is soft but firm near to my ear. God, please touch me, I think.

 

“Dr. Ijaz, I was paged. What is the emergency?”, comes another masculine heavily accented voice. “Dr. Ali, I need you to review with me these EKG readings and offer possible hypotheses for what is occurring.”, comes the now firm and authoritative voice of he who I have had months of interaction with.

 

“Look. Her eyes are fluttering and there seems to be a desire to blink her eyes.”, comes the voice of the female that I now want to tell to jump a steep cliff.

 

I feel a gentle touch to my upper arm. The type of touch that comes with a show of calming and comfort before a blow is given. I feel myself flinch. “Ms. Smith- Ali, can you hear me? I’m Dr. Ijaz. Ms. Smith-Ali can you understand me?”, comes the voice that has taken over my emotions and has had me in this respite of mine. All I can do is breathe deeply and nod. I find that the words are stuck, and my throat is so dry.

 

In a collective gasp, I open my eyes slowly, seeing nothing but a haze. Taking another deep breath in and releasing slowly, I try to clear my throat. I find that I am becoming very frustrated.

I blink and with a low raspy, but husky whisper, I utter the only word to come to mind. “Okay.”

 

 


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