ghost boy part eight
- 3 years ago
- 25
- 0
A Ghost Caught In A Dream free porn video
You've heard the old saw about waking up dead, haven't you? I did, and let me tell you it's about as fucked up as being alive.
When I awoke for the first time post death, I wasn't sure what had happened. I'd lived my life about the same as everyone else, and like everyone else I'd died. In my case it had been a heart attack that laid me low. Dying sucks, I'm here to tell you, and it's a damned good thing you only have to do it once. No one, and I mean NO one, would ever sign up for a second death.
Being dead isn't bad, it's the getting there that's a bitch. It's kind of like one of those vacations to an obscure little Pacific island. Once there it's Paradise, but getting there is a royal pain in the ass, or in my case in the chest.
When you're dead, there is no more pain, and that's a good thing. The flip side is there isn't much in the way of physical sensation of the pleasurable kind either. What you have is your mind, your thoughts, your emotions. Those go on in full cinematic glory, no escaping. In a sense it's even worse than being alive because the living have their body to counterbalance their emotional side, provide sensation to add to awareness, even if it's just a hiccup or a fart.
My first manifestation was like a gathering of dust motes, tiny bits of my thoughts and feelings accreting into a cohesive whole, as in a body. Have you ever woken slowly, your senses coming online one by one? It's like that, like coming up from some unknown depth into the light of awareness. An old sodden dead log floating to the surface.
I became aware of myself first, trying to grasp what was happening to me, grasp that this was not the endless sleep some expect, no eternal dirt nap.
When I had that settled in my mind, I started to become aware of my surroundings. I was apparently in the second story of an old house, judging from the trees I could see through a window in the left wall. The light was coming through the window, strong but a little diffuse from the wispy fog it had to penetrate. A square of light fell through the dusty panes.
The grid of light fell not on the floor but upon a young woman sitting on the floor. I recognized her instantly. Sally, an old sometimes friend and constant romantic obsession. She was sitting lotus fashion, her wrists resting on her knees. The most tantalizing part was that Sally was naked.
She was the same as she had always been in my dreams and feverish imaginings. Her short straight brown hair was brushed casually back, the tips ending above her slim shoulders. Her almond eyes of brown were framed by heavy eyebrows and long lashes.
Her face was dominated by a straight blade of a nose of average size. Her mouth was utterly entrancing, lips spread in a smile, white teeth glistening like exotic pearls just discovered. Her chin was rather sharp, a fit conclusion to her planed cheeks. There was a small mole just away from her mouth, to the left and slightly above.
Her neck was delicate, thin, the veins pulsing beneath her dusky skin. Her shoulders were straight and somewhat broad, slightly bowed like some aboriginal weapon.
Her breasts were small and rounded, the nipples slightly upturned as if they were expecting a kiss upon them. Her nipples were hard little pebbles centered in dark chocolatey aureoles. Each breast a study in perfection, a delicate palm full.
Her belly was flat and unmarked, a tiny cup of navel displayed. That was rather elongated instead of being rounded, a portent of things to come.
Her pubic thatch was displayed, a full curly bush of dark hair, an enticing V. There was a thin line vertically, her crease being glimpsed through the tangle, a tiny hint of pink like mother of pearl showing.
Her butt was small and taut, like the rest of her. Thighs honey-hued, slender and curved. Her feet were even lovely, the skin dusky on top, pink on the bottom.
I stood there and drank in the sight of her as I'd longed to for so very many years. This was exactly as I had envisioned her as my hand worked the length of my cock toward the inevitable explosion. My focus on her luscious breasts as my thumb massaged my cock head with precum, softly working the fluid around.
In my minds eye I could envision my cock's head sliding along her crease, seeking her opening. I could see the head sinking out of sight, a bulging Titanic sinking beneath the waves of a sensual sea. A swallowing sea, taking my full length in, wrapping me in a liquid embrace.
My reverie was broken as she raised her head, saw me for the first time. Her breath was drawn in, held, then slowly exhaled. A slight frown furrowed her brow, the corners of her mouth turned down slightly.
There were no words of reproach, no screams for me to get out, to go away. There was only a... rearranging.
She moved from her lotus position, instead hugging her knees to her chest, covering them. Her sex was exposed now, the tiny hint of pink now more of a leer. Her hands were moving, clasping one another in front of that lovely mound, hiding herself from sight.
Sally, nothing has changed, even though I'm dead and you are far from young in that other world, that living world. Our love is always the perfect love, an future love, a.... what is the word? Ah, I have it... unrequited.
When I awoke for the first time post death, I wasn't sure what had happened. I'd lived my life about the same as everyone else, and like everyone else I'd died. In my case it had been a heart attack that laid me low. Dying sucks, I'm here to tell you, and it's a damned good thing you only have to do it once. No one, and I mean NO one, would ever sign up for a second death.
Being dead isn't bad, it's the getting there that's a bitch. It's kind of like one of those vacations to an obscure little Pacific island. Once there it's Paradise, but getting there is a royal pain in the ass, or in my case in the chest.
When you're dead, there is no more pain, and that's a good thing. The flip side is there isn't much in the way of physical sensation of the pleasurable kind either. What you have is your mind, your thoughts, your emotions. Those go on in full cinematic glory, no escaping. In a sense it's even worse than being alive because the living have their body to counterbalance their emotional side, provide sensation to add to awareness, even if it's just a hiccup or a fart.
My first manifestation was like a gathering of dust motes, tiny bits of my thoughts and feelings accreting into a cohesive whole, as in a body. Have you ever woken slowly, your senses coming online one by one? It's like that, like coming up from some unknown depth into the light of awareness. An old sodden dead log floating to the surface.
I became aware of myself first, trying to grasp what was happening to me, grasp that this was not the endless sleep some expect, no eternal dirt nap.
When I had that settled in my mind, I started to become aware of my surroundings. I was apparently in the second story of an old house, judging from the trees I could see through a window in the left wall. The light was coming through the window, strong but a little diffuse from the wispy fog it had to penetrate. A square of light fell through the dusty panes.
The grid of light fell not on the floor but upon a young woman sitting on the floor. I recognized her instantly. Sally, an old sometimes friend and constant romantic obsession. She was sitting lotus fashion, her wrists resting on her knees. The most tantalizing part was that Sally was naked.
She was the same as she had always been in my dreams and feverish imaginings. Her short straight brown hair was brushed casually back, the tips ending above her slim shoulders. Her almond eyes of brown were framed by heavy eyebrows and long lashes.
Her face was dominated by a straight blade of a nose of average size. Her mouth was utterly entrancing, lips spread in a smile, white teeth glistening like exotic pearls just discovered. Her chin was rather sharp, a fit conclusion to her planed cheeks. There was a small mole just away from her mouth, to the left and slightly above.
Her neck was delicate, thin, the veins pulsing beneath her dusky skin. Her shoulders were straight and somewhat broad, slightly bowed like some aboriginal weapon.
Her breasts were small and rounded, the nipples slightly upturned as if they were expecting a kiss upon them. Her nipples were hard little pebbles centered in dark chocolatey aureoles. Each breast a study in perfection, a delicate palm full.
Her belly was flat and unmarked, a tiny cup of navel displayed. That was rather elongated instead of being rounded, a portent of things to come.
Her pubic thatch was displayed, a full curly bush of dark hair, an enticing V. There was a thin line vertically, her crease being glimpsed through the tangle, a tiny hint of pink like mother of pearl showing.
Her butt was small and taut, like the rest of her. Thighs honey-hued, slender and curved. Her feet were even lovely, the skin dusky on top, pink on the bottom.
I stood there and drank in the sight of her as I'd longed to for so very many years. This was exactly as I had envisioned her as my hand worked the length of my cock toward the inevitable explosion. My focus on her luscious breasts as my thumb massaged my cock head with precum, softly working the fluid around.
In my minds eye I could envision my cock's head sliding along her crease, seeking her opening. I could see the head sinking out of sight, a bulging Titanic sinking beneath the waves of a sensual sea. A swallowing sea, taking my full length in, wrapping me in a liquid embrace.
My reverie was broken as she raised her head, saw me for the first time. Her breath was drawn in, held, then slowly exhaled. A slight frown furrowed her brow, the corners of her mouth turned down slightly.
There were no words of reproach, no screams for me to get out, to go away. There was only a... rearranging.
She moved from her lotus position, instead hugging her knees to her chest, covering them. Her sex was exposed now, the tiny hint of pink now more of a leer. Her hands were moving, clasping one another in front of that lovely mound, hiding herself from sight.
Sally, nothing has changed, even though I'm dead and you are far from young in that other world, that living world. Our love is always the perfect love, an future love, a.... what is the word? Ah, I have it... unrequited.
Rowan
- 06.12.2022
- 34
- 0
- Category:
- Supernatural
