Even as I slept, I knew that what was going on inside my head was nothing but a dream, albeit a wonderful dream. It was my wedding day, according to my dream. Somehow I knew that the love of my life, my handsome and sexy (read, virile) Larry, laying naked against me, was to be my groom, forever, to love and to cherish, and to fuck, till death do us part. We would have children, as the Bible commanded. I envisioned the traditional girl for me and a boy for him, in no specific order.
My nose peeked out from the Church closet, converted for each wedding into a room for the bride to dress, to sit and shiver and dream. My maid of honor, actually matron of honor, was Tom's wife, Clarissa. She fussed over me, hugged me and generally got my mind off of the awesome event which lay before me. Our assembled guests, numbering close to two hundred, were all dressed in their Sunday finery, whispering to each other in what seemed like a rising crescendo.
In my dream I remembered the previous evening, the night before the wedding, as Larry and I made such beautiful love, as we gave ourselves again and again to each other. His delicious fluids never entered me, being trapped in his condom, as we only rarely went bareback, for we had pledged to each other three years of wild fucking like rabbits before we began our family. My fingers touched my loins, felt their soaking moisture as they had welcomed his manhood while we celebrated our upcoming nuptials.
I glanced into the crowd and saw the three important men in my life. Dad stood with Mom just outside the door, his face glowing with pride and joy as they waited to walk their only daughter down the aisle. Larry, my beloved, had stepped from the side to stand with the minister, smiling as they marked the time until he took me from my parents. And Tom, who would declare us husband and wife by virtue of authority granted to him by the great state of Wyoming.
Pictures from my younger days flashed through my dream, passing so rapidly as if they were subliminal advertisements in a television commercial. Larry's face appeared, my future husband, who had been the first boy to touch my body 'that way'. We'd been alone. Well, that was kind of obvious, was it not? We had kissed. I'd felt his hand move from my shoulder to my left breast. In less time than it took to remember that, I had decided to allow his hand to remain. Then I'd allowed him to raise my sweater up above my breasts. Nimble fingers, for he was somewhat experienced, reached behind me to unhook my bra. Excitement flooded my panties, far, far beyond anything I had ever felt from my own fingers – or Mom's vibrator.
He had pushed the bra cups up and fastened his lips on one of my nipples, feeding like a baby at the teat. But when his free hand slid down the front of my jeans, I pushed it away. Terror, I guessed, for I was truly ready to submit to anything, yet afraid of what could happen. Plain and simple, I was too young for a baby. He had sighed, very possibly cursing me silently in his mind, realizing that he would end the evening with blue balls, a condition that boys quickly learn how to cure.
Not that boys are the only ones required to end an evening by masturbation. That night, it had taken a half hour of my fingers plunging inside me, pinching my clitoris, my thumb in my sucking mouth, until I fell into a fitful sleep.
Tom's face appeared next. We had been classmates in high school. We had dated until graduation, when Tom had felt the need to attend Divinity School and devote his life to good causes. Back in our wild youth, Tom had been the first boy whose seed I tasted. We had been in the back of his brother's car, double dating with that brother and, of all people, Tom's future wife Clarissa. After fumbling our way to leaving me topless, Tom had gradually coaxed my head down into his lap.
He did the unzipping and his hand cautiously led my hand inside his jeans. I brought his manhood – ok, make that teen-aged boyhood – out into the darkness of the back seat in the dark night of Gillette's major makeout overlook. I kissed the damp crown and did not fight as Tom slowly slid his meat into my mouth. I knew enough from my friends that I mustn't let my teeth touch his sensitive organ, and I began to suck. As I attended to that chore, my hands pulled his jeans and shorts down and I began to jiggle his ball sac. His hand caressed my breasts.
Suddenly I felt his balls tighten, felt and tasted his semen as it blasted into my mouth. Clearly if I had pulled his cock out of my mouth, his cum would have stained my clothing and, less likely, his, so I kept him inside my mouth until the last spurt. Then, relying of the stories of my friends, I opened the door on my side of the car and spit his creamy gift onto the blacktop. (I have since learned to swallow, happily.)
Two weeks later, in Tom's bedroom, we went all the way. The wetness I felt as his cum poured into me as we reached orgasm together had to be the most exciting moment of my life. When I later missed my period though, I almost went out of my mind with worry. My parents would kill me, I knew, when I told them, but more likely I contemplated killing myself. It was a horrible month, but then my hated 'monthly friend' became a true friend. I was rarely without a condom after that, but only after Larry and I had decided to wed.
In my dream, I knew that Tom's face would redden as I walked down the aisle and that I would likely see his suit pants begin to tent. He had flown back from Los Angeles to Gillette to serve as Guest Minister, to preside at our wedding. Surely he would remember our younger days in each other's arms, and beds, satisfying lust and making love at the same time, head to loins, and with his tongue buried inside me. Damn it, whenever Larry eats me out, or when I suck his cock, I'm always reminded of those wonderful hours with Tom.
If I hadn't been so in love with Larry, I have no doubt that I would have chased Tom to the West Coast and tried to break up his marriage.
And I picture Dad, standing there with Mom, ready to join with her in walking me down the aisle, to give me away to Larry. Such a silly expression, giving me away. They would always be my parents, and I would always love them, would always be their daughter.
But then my mind went back to that awesome evening so many years ago when we had done what father and daughter are not supposed to do together. It had been a cold winter's night in Gillette. Mom was on the night shift in the hospital emergency room. My brother was on a date with his girlfriend Trina, and all of us knew that they planned to spend the overnight hours in her bed. It was late; I was already taking my last pee of the evening when I decided to go downstairs to wake up Dad from his nap in front of the TV so he would get into bed.
The flickering light of the television guided me down the stairs. You may have guessed by now that Dad was not napping. He was awake, his eyes focused on a video of two women munching carpeting together. Dad's hand was busily spanking his monkey. He had no idea that I was there.
I guess that I had always lusted after Dad. I spent many hours with my hand between my legs, imagining that my fingers were actually Dad's cock. I used to walk around the hours wearing skimpy pjs and such. Mom realized it and gave me lectures; my brother giggled. But Dad ignored my shenanigans.
Damn, what a golden opportunity. I crossed the room from behind Dad, took his hand off of his cock and replaced it with my mouth. He gasped and then seemingly turned to stone. He didn't know that Tom had given me lots of training on what a girl's mouth should do with an erect penis. As I said, Dad sat motionless. And silent.
I licked, I sucked. My lips were turned back to block my teeth from hurting him as my mouth squeezed Dad's cock. While Tom would usually be caressing my hair as I fellated him, and pulled me hard to him as he was ready to ejaculate, Dad's hands held firmly to the arms of his recliner. It didn't take long for Dad to cum in my mouth. He opened his lips when I then kissed him, allowing me to move his cream from my mouth to his, though his tongue made no effort to either assist or resist.
Silently, I turned off the screen, walked Dad upstairs and tucked him into bed. I went to my own room and was moaning through an orgasm within a minute.
It never happened again. Did he even remember it? We never spoke of it, but I did notice that Dad seemed to be staring at my tits often, something he had never done previously.
What the fuck am I dreaming about!! I never found Dad jerking off to a lesbian video. I never sucked his cock. I never walked around the house like a 'hussy' nor did I ever see Dad staring at my tits. Which, if I must say so myself, grew into a very nice rack.
Surely, a person can dream of something she wishes would happen, but I have never had a sexual thought about Dad. I never even heard the noises of when he and Mom did 'when the children are asleep at night'.
What was the matter with me? Did it really happen? Was I forgetting something that truly took place? Would I ever know the truth? I certainly couldn't ask Dad.
The rest of the dream went off without a hitch. After we finished with the receiving line, shaking hands and kissing all the guests, Larry and I were sent to be alone for a few moments in my dressing room. Now, where the hell did that ritual begin? Or when? Is that from the old days when a groom was supposed to pop the bride's cherry and leave a bloody sheet to prove her previous virginity? Certainly not in today's world, thankfully. Whatever!
I led the way into that private room. Larry followed me in and shut the door behind him. Still standing in back of me, my new husband reached around my body and caressed my breasts, well hidden under my gown. At the same time, he bent and his lips touched the back of my neck.
AND TO WAKE UP
Ever since we had first slept together, not to be confused with the first time we had just fucked, Larry and I had slept spooned together. I faced away from him and he pressed up against my back, his sticky, flaccid cock resting against my ass. Unless of course I had cleaned his cock off with my mouth, in which case it was still flaccid but no longer sticky. If you think that means he takes a while to regenerate after he shoots that wonderful sauce inside me, you are correct, but I love him anyway.
And when he wakes up, which is usually too early for breakfast – but not for sex, never too early for sex – he uses his lips to wake me. Little butterfly kisses, barely touching the skin of my neck, bring me slowly out of whatever dream I may be undergoing. Those, and the hard cock pressing against my ass, are what do the job. I try to ignore the first kisses hoping that he will give up and let me go back to my own dreams, but it never really works. His conscience tries to get him to back off for a while, but his pecker has other plans. Still, nothing moves, nothing happens until he feels my shoulders compressing, as I try to dislodge his lips from my back.
That, and the resulting sigh or hum, are what tells him that he has my attention. Not yet 'undivided attention', but enough to know that I realize whose body is behind me.