My every nerve ending sizzled as if on fire. The pleasure was so intense that I gasped for air, hardly able to bear it. He pressed by body into the sweaty sheets as he thrust into me, faster and faster, with the sure ease of familiarity.
I was in a daze, he always did this to me, I couldn't control my emotions even if I tried, his body was overpowering, his sexual talents were masterful. All I could do was respond to his need and that response turned me into his willing whore... night after night. I would do anything to have him, to keep this lovemaking in motion for as long as possible. He was a god, my love god.
A moan escaped my parched lips as I felt my lover's body tense. I knew it would not be long now, I knew that he was on the knife edged precipice of orgasm. I couldn't wait for him, my body responded to his without my consent. I bucked against him, grabbing tight, holding him in me and groaning loudly as my mind went blank and my body and mind exploded beneath him.
Two Months earlier:
It had been like this every night for the past two months. The first night that it had happened, I was lying in my bed sound asleep after an emotionally draining day. Then suddenly a man was climbing on top of me. He fumbled with my nightgown, pulling it away from my lower body.
That moment is burned into my brain. Those first few flashes of total and complete fear, my skin crawling and my breath catching in my throat. I was paralyzed with fear and horror, my mind wouldn't accept what was happening to me as the stranger forced my knees apart with his and then fumbled again as he pushed his hot erect shaft against me and then in one violent thrust, into me.
In that instant of fullness, as he thrust into me, I knew who the man was. I knew who was shoving me down into the mattress with each powerful thrust, taking my breath away. As my body began to respond, I cried out in passion and relief! I loved my attacker and would give myself to him any way he wanted.
I can still remember that first time; the wonderful feeling of comfort and love as he thrust into me again and again, making those little grunting pleasure sounds; sounds that I thought I would never hear again.
We made love in one long all-night session. He held me down and fucked me like a madman, staring into my eyes as he used my body for his pleasure. When he'd cum in an intense satisfied way, it would be my turn to climb on top of him and use him like he had just done to me. I milked him, cooling my heat, making him mine, holding him down with the my palms of my hands on his chest, finding just the right spots as I expertly maneuvered his manhood deep within me, riding him in just the right was to bring myself to a glorious orgasm, over and over again!
"Oh god Karen, I'm cumming," he whispered into my ear, breathlessly.
I held him tight as he thrust one last time and ground himself against me, filling me with his pleasure, his body jerking again and again, his heart pounding in his chest. All the while, making his little grunting sounds as he shoved deep into me and held... I wanted to keep him in me forever, just like that.
We lay there for a long time, listening to each other's heated breathing, but eventually, he pulled out of me, leaving me with an intense feeling of abandonment and disappointment. We had suddenly becoming two, when only moments before we were one. I clung to him for a moment longer, trying to stop him from pulling out me, but he was strong and just like every night before I felt him softening and then pulling out of my body.
I woke to the sound of birds singing and early morning light streaming in through my bedroom blinds. I knew what I would find, because it had been the same for the past two months. Slowly sitting up in bed, I could see my reflection in the mirrored closet doors across the room from me. What I saw was a women of almost 30, in a rumpled bed with the sheets tangled around her limbs and no one else in the room.
There was the usual feeling of loss and fear of insanity and depression. All of these emotions came crashing down on me each morning when I realized that Jack had not really been there. That it had all been a dream. Intellectually I knew what had been happening every night wasn't real, it was just that... it 'seemed' so real.
The first night that it happened, had been a week after Jack died. Of course, we hadn't made love for the last 6 months of his life, he was just too sick. That first night I just chalked my dream up to a vivid imagination and my sadness mixed with guilt at having finally lost my husband and lover to cancer.
But then came the next night and the sex was even more intense. No matter how hard I tried, I never seemed to be able to tell what time it was when Jack came to me, or even were we were. It was as if we were in another world and the only thing of importance was that we were together, making love to each other without a care in the world. Just like it used to, just like in our College days, when we had first met.
After the first couple of weeks, I accepted the dreams. I actually looked forward to them when I went to bed at night. I knew they were just very vivid dreams, more vivid that real life seemed to be. But the one thing I couldn't understand was the state of my body every morning. I always woke up feeling like I'd just been royally fucked, just like back in our College days. Only now it was every night without fail.
With a quiet groan I climbed out of bed. Whether I liked it or not, I had to start the day. My daughter Deidre would be awake soon and there was breakfast to make and she needed to be off to school on time.
As I stood, I felt momentarily sick. Running to the bathroom I just barely made it to the toilet before I vomited up my dinner from the night before. Then leaning over the toilet bowl with my hands on the seat and my face over the hole I retched again even though I had nothing else to expel. After several more minutes I finally straitened up to look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My eyes widened as I realized that the nausea I was feeling was just like the morning sickness I'd experienced when I was pregnant with Deidre.
I mentally shook myself to clear the fuzziness from my brain and almost laughed at the absurdness of that thought. It would have been funny if I hadn't felt so wretched. I knew I couldn't be pregnant, I hadn't been with a man in over half a year and my dreams certainly wouldn't count.
Then the thought crossed my mind that I might be sick. Really sick. After all, when you've spent a year with a gravely ill husband and the last half of that year knowing that it was only a matter of time before he would be dead, well, it makes you extra sensitive to disease and illness. I was now solely responsible for our daughter and I wasn't going to let things wait like Jack had.
After getting Deidre breakfast and bundling her off to school, I called our family doctor and was lucky enough to get an appointment that very morning. But that was were my luck stopped. I know what I am about to say is just plain impossible, but after a complete examination, my doctor assured me that I wasn't sick. He insisted that I was approximately 8 weeks pregnant.
I didn't know what to say, how could I tell this man that Jack was too sick to make love to me and had been for over 6 months prior to his death. If I said anything like that, the doctor would assume that I had cheated on my husband. What else would anyone think?
I went straight home and sat down on the bed, the bed were I was experiencing vivid dreams of making passionate love to my "dead" husband. It really did seem real to me, but that was impossible. I sat on that bed for the rest of the day, running everything through my mind, again and again, trying to figure out what had happened to me. What 'was' happening to me?
Weird scenarios began running through my head. Maybe someone had drugged me and had sex with me over and over again, and I'd just "thought" it had been Jack. I couldn't believe that, but I also couldn't believe that Jack's ghost had made me pregnant either.
That's when I decided to try an experiment. That very night. It would be better than doing nothing and much better than questioning my sanity.
I would set up Jack's video recorder with the extended timer that I would be set to go off every ten minutes for three minutes, all through the night. That way the camera would have enough memory to last all night and if my dreams were anything to go by, our lovemaking sessions were much longer than 10 minutes. So if something was happening, then it would be caught on video.
The last thing I did that night was set the video camera up on the highboy across the room from the foot of my bed. I turned it on the time delay setting and then went to bed.
.... There is more of this story ...