Lupine Dreams
Copyright© 2025 by Arcadia
Chapter 16
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 16 - Complete, posts 2x/week. A young, punk nightclub DJ and a mild-mannered teacher form an unexpected bond over shared insecurities as they struggle to enter unwelcome new stages of their lives. To grow into the people they want to be, they must first overcome the mistakes they keep repeating. Is it enough just to try? Rewards readers who want to get lost in a vivid, modern character study of imperfect, emotional people trying their best. Sex plays a large role thematically, but occurs sporadically
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Tear Jerker FemaleDom Rough Spanking Massage Oral Sex Public Sex Slow
[vibe track: trampoline jauz remix - shaed]
Sync tracks. Play. Crossfade.
Cameron was in a groove, her body surrendering to the beat. This was how she wanted it. The crowd had thinned out by now. The ones left were the ones who had nowhere to go but where the music took them. And Cameron was ready to follow it anywhere.
But her eyes weren’t. They kept darting to the entrance. She knew why, but she didn’t want to think about it.
Sync tracks. Play. Fade.
She tried to focus on the vibe of the crowd, the pulse of the bass. The wispy vocals spreading its wings over the top of it all, like she longed to do.
Time was an illusion, one she’d shattered hours ago. Or maybe it was days. Or maybe she hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Was she ignoring that too?
I should know by now ignoring it doesn’t do any good, either.
Every time she looked up, she was hoping to see him walk in, bewildered and out of place until he spotted her.
She knew that was stupid.
So she went back to ignoring it.
Sync tracks. Play. Fade.
Cameron had finally gotten the answer she’d been dreading when she got back to her shitty apartment that morning.
Gram scheduled the burial. Everything was taken care of, just like Cameron had wanted.
Ten days. That’s how long it would take to burn her mother’s body, put it in a box, and get ready to stick her in the ground. Or maybe that was how long it took to burn everybody else’s mothers until they got to hers.
Why couldn’t she feel the molly yet? Wasn’t she supposed to be feeling good? It never took this long to kick in.
Sync tracks. Play. Look to door.
Gram said she’d come. So would Kendra.
See? I’m not alone. Look at all these people!
She surveyed the vibrating crowd, the throng of night owls like her who didn’t want the party to end.
Whatever they were ignoring, she was happy to help.
He wasn’t coming. She’d helped with that, too, hadn’t she.
Sync tracks. Play. Look to door.
Sure. She knew it was her fault. Who else’s would it be? It was always her fault.
She could try on different outfits, different hairstyles, different attitudes — but underneath it all, she was the same person she’d always been. People were always that way, weren’t they?
That’s it. Blame yourself — but not really, because everybody’s as shitty as you, isn’t that right? Whatever helps you sleep at night, babygirl.
Sync tracks. Play. Look at phone in disappointment.
He doesn’t even know why I ran out. I don’t even know why.
Shit was too real. Too fast. Too com— ... pletely fucked.
It was better just to ghost him. She was convinced of that.
Wasn’t she?
Sure she was.
He can just bury the memory of me down deep in his deep brown eyes.
Another shitty nightmare he can cover up in there and cry about when he’s too drunk to remember he’s not supposed to remember.
Would he think I’m even worth burying?
Sync tracks. Play. Who gives a fuck.
I was gonna be better. Remember? But, like mother like daughter, huh? Took off running at the first sign of something you might have to take responsibility for.
Yeah. There you go again. Blame it on your dead mom this time. Just so long as it’s not your own fault you’re miserable, right?
Sync tracks. Play. Fuck everything.
Did my mom ever regret it?
She had to, right? Sometimes at least? One time?
Is that what she would’ve told me? Or would she have blamed it on her mom, too. Or that it’s too hard for people to change. Or that things were just too com— ... prehensively shitty.
What would I say on my deathbed? Who would stand me up at the hospital? Would it eat away at them, too?
I should write it down sometime. I might need it.
Sync tracks. Play. Fade away.
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