I can’t do this much longer. The muscles in my neck are starting to cramp and a headache threatens the middle of my forehead. I want to check the time and see how much longer I’ll have to endure this torture, but refrain from doing so. It would mean breaking the promise I made and besides, I set the alarm; when my hour is up the song will play.
This afternoon I laid myself down for the fifty-second time. Once a week, always on Wednesday and always at twenty-seven past two without fail, because I gave my word. Maybe I should have been more careful when I made my promise. Maybe I should have put a time limit on it. I could have told him I’d wait for a month, or six months. A year, or five years. But I didn’t. I only told him I would wait.
And he—Ralph—he promised he’d be back. He didn’t know when, but he was absolutely certain he’d return. Two days later, he was gone.
I believed him, a part of me still does. Or maybe a part of me indulges in wishful thinking. I don’t know anymore. A year is a long time when you’re waiting.
A soft breeze stirs the curtains, surprising me. I must be getting lightheaded because I’m convinced the warm air caresses my eyelashes, inviting me to close my eyes. The strain on my neck lessens while I accept the invitation and shut the daylight out.
I must be dreaming, which is funny because I’ve never experienced a lucid dream before. I’ve got no other explanation for the fact that two separate streams of air appear to be tenderly stroking my chest and shoulders. The touch is like nothing I’ve felt before and yet so familiar.
The gentle breezes tease my nipples and they stiffen. I swear the air is cooler now than it was only seconds ago and I arch my back, trying to get closer. It is almost as if I’m being played with; warm alternates with cool and together they awaken a desire in me I haven’t experienced in a year. I imagine I hear a dry chuckle, that I smell those familiar earthy aromas, and my body awakens.
The two shafts of air become one. It travels down my body, teasing my belly-button on the way, until….Oh sweet Jesus! It shouldn’t be possible for nothing more substantial than wind to give me a handjob and yet that’s the only way I can describe what is happening. And it’s exactly as it used to be.
I can feel my orgasm gathering; I buck my hips as my muscles tighten and my balls draw up. When the song starts I smile through my groans. No power on earth could make me open my eyes or stop now. It’s like the song says:
“I’m loving angels instead….”
Here’s a link to the song by Robbie Williams I mention above: Angels. I adore that song. It has seen me through some hard times and it is my go-to tune when I need cheering up or encouragement. I hope you’ll enjoy it too.
As always more flashes based on the same photo can be found in the Monday Flash Fics Group on Facebook. And remember, if you have an image you would like us to use for one of our stories, or if you feel like joining our weekly writing exercise, just join the group. We’re an easy going bunch with a healthy disregard for rules; it’s all about having fun together.