Gypsy Dreams Ch. 02

Another sleepless night had Rachel up and writing at 3 a.m. Thoughts of Phillip had kept her thoroughly distracted all day. She couldn’t concentrate on her deadline. She missed an interview scheduled for the first thing after her lunch break which she spent searching the Internet for Phillip and Gypsy on every search engine she could imagine. Of course she came up with nothing. Well, 12,3 17 hits of nothing, to be exact.

A cold and lonely apartment greeted her later that day as she unlocked the door and let herself into the darkness. Thirty four years old and living alone, married to a career as a journalist, how depressing. By day she busted politicians asses. By night Rachel wrote erotica. Or dreamed of unknown lovers-lover, she corrected herself silently.

He felt so damn real. It wasn’t fair. she agonized, practically tasting him, smelling him, feeling his fingers playing along her skin. She wandered through the living room, bee-lining for her computer. Maybe being dateless for so long was taking its toll.

Passing the kitchen table, Rachel grabbed an apple from the ceramic bowl before proceeding to the living room where she kicked off her shoes, threw her coat and purse on the couch and watched her computer whir and blink to life. Then she opened up the piece written last night about her dream. After re-reading it a few times she corrected a few typo’s, changed a few graphs and decided to submit it to the erotica site she contributed to now and then.

Even if it was driving her crazy, it would make one helluva story.

Within a week the story was approved. Emails and messages started filling her mailbox and desktop. Most were encouraging and sincere, filled with honest praise. All but one, from a woman named AnalJane. She was pretty nasty in her comments, and wrote Rachel in no uncertain terms that she had voted a 1 on that particular story because she was fairly certain Rachel had plagiarized another writer. A stunned Rachel checked her score and saw it was 3- pretty low considering her other scores with other stories. And very low considering all the 4’s and 5’s people who had written said they had given.

A quick note back assured AnalJane that the thoughts and words were Rachel’s and Rachel’s alone. After politely telling her her she was mistaken, Rachel let her temper get the best of her and signed it “fuck off.”

Plagiarize another writer? What nerve.

His office was quiet. Soft, yellow light spilled out from the brass and green shaded lamp on his desk. Other than that and the glow from his computer, his office was dark. He was waiting for copy editors on the third floor to finish reading his work. Then he could leave, get something from Wendy’s for dinner and head home.

While he waited he confirmed appointments for tomorrow, contemplated next month’s leads, and lastly, checked his business and then personal email.

It was this last item that caused him to straighten up in his swivel leather chair. Resting his elbows against the edge of his cherry finished desk, Phil read with interest an email from a long time internet friend, AnalJane.

As soon as he read the forwarded email a frown etched across his brow and he clicked onto the erotica site to search for the username of the person discussed in Jane’s email. He checked her profile after the second story, but it said little about the woman. He scrolled down to her story list and clicked on the most recently submitted entry, marked “New” and settled down for a good read.

Moments later he leaned back in his chair and sighed. Jane had good reason to believe this woman had plagiarized him. Her story was, although not word for word, very similar to a few of the stories he had written and submitted to the site. Plot-wise it was identical. Even details like his name and the type of computer he used was included in the story. Both of these items, he noted, could easily be learned by reading his profile.

He licked his lower lip thoughtfully as he typed an email to the woman. Maybe she was doing this deliberately as a means to attract attention from him. Then, before he hit send he changed his mind and deleted it. Better to see what she did next before addressing the situation.

It annoyed him terribly that she had chosen to steal this particular story of his. This one, the one based on true experience. The one story that haunted him. That kept him up sometimes. But to write it from the POV of the female who haunted him... Now that was creative. And sly. And devious.

She must be a real bitch, he thought as his phone buzzed.

It was the copy editing department. His copy had been proofed and completed. He was free to now go home.

He covered her eyes with his hands and nudged her forward. Tentative faulty steps made the going slow as she moved in front of him, walking carefully over the hard sun baked earth. Every now and then she would stumble on a stray stone, or tuft of rogue weed. His hold steadied her and urged her forward. Calloused hands, rough and strong and wide gripped her by either arm. He stood close enough to her that her essence, her skin, her hair invaded his senses with every breath. Likewise, his presence, his body, his smell, the sound of his breathing, embraced her even though he did not touch any other part of her but her upper arms. Every so often his chest would briefly lean against her back as they walked, and she would hesitate, melting against him with his touch. Then, inhaling sharply, she would attempt to regain control and continue on. He breathed deeply, intoxicated by the smell of her. Air, earth, sweetness.

“Careful, love." His whisper came softly through the tufts of hair curling around her left ear. It rested breathlessly on the nape of her neck, causing her to shiver in the hot midday sun. He felt the shiver reverberate through his hands, up his arms, through his body, as if it were his own action. He felt a stirring within. He wanted her.

Despite his warning she tripped on the first step of what actually was half a dozen which led to a wooden porch. She would have landed on her knees and palms had his instincts not taken over so quickly, encircling her waist with one lean, hard arm. He righted her and they continued the climb until reaching a door. When they stopped walking he told her to keep her eyes closed as he removed his hand. He reached for her hand and placed it on the latch, pressing her thumb until the cool metal clicked and the door swung open. It was then he released his arm from around her waist.

"Take a look."

She opened her eyes and took in her surroundings: a neat, sparsely furnished cabin. To her left was a table with two chairs, a cupboard, an ice box, another long table without chairs, with wooden crates stacked neatly beneath it. Straight before her, on the far wall was a brick fireplace, nearly the entire length of the wall. Two rocking chairs sat immobile before the stonework.

She swung her whole body to the right, and he heard her breathe in sharply. There was a tallboy bureau and a long low chest of drawers with a mirror hanging above it. Beside that was a night stand. And finally, his four poster bed.

Her pause was overly long as she stared at that last bit of furniture, the patchwork quilt pulled snugly over the feather mattress, over the fluffy pillows resting against the head board. A rosy hue colored her cheeks and then moved through her body he guessed, as he felt the heat emanate from her being. She stood unable to tear her gaze from the bed. the bed she knew where he no doubt rested his wearied body each night after toiling the long day.

“You like?"

A wordless nod was her only response as she stood, unable to turn and look him in the eyes.

"I was referring to everything, not just the bed."

All she could bring herself to reply was simply, "Oh."

He spun her around on her heels and lifted her chin with a crooked finger, gazed hotly into her eyes and said simply, "I want you here. in my house, my bed. With me. And I will not take no for an answer."

Any protest was lost as he dipped his face low and kissed her.

It was at that moment Phillip awoke.

“Not again,” he groaned and looked at the clock. 3 a.m. An aching in his groin added to his dread. He was awake, again. Because of “her.” Again. His cock lay like a loaded gun, hard and ready to explode. His balls itched for release. His mouth yearned to kiss a woman’s soft flesh, a breast, a smooth neck. Not any woman’s. Hers. Her sweet lips. He wanted to taste her musky sweetness, smell the scent of her sex as he made her moan with pleasure.

Man, he needed to get laid. Not with just anyone. With her. The woman in his dreams.

Closing his eyes in the darkness, he rubbed his hard-on through his cotton boxers. He stroked himself slowly thinking of her, how she would feel sitting on him. How her lips would feel as they ran the length of his cock right now. He groaned again and slipped a hand inside his shorts, thinking of the beauty he would have shared that four poster bed with had he not woken up. He leaned over and grabbed a tissue, feeling his load build as he worked his hand harder and faster up and down his shaft.

He came quickly, not unlike he had when he was a teen and unable to control his urges. And as he came into the tissue he cried out her name.

Only then did sleep embrace him. He welcomed the oblivion, knowing she would soon be by his side again. “Rachel,” he whispered, before dozing off to a fitful, restless sleep.

**********************************

3 a.m.

Rachel swore softly and blinked her eyes in the darkness, needing desperately to go back to sleep. The sleepless nights were beginning to take their toll on her. Moodiness, shoddy workmanship, inability to focus. She was drained. It seemed she did her best writing at night.

Within 20 minutes she found herself flinging the covers away from her body. She made tea while her computer was booting up, the details of her most recent dream burning in her memory. Although she had been sleepless all week, this was the first time she remembered details since writing the piece she had been accused of plagiarizing.

The blank screen waited patiently for her to collect her thoughts. She stared at the whiteness of the word processing page and soon was transported back. Back in time, back to her dream, back to the arms of her lover.

His kisses rained over her smooth skin like a misty morning shower, soft and cool and unending. He missed not an inch of her skin as he explored her neck, her earlobes, her shoulders. She trembled beneath him as he teased her most intimate erogenous zones, suckled softly, bit lightly, and lapped at her smoothness. By the time he his mouth found her breasts she was pulled tight as a bow ready to snap, her nipples hardened and pointing upward to him as if demanding his attention.

A tender smile played upon his lips as she looked up at him, pleading silently for him to continue. He kissed her full and deeply, his tongue darting between her lips, coaxing her heated response. His hands roamed over her hot, naked flesh, finding the full swell of her breast. Softly he cupped her, his thumb and fore finger teasing the hardened nub of her nipple. She cried out and arched against his hardness, mewing softly and calling out his name.

Her reward came immediately as his strong, muscled thighs parted her legs and his cock nudged against the moist damp curls of her pussy. Of their own accord her legs parted wide and she wrapped herself around him, guiding him deep inside of her. He entered her with one swift thrust, unable to contain himself, his desire.

She cried out his name, moving against him, needing him deeper, pulling him deeper, with his every thrust. He pumped his hard length in and out of her, changing tempo every so often. Fast and hard, then teasingly slow and tender. He suckled her breast, as he brought both of her hands to rest above her on the pillow, near the headboard at her head.

Capturing her wrists with one hand, his free hand trailed softly over the soft white skin of her delicately shaped arm, tracing a path that led to the breast he suckled and kissed. He turned his attention to her other, as his hand kneaded and massaged her aching flesh. His teeth tenderly tugged her nipple and Rachel cried out his name. An earth shattering explosion wracked her body as her pussy squeezed and contracted around his pounding cock.

It was her body’s turn to coax a response from Phillip and so it did. Her nails raked down his back, her cunt sucked and swallowed his cock, her body danced beneath him, undulating and pulsing as wave after wave shook her through to her soul.

Little coaxing was needed actually, as Phillip felt his response thicken and swell in his balls, his cock, until his own release exploded inside of her, his cum spurting deep in her womb, filling the essence of womanhood completely with his maleness.

The four poster bed rocked beneath their dance, as sturdy and strong as the timeless love they shared with each other that night.

****************

Rachel stared at her words, trembling in the after affects of her own orgasm. Her right hand rested against her thigh, her cunt was still pulsing, not unlike the aftershocks of a major earthquake. It wasn’t often her own writing moved her so deeply.

But this time it wasn’t as if she was writing. This time she felt as though she was actually making love.

With Phillip.