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Veronica continued to orally pleasure me, her mouth on my breasts hot, giving me absolute contentment. I writhed and moaned and she moved downward to my pussy. She spread my legs apart and began to lave my pussy. I knew that this dream meant something, but I didn't want to think or analyze. Lots of women had lesbian sex in their dreams, even when they were not lesbian. I was just one of those women. The dream was eerily beautiful but even as the lovemaking continued, I was thinking to myself:
Who killed you, Veronica?
She finished pleasuring me and I orgasmed, my face contorting and my body shivering with the release. I then closed my eyes and relaxed. When I woke up, I had only awakened within the dream but was still asleep. There was no time. Everything was still as if I was in Heaven, or at least a small corner of it, with Veronica. Here she was, here she had come, and those nymphs frolicking in the Elysian Fields were probably girls who had met a similar fate. But why was I here? I was not like Veronica! But perhaps I was. Maybe I did not want to admit it to myself.
The nude girls surrounded me and it was very clear that an orgy would break out, and they would feast on me. I didn't want to be a part of this so I forced myself to wake up...............
Too many men. Too many women. Too many lovers. Too many places. Too much chaos. I will never find her, I will never uncover the mystery. I walk the city streets, neon signs looking like halos, the halos that called Veronica to Heaven. Strip clubs, adult video stores, nightclubs, bars. This was her world, despite her couture - fancy gowns, vintage dresses and skirts, which seemed to belong to the women of Manhattan's social elite. Who was she now? Some celluloid fantasy, a fleeting wisp of memory in her lovers' dreams, a dead body at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean? Or was she alive, laughing at those who thought her dead, drinking bubbly in some mansion with her newest paramour, enjoying life even more than before because now she could start anew, or return to her decadent ways but this time in a safer manner, less attention-getting. Strange. I feel as if I knew her. She was my evil twin.
She went away, she left behind a pair of stilettos.
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