Unedited — Opening of Chapter 13 – Secret of Folloman Finn

For once, her mouth didn’t taste like brandy. She was sweet, like little sugar crystals were on her tongue. She bit my bottom lip playfully, pushed me back, mounted me, blond hair cascading around me.

Blond?

“Darla?”

“That’s right, baby. Did you miss me?” Then she came in again, her mouth on mine, her tongue dancing along my teeth. She ground her hips into me and my body responded. My hands cupped her perfect breasts.

We rocked back and forth and I felt myself getting closer to release. She was in complete control of the pace and rhythm. Nothing I could do but go along for the ride. Or her ride.

Then I felt the release boil up, eyes closed, body tensed.

And I woke up.

Eyes wide open, feeling the last twitches of untouched ecstasy, and a mess down below.

Huh. That had never happened. Not even when I was hitting those awkward years when my hormones ragged. Back then I was locked in a cage.

Sure, it had been a while, but not that long for something like this to happen.

“Darla,” I whispered. I imagined her hundreds of miles away, laughing. Except she couldn’t possibly have known that I dreamt about her.

Strange. I dreamt about Darla, and not Jane. Felt guilty over it like somehow I had cheated on her. Cheated on a dead woman.

But why Darla?

Now don’t misunderstand. This wasn’t love. I know a thing or two about love. About how it can lift you up to the highest mountains, then rip out your entrails and shove them down your throat. Yes, I know all about love.

But I felt disappointment that it was only a dream. That Darla wasn’t actually here with me. The way we used to be able to talk without giving anything away, the way we used to try to figure out if the other was lying. If the other was cheating or planning a double-cross.

Did I miss her? Sure. Well, maybe more than I cared to let on. She was a real looker, of course. And the way she did that thing with her hands. And her mouth. And her body.

The mess down below told me that I did miss her. In a purely physical kind of way. Though I did wonder what she was doing. Felt a little surge of jealousy thinking that she could be laying with Bartimus right now. But I attributed that as simply my hatred of Bartimus, not true jealousy.

Did she think of me? Because I didn’t really think about her. Not a lot, anyways. Just sometimes, like now. When I was lonely. Better to be lonely than dead. Because Darla would’ve been the end of me. Just like Jane had been.

Things always did seem a little clearer when Darla was around.

Shyst. I had indeed fallen into some infatuation with her. Not love. Kaazlimãt, no. Those days were gone, I was pretty sure. And besides, not with Darla. She’d rather stick a dagger in my eye than fall in love. I smiled at the thought of how she threatened to cut off my scrotal sac.

Okay, enough of that.

I climbed from the lumpy mattress, cleaned myself up, pulled on some clothes. Had to get my mind onto more important matters. Like staying alive.