Lying in my bed that night, my usual fantasy was invaded by a familiar face. I could see myself clearly in my head, pinned to a bed by my wrists, legs opened wide to make room for the man in between them. He was fucking me so hard; the headboard was slamming into the wall. One of his hands twisted in my hair, pulling my head aside so that his teeth could sink into the tender flesh of my neck. The hand he freed dug into his back and I arched, my orgasm tearing a scream from my lips, triggering his own release. As his head tilted up, I saw the face of my godfather, staring back at me.
A pretty young woman with soft, loose, red curls down to the middle of her back, green eyes the color of jade that seemed lost and glossed over stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. Her skin was pale with just a trace of freckles over the nose and cheeks. She curved at the bust and hips, not skinny, a little bit of a stomach, but it sat in the right places. Her breasts swelled noticeably in the tight black tank top as she took a deep breath.
I was knocked out of my stupor by the buzzing of my cell phone. I looked at the little screen and pressed the ignore button. Erik had been calling me 25 times a day since I broke up with him two days ago. He was swearing that I was just stressed because of Bill’s death. In truth, I had been wanting to break up with him for a week before the accident. The funeral simply postponed things a little. I had been bored. Erik was cute, but dumb, and there was something missing, other than intelligence.
My bags were packed. I was subletting my apartment for six-months. I was still going to work. I taught art lessons to twelve year olds every afternoon. The pay wasn’t great, but it gave me time to sculpt and paint and I got free use of the equipment. Sculpting was my favorite form of self-expression. I released a lot of tension beating the dough, rolling it. I could let myself go, finally relax as I sat at the pottery wheel, soft clay spinning under my hands.
I finished my nightly routine and crawled into my bed for the last time, snuggling between the soft sheets. I let my mind wander back through my memories of my godfather. I pictured his face, so vivid after my dreams. A strong jaw line and soft smile surrounded by dark blonde hair, falling in waves to his shoulders. Light blue eyes that were always touched by happiness. At 6’2”, he was over half a foot taller than me, and his broad frame had no trouble scooping me up and tossing me over his shoulder, even after I had grown up.
My parents were out on a date night. I was 14, curled up in his lap, in the middle of watching a scary movie. I shrieked and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, as the scene climaxed. He chuckled, but ran his hands down my back, soothing me, as the woman on the TV screamed in her final moments. I breathed his scent in deep, no longer interested in the movie, instead trying to figure out why and how my body was reacting to this man who could have been my uncle. I clung like that to him for a while, and he didn’t bother to move me. He only shifted slightly as my chest pressed against him, my developing body in one of his big t-shirts and panties.
He was as old as my father, but never appeared like that to me. He rode motorcycles. We had the same taste in music. He snuck me out to go see my first concert when I was sixteen. He was in dark jeans, a Van Halen t-shirt and his black leather jacket. When I climbed out my window and on the back of his bike, he surprised me with my own jacket, a smaller one, matching his. We rode and I clung to him for dear life, but laughing, happy. Every male there, young and old, looked at us that night. My high heeled boots, short skirt, and low cut shirt attracted a lot of attention, I’m sure, but my eyes were for Bill.
During the concert, we were caught up in the crowd, and he was every bit the teenager that I was. We were dancing, cheering, like the rest of the world didn’t exist, as if the band was performing for us alone. I danced close to him, and he reacted to me as he would to any woman that he cared for. He pulled me close, running his hands down my back, eyes only for me. His fingers ran through my curls and gently gripped the back of my head. He kissed me softly then, on the lips. His eyes closed as I kissed him back, internally surprise, but not complaining in the least bit. My mouth opened to him and his tongue responded, sliding between my lips. The song ended and he pulled away, kissing me on the forehead. It never happened again, and we never spoke of it, but it was the conformation that I had always wanted.