The Sex Chronicles

Even though we have yet to make love, my knight in shining armor makes me feel that way. I dream of him all the time. I dream of his lips upon my lips, on my neck, atop my breasts. I dream of his hands touching my face, caressing my behind, between my thighs. Orgasm on top of orgasm.

I dream of him laying me down upon a bed of roses and blowing lightly in my ear. I dream of us sharing every fantasy that each of us holds dear. I dream of making love in a rain shower, on a sailboat, in a clock tower. Orgasm on top of orgasm.

I dream of giving him an oil massage, feeding him chocolate-covered strawberries, licking honey off of his chest. I dream of him entering me from behind and putting my entire body to the test. I dream of candlelight dinners followed by bubble baths. Orgasm on top of orgasm.

One day, my knight will come to me, and when he does, all of my desires shall be fulfilled, all of my dreams shall come true. I know that he is here somewhere, lurking in the shadows of my soul, imagining the pleasures my body shall give to him as well. And when the time comes, he and I shall become as one and our nights will bring us both orgasms on top of orgasms.

Imani

Six years later

Well, just like I always dreamed about as a little girl, I bought my cabin out in the woods. I wasn’t rescued by my knight in shining armor, though. Instead, I left home at the age of seventeen, leaving my abusive stepmother alone with my father, which is what she wanted all along.

I got a partial academic scholarship for college and worked nights as a waitress to make up the difference. It had been a long road, but I had it all—at least, financially and professionally.

After receiving a degree in marketing, I decided to venture out on my own and start an information brokerage firm, marketing information via the Internet. It paid off. I have a nice house in the city, my two dream cars, and the log cabin I always dreamed of.

There was one thing still missing: the man of my dreams. Even though I had all the things most people use to measure success, the most vital part of happiness was still missing from my life. I craved for a man’s touch so much. A man who would make all my childhood fantasies come true. A man who would turn my ass out and make me cum at least twenty times in one night.

I would go up to the cabin on weekends to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, trading all the horns, sirens, and cars backfiring in exchange for the sounds of nature. Small animals scurrying through the bushes, birds singing in the trees, and the leaves rustling in the wind.

The cabin I own is just like the one I imagined in my dreams. It’s small and cozy, with huge picturesque windows and a large fireplace. It has a loft bedroom overlooking the living room and kitchen area. There is one huge window that goes from floor to ceiling, so you can see the whole wooded area from either level.

The cabin is secluded, and there are no other homes for miles. My friends always expressed concern about me being up there alone, because if something were to happen, I would be completely defenseless. That is, except for the Glock I kept loaded in the nightstand next to my bed. I love nature, but I am not a fool, so hell, yeah, I was packing.

It was early one Saturday morning when everything in my life changed. I decided to go for an early-morning jog, about 7 A.M. The cool breeze felt great hitting up against my skin through the thin material of my windsuit. There is a river about a mile from my cabin. I often jogged there and sat by the water and thought about all the trials and tribulations of the hectic week.

On this particular day, I must not have been paying attention to my surroundings, because I tripped over a log within ten yards of the river, twisted my ankle, and it hurt like hell. I was sitting there on my ass in the middle of the woods, holding my ankle and shrieking out in pain, when I heard a noise like some twigs breaking.

I was petrified. My immediate thought was it must have been a bear or a mountain lion or some other type of animal that was gonna eat me alive. My gun was back in the cabin, so basically, I figured I was fucked for sure.

I tried to pull myself up, but the pain was excruciating. I didn’t dare yell out for help. I figured that would only allow whatever animal was out there to pinpoint my exact location, as if it hadn’t done that already.

I couldn’t get up to my feet, so I began to drag myself down toward the river. I had read somewhere, in a mystery novel perhaps, that animals lose the scent of whatever they are tracking in water.

I heard some more twigs breaking and leaves being disturbed, even closer this time, so I broke into an all-out crawl. It was obviously something huge, and it was moving in on me at a fast rate.

Once I reached the embankment of the river, I heard heavy breathing behind me, panting even, and that did it. I didn’t dare turn around. I just knew some humongous bear was about to have me for breakfast if I didn’t cast myself in the river with a quickness.

I flung myself into the cold water hoping I would still be able to swim, even with the swollen ankle. Water, especially cold water, tends to dull pain, and I thought it would work to my advantage.

Immediately, I realized it was a big mistake. The current pulled me deeper into the river. I lost my bearings and couldn’t even manage to dog-paddle. The water carried me down toward the river floor. All I saw was the sunlight glowing through the water and getting dimmer and dimmer until it disappeared altogether. What a fucking way to die!

All I remember is the pressure of something bearing down on my chest cavity. I could hear myself gurgling as I coughed up the water. The first thing I heard was that same heavy panting. When I managed to open my eyes and adj

ust to the glaring sunlight, I saw this big-ass nose and long tongue and smelled some foul-ass breath. I was lost like a virgin in a whorehouse. I passed the hell out.

When I awoke, I felt immensely warm; almost feverish. I looked up and saw wooden beams lining a ceiling and flames from a fireplace dancing on them. I was nursing the stomachache of all stomachaches, my ankle was still sore but good enough to walk on, and there was something cold on my head. I reached up to remove it and saw it was a wet rag.

I was nude and covered up with several handmade quilts, which looked generations old, and lying on an old-fashioned iron bed. I saw one of those little washbasins and a pitcher sitting on a wooden table next to the bed.

I looked around, taking in my new surroundings. It was a cabin, but not like mine. There was only one room with a little kitchenette area, a fireplace, a table pushed up against the wall with two chairs, a dresser, a bathroom with a sink and toilet and one of those old-timer silver bathtubs you only see in the movies, and the bed I was lying on. That was it.

Then I saw it over in the corner and began to laugh hysterically. It was a bloodhound, a brown one. I realized it was the beast I had been so terrified of, the one I almost drowned trying to get away from. It looked at me and tilted its head, probably wondering whether I was plum foolish or not.

It became apparent that whoever owned the dog also pulled my stupid ass out the river and saved my life. I had been rescued, but not the kind of rescued I imagined in my childhood fantasies. This person literally saved my life. I had been rescued and taken to a log cabin out in the woods. The whole scenario was getting much too amusing, and then it became arousing.

Could it be my knight in shining armor had finally come to me? I thought about how ridiculous it was for me to expect some handsome man to come in there and fuck me for dear life. It was more likely the person who saved me was some sixty-year-old white man with three teeth and a musty odor that came up to the mountains to hunt—maybe even a poacher.