Why is it that in all the good stories, the guys are the protagonists? They’re the ones you cry over. They’re the ones with the emotions. The girl is always their support. Support. Their strength. Never them. Never the Protagonist. When the girl is in danger; when she gets hurt; why do we cry for the guy? When he’s sad because of her, why do we feel for him? Why not for her? Why do I weep when the guy gets hurt; regardless of whether the female is sad, regardless of whether she even knows about it? Maybe it’s just me though. Maybe, it’s just the stories I read. Maybe that’s why I think they’re good in the first place. But I’m a girl. I want what the guys have. I want to be the protagonist. I want people to feel for me.
I closed the book in my hands after staring down at the last page for a few seconds. Mom looked over from the driver’s seat to my lap while she waited on the vacuum tube to return with her money. Visiting the bank with mom before grocery shopping; my life was on the verge of explosive excitement.
“Isn’t that book a bit mature for a fourteen year old?”
“I think I’m a bit mature for a fourteen year old, mom.”
“Not according to your first period a few months ago.”
“Moooom, that was over half a year ago, and my body has nothing to do with my mind. I could have skipped a grade if I wanted to.” I would have if I wasn’t so scared. I didn’t really have friends per sey in my current class, but I at least knew them as acquaintances.
I tossed the book into the backseat of the car hoping to prevent further questions about it. The suction and thump of the capsule returning sounded. Mom opened the small door and retrieved it.
“Only today, I’ll let you pack the cart with junk food. Try to get the kinds your brother likes,” mom said as she pulled out the bank envelope.
I knew she would somehow bring him up that day. She chose to put a positive spin on it at least. Instead of saying that my manically depressed older brother would be returning for the school year to seek seclusion in his room while he moped over his dead girlfriend, she gave me permission to buy junk food. I wasn’t about to sneer a smart remark though; my high metabolism would never forgive me for it.
Mom returned the capsule to its tube, closed the door, and pulled out. Off to the grocery store. Truly a day for the history books.
I couldn’t complain too much though. The first day of high school was coming up. I would walk into that school with no friends. Alone. Scared. A freshman.
In fast-forward, as I lost myself in my imagination, the rest of the day flew on. Mom and I went grocery shopping, returned home, unpacked the groceries; I retreated to my room with a bag of chips to search online for reviews on another good book I could soon read. I stumbled upon blogs and forums - conversations between friends; I daydreamed, I wished. Depressed as my window turned into a mirror reflecting my bedroom light, I moped into the bathroom to get dressed for bed.
I walked from the bathroom in my nightgown to meet my mom.
“Did you get something to eat yet? I was lost in research and forgot all about dinner. I was going to throw something together real quick.”
“No,” I replied, “but I’m not really hungry.”
“Ok than sweetie. Don’t forget to set your alarm clock.”
“I already did mom.” Apparently my drowsiness began showing; mom began moving back down the hall toward the kitchen.
I walked into my room, closed the door and dropped onto my bed. Seven o’clock; that was the time my alarm clock would go off in the morning. That’s when I would go with mom to pick up my brother.
My brother, actually, he was my half brother but I would never consider him anything less than a full one, even if his biological mom wasn’t the same as mine. I hadn’t seen him in two years. I watched him leave for college then, onto an airplane to North Carolina. He had talked two of his friends into going to the same college as him; one of them had talked his girlfriend into joining. She was to eventually become my brother’s girlfriend. He decided to stay down there the past two summers to live out his life in freedom. That freedom he so wanted cost him his girlfriend. He was coming back now, took the fall quarter off. The school psychiatrist strongly urged it.
He was seventeen when he left. He had taken the leap I couldn’t. He skipped the grade. He was always eager to test the limits. Now those limits were testing him.
I laid in bed thinking about him, trying to fall asleep. He was so happy when he left. I loved being around him, I think at times that I might have liked him too much. He had looked scrawny then, but I remember the feel of his skin; the solid muscle under it. Although you never could judge him by his looks, not even by the feel of his arms, you just had to know him, like I did. He was everything I had always wanted to be. I think he was why I never really had many friends. Having a brother like him probably set my standards on others a little too high. As long as I had him though, I was always happy.
I fell asleep to that thought, or at least that was the last thought I remember before my cognition kicked off. From the happy memories of years before, I washed up into a strange hazy world, a place where I was horny as hell and I had four men bowing to me.
A light sheet-like dress draping my body blustered in the wind. I couldn’t feel any real chill from the wind, but that wasn’t really what I was after. I looked down to the four men below me and scanned them over thoughtfully. I drug my fingers through their scalps and rested on the third from my left. He stood up.
I walked gracefully to a massive bed. We were on a dock at a beach. The wooden dock was above untouched sand with the calm water in the distance. The sun was either rising or setting, but never did it glare at me.
I pulled open the silk netting that surrounded the giant bed and crawled in. The man followed me. He was just a random thought in my mind, a model to some junior or senior in high school I would meet, a dream boy that would sweep me from my feet and protect me in the new school.
I looked up to find him completely naked crawling toward me. I peered down to my own naked body. I would have blushed but nothing was real. The guy crawled over me showing no emotion, he just stared into my eyes. I only focused on his chest and up; perhaps on my limited knowledge of what guys looked like down there.
But even with that, I had more than enough experience in my imagination on what it would feel like down there when they played their guy role.
He entered me and I about screamed out moaning. I hadn’t had a dream this good in a while. Moving in and out, he smiled down to me. Almost tremblingly, he wrapped his hand around the back of my head and dropped forward to kiss me. I was so full. I draped my arms over his back and dug my nails in for leverage.
“Keep going,” I moaned. I never wanted it to end. A false hope I knew could never be true in a dream.
His lips broke from mine and he pulled up. It was Ean. It was my brother. He was having sex with me. That seventeen year old body I had imprinted in my mind for some reason.
He kept thrusting into me.
“No,” I cooed in confusion.
“I love you Maeghan.” He began dropping back down for another kiss.
Overload.
I woke up panting for my breath in the blackness of my room. My entire body was sweating profusely. I immediately pushed the sheet and comforter off me.
Damn.
That was the second time that month. I won’t dare tell you how many times since he left me alone with mom. But that; that was the first time he’d ever said that.
He usually just appears there, breaking up a perfectly great dream, and puts me into a state of confusion and guilt and I don’t even know. But “I love you.” I knew I should have tried to stop them when they first started happening. Why did I have to keep letting the dreams happen in my curiosity. I was beginning to go insane.
Send to your friend
