Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories From: laff@cs.uiuc.edu (Joshua A Laff) Subject: ARCHIVE: discontentinfreedom.Z mm Message-ID: Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu Organization: University of Illinois, Dept. of Comp. Sci., Urbana, IL Date: Sat, 25 Dec 1993 09:15:21 GMT Lines: 122 This story is another from the archives, and is not written by me. Requests for just about anything concerning these posts will be ignored. See the FAQ in a.s.s.d for more information. The Discontent in Freedom by Jason Coughlin Last night I dreamed about Doug Race, my best friend in high school. Doug and I were so similar that I actually thought we were the same person in two, different bodies. Our parents were divorced and involved with other people. We had been only children. We were both estranged from our mothers. We liked the same things. We had the same sense of humor. Only our bodies seemed to distinguish Doug from Jason. I have red hair; he has shiny, jet-black hair. I don't wear glasses; he wears glasses. I burn; he tans. I was chubby and ugly; he was well-built and beautiful. But even though our bodies looked physically different, we were still a perfect match. We were almost the same height and weight, standing side-by-side. We ran at almost the same speed, running side-by-side. Also, Doug and I were emotional whirlwinds because of our divorced parents. We didn't know it at the time, but we were enraged. His mother knew this, and supported a baby-sitter for him (us) until well into the eighth grade. We would lock the baby-sitter in his basement and pour cold water under the door. We would lock her out of the house and then drench her with the hose. Finally, in an absolute rage, the baby-sitter tried to run us over with her car. Happily, we jumped on the hood, pressed our noses against the windshield, and chanted something creative and provocative, probably "Nah nah nah nah nah nah!" After we jumped off the hood, she drove off and never returned. At first we were overjoyed at our newfound freedom, but we soon found that in gaining our freedom, we had lost our outlet. We learned that freedom contributes to discontent rather than being a comfort from it. So with no outlet and even more anger, we began hammering away at his mother, who had ruled that in the absense of the baby-sitter, Doug was to stay around the house after school. I don't remember who initiated our little games of "Truth or Dare," "Double Dare," and "Strip UNO," but in reflecting about it, it doesn't matter. The enthusiasm for exploration was mutual. As with everything else, we started out small by just daring each other to take our clothes off. Then after reading _Penthouse Forum_ and _Variations_, we started to masturbate together. The next logical step was mutual masterbation. Finally, we performed oral sex on each other. Limiting exploration to the context of the game freed us from feeling guilty about our socially unacceptable behavior. On our final journey, Doug initiated sex without the game. I remember that I was surprised because he was flirting with me, looking at me with a wry smile, his eyebrows raised. We were in my room so I turned on my television to mask any sounds, we pulled our clothes off, and without kissing, we crawled into bed. I slithered under the covers and performed fellatio until he came. Then we traded places. I remember sitting there, watching Johnny Carson, running my fingers through Doug's jet-black hair, praying to God that I would come soon. Finally, Doug came up for air, noticably upset that I hadn't reached orgasm. To this day, I don't know why I wasn't into it. My only guess is that it wasn't exciting outside of the game. Later, we went skinny dipping at a private pond up the road. We were both incredibly turned on by swimming naked together, the cold water making our testicles bouyant. Skinny dipping really is a strange feeling since most of the day your testicles are supported by your underwear. After crawling out of the water, we each started masturbating. Doug came first, and I remember that I was surprised that it was possible to reach orgasm so quickly. In disbelief, I asked him to show me that he had come, and he refused. Doug started having severe problems with his mother. Finally, he ran away from home and moved into a farmer's house down the road. Motherless, he went out drinking a lot, slept in a cold room in the farmer's attic, got up every morning at dawn to milk the cows, and did poorly in school. After graduation he signed up for the Navy, and disappeared. In my dream, we are both young, thin, and muscular. Our bodies are hairless, smooth, and pale except for small tufts of pubic hair. We are naked in an open bed with clean, white sheets, covered only with a thin top sheet. The bed is huge, and the room is even bigger. Although we are alone in the bedroom, I can sense eyes on us. I can feel that we're being watched very closely, and yet the eyes pass over us, not seeing us. They're looking for us and they know we're in this room, but for some reason, they can't see us lying together in this open bed. I have the feeling that Doug is a prisoner here. I can't tell whether he's a prisoner because he is a leader in whatever country is hosting my dream or that he's a prisoner because of a crime that he committed. But, he's a prisoner. We can't leave the safety of this bed. Doug has been gone a long time so that we're actually celebrating his return and our love. Like the wife Penelope, I've been waiting for years, and upon his return, I'm willing to passively sacrifice any part of myself for his pleasures. He's on top of me although he doesn't physically rest himself on top of my body. He's looking into my eyes with a passion so intense that I can't bear to match it. I can only study his face, trying to etch it permanently into my memory. God how I love him and how he loves me. This is Paradise that has been denied to us for so long! We both know this without having to speak it. He presses his penis into my abdomen as I stroke his testicles and his ass. When I wake, I look around my room for Doug, and not seeing him, I call out to him. Then I remember that when I was home last, his friend Chris Rappolt told me that he's living somewhere in Connecticut with a house, a wife, and a baby girl. My dream of intense love suddenly becomes a dream of intense sadness and longing. I realize that we'll never be together, and the thought that he might be my soulmate scares me. The thought that I missed my soulmate makes me feel that there's nothing left to live for. My deepest love is the love that I'll never have. -- I will ignore all requests for: reposts, e-mailing missing parts, archive locations, ftp sites, gif sites, and subscription requests. These stories get deleted immediately after they are posted. For more info on the ARCHIVE postings, read the FAQ posted bi-monthly to a.s.s.d