I Used To

I used to dream of my college jock.

And I dreamt of meeting him here and he's perfect - tall, blonde, perfect body, and with a big dickie. My jock would come with brains on the side - I am a brainiac after all and I like them to make sense, sometimes. So I dreamed and dreamed some more.

I would dream that he would come to my apartment complex and park his red sports car outside my building. I had imagined he would smile when he sees me for the first time and extend his hand for a firm hand shake and I, I would try to hide my excitement as much as possible. I had long dreamed that he would give me his name and I would go weak on the knees.

I had imagined that he would take quick glances at me while we were in the lift and I, I would do the same. I would imagine that he would be smiling all the way to my room while talking to me about very petty stuff. I had visualized his reaction coming into my humble abode. I would then offer him something to drink and he'd say he's good. I had imagine that he would be sitting on my red couch and the room would be dimmed - romantically set even. It would be perfect.

I had dreamed that he would kiss me the moment he felt comfortable - and that kiss would be something I had long waited for. I had visualized that he would be really into me and his hard on would be the testament to his undying lust. I had imagined that he would lead me to the bed - us still kissing. And since he's taller that I am, I had imagined that he would need to bend a little to do the deed. I had imagined how he would lay me down in bed, his weight on me and we would kiss some more.

I had imagined how things would go from there. How porn-ish it would be as we both approach the climax. I had imagined how we would both let out uninhibited moans as we both reach that happy place, together - and we would just stay there until we both recover from it all. I had visualized two sweaty bodies on my black bed, cuddling. My college jock would then tell me his story - who he really is - and he would confirm that his name is really that. And he would tell me he's nineteen. I had already planned to ask if it was even legal for him to be in bed with me. And he would laugh.

I had imagined more cuddling, comforting pauses and constant kisses. My jock would be crazy about me. I had imagined that things would happen again (and again) until the time we were both wasted. Happily wasted. I had imagined talking to him about many things after sex - life, love, work, school, movies and he would be really be interested to hear what I had wanted to say. He would also be comfortable enough to tell me his views. I had imagined that he would tell me that he liked me so much and I, I would tell him I felt the same.

I had imagined that I'd feel giddy afterwards. He would then ask to leave and I, I would would walk him to his car. I had visualized a handshake - no, a kiss just before he left and got in the car. I had imagined it would be long and passionate, just like the ones we had in bed. I had prepared myself for this, kissing in a public place at three in the morning and it would be liberating. I had imagined that his car window had been rolled down and he would smile at me as he drove by on his way home. And he would call in when he got home to let me know that he got home safely, just as I had told him to. I had imagined that he'd also tell me how much he had enjoyed my company and how much he liked me. He would then ask me out again and I, I would say yes.

I used to dream of my college jock, with all that.

I used to. Not anymore.