My Wet Dream

As told by Asaph Bryan Change on behalf of a discomfited victim.

 

Dear diary,

I saw her again today. I didn’t know what to say when she walked right up to me, so in return I stared dead shamelessly, and she walked away with the same chuckle she gave me a fortnight ago when I saw her last. I promised myself that this wouldn’t happen to me after the last time. But it did. Now I’m back to that frenzy of thoughts, and I hate myself for having them rule me again. As much as I’m timid to admit, I can’t hold back my mounting crave.

I thought I had this all under control, that the last time was the last, but seeing her today plunged me back to the gutter of what we did. Damn!

I want it to happen again, I plan on asking her what she felt about it, what she thinks of me now, but the thought of me seating her down for that dialogue sticks me in ice. But I have to find out if it’s mutual. She has to want it as bad as I do, right? I mean, she’s the one who made the first move. But what if she regrets it and would rather it didn’t happen a third time? No, she looked at me the same way she did when we were wrapped in my bed sheets dripping wet in our exhausted state of undress.

She told me not to worry about what they’ll think, so that must mean she regrets none of it. I hate this. I’m torn between doing the right thing and ignoring it all and pursue something so wrong but right to me, to us.

I heard her on the phone saying she’s coming over for a visit tomorrow, so I have until then to rehearse my advance in hopes that the answer I’ll get will have us back into each other’s grip.

I’ll try getting her attention when the rest will be distracted in the delight of laughter and tell her of my request to have a word. Once in the privacy of the both of us, I’ll get straight to the point and disclose my inevitable state of being and ask if it’s what she equally feels. But I know her. She’ll probably lean forward to gently bite my lower lip into an ardent kiss like she does every time we are behind a closed door, but I need to know if this is real to her as it is to me.

I’ve shared this furtive with a close friend and he hated me for this twisted condition I threw myself in, and he’s constantly been reminding me of the clutter this would leave me in. I get where he’s coming from, really, I do. But like she said, I shouldn’t worry about what they think, him included.

A week ago I called and asked her what the big sister would think of this if she found out; for I respect her with the whole of me. For the first time, she froze. She didn’t have an answer. I could sense fear in her silence. But she only told me that her sister needed to never know about us, or any one in that regard. I don’t know what to do. I love her. What we may have is something I want to keep. But her sister, my mother, poses a great impediment. Everyone does.

—

This was a story told to me in full confidence by a dear friend. I do not regret publicly exposing it to you. I needed you to read this and question the number of people out there living in this very situation, most of who breed in it without remorse. Some who can’t stop due to the twisted pleasure they achieve, and a majority who are tempted to initiate.

So, what have you been up to lately?