I, Death

Friday April 6, 2012 - 3:47 AM

Can't get to sleep. My heart is still pumping like crazy from this twisted erotic dream I just had.

After class on Wednesday, Robbie handed over a book called In the Dark — it was by an author named Richard Laymon. He told me that Laymon was one of those authors who cut right to the chase and had a way of keeping action and suspense rolling non-stop in a seemly effortless style.

He told me that, while the content of the book — the shocking horrific elements and the seemingly gratuitous sex scenes — might at first seem simplistic and b-movie style, the author had actually invested quite a bit of effort into developing his characters and crafting the story. “He makes it seem simple and effortless” Robbie said. “But the work he put into developing the whole thing is phenomenal.”

Robbie explained that he’d read a non-fiction book that the author wrote which documented the story behind his writing. He talked about how the author himself was a voracious reader, often with several books on the go at once, and was well read in multiple genres.

He talked a bit about some of Laymon’s favourite authors and the fact that Larry McMurtry was one of them. He’d mentioned that the next book he was going to get me to read was called Savage and then after that I was going to read a novel by Larry McMurtry so I could compare the styles.

I didn’t read the Laymon book the night Robbie gave it to me — it's funny, when he started talking about comparing Laymon to McMurtry it just sounded like the typical crap that English teachers talk about, and I got nervous that I was going to hate Laymon's book.

But, oh man, was I wrong.

Laymon blew my fucking mind.

I started reading In the Dark at about 10 o’clock last night. The book was simply riveting, and written in a style that had me begging to just want to turn one more page, just continue on reading for a few more minutes. I thought that I might read for about fifteen minutes, but I read for two solid hours. I wanted to read more, but I was so exhausted that I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

At one point I remember finally putting the book down, and struggling with the desire to want to read, slowly peeling off my clothes without getting off the bed, and then turning off the light and sliding under the sheets.

When I first closed my eyes, I couldn’t leave the world the author had created for me. Couldn’t push aside the heart-stopping plot, the intense and tight timeline for the story, the cliff-hanging suspense of each chapter, the hot and sweaty sex.

I’m pretty sure it was the book that caused the eerie erotic dream that I had.

The dream was, like a few that I’ve had recently, based on something that really happened. And while erotic and exciting, it was a bit frightening, too.

There Sarah and I were, in the family room. Two of Sarah’s friends were there, Monica and Julie, each sitting in an armchair. We were watching a movie, something with Adam Sandler in it. Sarah and I were snuggled up together on the couch with a blanket over us.

During the movie, Sarah’s hand moved down and started rubbing me through my jeans. I remember looking quickly at her, then at her friends, a bit anxious at first that we’d be caught, but they didn’t seem to know what was going on. I then relaxed against the back of the couch and just enjoyed it.

Sarah’s rubbing hand got more vigorous and my erection was straining against the denim, a solid mass of excitement and painful pleasure. This went on for quite some time. Then Sarah reached in with her other hand, pulled down my zipper then pulled out my cock and started pumping it in her fist.