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BRADLEY
Level 4
132 Arthur Street
NORTH SYDNEY NSW 2060
AUSTRALIA
It’s dark, and there are hands on my naked flesh. The scents
of incense and sex in the air, the earthy fragrance of fresh
sweat. Stroking, stroking, fingers and tongues, on my belly,
my breasts. I turn to offer my hardened nipples to those seek-
ing mouths.
Ah, yes, hot and sucking and the pressure building be-
tween my legs. Silky hair fluttering like sensual wings over
my parted thighs.
Yes, kiss me there…
Soft fingers spreading the lips of my sex wide, then slip-
ping inside my body. Pleasure like an electric current, hum-
ming in my veins, making me hot and shivery all over.
I’m going to come soon.
My eyelids flutter open. It’s still half-dark, but there
is a silvery cast to everything now, and I can see them.
Bodies writhing beside me: men, women. Beautiful naked
flesh against my own. And that lovely mouth at my breast,
sucking, sucking. Fingers plunging into my wet pussy, my
hips arching, heat racing over my skin. And then that mouth
8 eden bradley
view of the dunes and lower down, the beach. Waves crash
on the shore in shifting tones of blue and gray and green,
bits of seaweed caught in the foam, golden-brown against
the white. The sun is cutting through the deepening fog,
touching the crests of the water in dazzling light. The beach
is deserted, peaceful.
I let out my breath, feel my shoulders drop. I’m so tired
after my long night on the train. Maybe a short nap, or even
just lying still for a few minutes, wouldn’t hurt.
Pushing my bag aside, I lean into the pillows, letting my-
self truly relax for the first time since I left my apartment
in Seattle. The bed is soft, the hypnotic rhythm of the ocean
lulling. I close my eyes. And remember my dream on the
train. The same one I’ve been having off and on for months.
Always that sort of orgy, where I can’t tell one person from
another. Just hands and mouths on my flesh, desire rising
in my body like pure heat. And always, I wake at the very
last moment, needy, dazed. At home I would reach into my
nightstand drawer for my vibrator, bringing myself to or-
gasm alone in my bed.
Too much alone. That’s what Terry says, and I know she’s
right. But those empty relationships have worn me down and
I don’t feel ready for another one anytime soon.
Still, my body is pulsing with need now, just thinking
about the dream, my breasts aching subtly.
It’s been too long since anyone has touched me. Months.
And I don’t miss it so much in my day-to-day life. But I’ve
been having the dream more often. It’s becoming more and
more real to me. And even when I use my vibrator, as I do
almost every night and sometimes during the day, even after
I make myself come, I am left needy.
Why did I leave it buried in my suitcase?
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