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hs11150.jpgbuy prints of select* halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (*prints of all photographs are available upon request) day 11

In the dream he had the morning after the night he and Rebecca stole the mummified cat and his dad shot the Lady Sasquatch, Dave was floating, but not on water and not in the air. Maybe it was a bed – or a waterbed. He couldn’t be sure of anything except that Rebecca was naked and he was there with her, probably naked as well, but he couldn’t see himself in the dream.

He was awake, but not quite, feeling fuzzy and sticky with sweat, his head still in the dream. His hand was wound tightly around his cock, moving up and down. He moaned, emerging fully from sleep. He shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to slip back into the dream, but it was gone. He concentrated and filed quickly through the catalogue of naked Rebeccas he’d created and stored in his brain.

Rebecca slipping two curious fingers between her legs, Rebecca crawling above him on all fours, pushing him down, making him hard, Rebecca jerking and grunting and wet. Her taste and his cock in her mouth, fingers pulling and pushing.

Dave’s worked the shaft of his cock. In his mind, Rebecca rubbed against him from behind, her big nipples scraping across his back. Dave panted and shut his eyes tighter. Rebecca was fondling his ass, riding his back. He reached down and grabbed his cock, guiding it forward, inside. But suddenly it wasn’t Rebecca he was touching and fucking. He moaned again and thrust his pelvis forward. Warm. Safe. Wet. Fuck.

Dave let his cock go, spent, feeling the blood flow back into his limbs and his head.
In reality, he had seen his best friend naked once and only for the briefest moment. It was last year. He had stopped by her house unannounced. Lisa invited him in and sent him down the hall to Rebecca’s bedroom. He didn’t knock and caught her sitting in front of her dressing table, robe open and the length of her body exposed. In one hand she lifted a breast with, Dave couldn’t help but notice, large dark nipples that made him think of cookies. In her other hand she held a pair of delicate tweezers that she used to pluck stray hairs that sprouted from her chest.

He was frozen, transfixed. He cleared his throat in the way he’d seen characters on television do. Rebecca looked up. Shame and surprise washed over her face. She fumbled with the tie on her robe and the tweezers dropped to the floor.

“I’ll just wait in the hall,” Dave said. He closed the door. Later, they went to the thrift store. No mention was ever made of their encounter, but Dave often tried his best to conjure the image of naked Rebecca in his head while Rebecca often tried her best to erase that image, and to forget the glassy look in Dave’s eyes.

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                                                                                                                                                          ©2008 pamela klaffke