Dreams of a Virgin

by John Foltin

  “Neither can I. All I know is a beautiful woman was in trouble., and I had to do something to help. I’m not a fighter, so I did what I could.”

  “And you looked good doing it.”

  “Thanks. All I worried about was that you were okay.”

  She put her hand on my arm, right where I was cut. I screamed out in pain.

  “Oh no. You’ve been cut. Let me take care of it.”

  She went to the bathroom and came back with a first aid kit and a bottle of peroxide. She took off my shirt. She poured the peroxide on my wound. Of course, it stung.

  She wiped it off. Gingerly, she kissed the wound. Then, Cameron wrapped it in dry gauze.

  “There. That should make it better.”

  “You know what? It does. Thanks.”

  “Well, working in a medical clinic, you pick up some stuff here and there.”

  She went back into the kitchen to set the table and tossed a salad. I could smell the aroma of the casserole. As I put my shirt back on, she told me that dinner was ready.

  I went into the dining room. She had two pink candles lit with a dazzling centerpiece. Two prepared salads were placed by each plate. Two wine glasses were set on the other side of the dish.

  In she came with a sweet looking casserole. She brushed up against me and gave me a heaping helping. She hovered over me, waiting for me to try it and to give an opinion. I stuck my fork into it, brought it to my mouth, and ate the bite.

  “Mmm. This is the best casserole I’ve ever had.”

  “I knew it would be. That’s why I made it for you.”

  She poured a vintage red wine. She joined me at the table. As the meal progressed, she drew her chair closer to me. I felt her foot rubbing my leg. As we finished, she stood up and went back to the kitchen.

  “I’ll be right back with dessert.”

  Five minutes later, she came back, wearing a blue bra and white silk undies and carrying a can of whipped cream. She grabbed my hand and led me to her bedroom.

  Once again, she took off my shirt. I started to unfasten her top, but before I could remove it, she started to work on my pants. As she dropped my drawers, I lowered her bra. I lay her on her bed and slowly pulled down the silk panties.

  She shook the bottle of whipped cream and sprayed it on her stomach, her beautiful breasts, and her private area. I lapped up the cream, starting from the stomach and moving upward. I was in no hurry, especially around her breasts. I licked around, kissed, and tenderly bit each nipple. I took my time in the valley between.

  Having cleaned the top portion, I proceeded to the lower part. My tongue moved up and down the hair. Once I rinsed the whipped cream shampoo out, I set my sights on the Y. Although there was no cream there, my motor was still running, and I shifted it into high gear. She was shrieking like a banshee.

  Now that her oven was warmed up, I inserted my hot dog into it to cook. Our tongues locked up. She couldn’t keep her hands off me. Suddenly, the juices began to flow in the oven.

  “Ooh, my hero!” she cried out. The meal was cooked well done.

  As I got up to leave, she pulled me back.

  “Wait. I’m still a little frightened to be left alone. Could you spend the night?”

  I’d come this far. Why stop now?

  All through the night, we continued kissing everywhere on the face. Finally, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  The next morning, I woke up holding a pillow covered in slobber. I was dreaming.

  BAILE DEL SUEÑO (DREAM DANCE)

  One of Jeff’s favorite activities is ballroom and Latin dancing. And, as they say, it takes two to tango, among other things.

  I had been taking dance lessons for three years. I had won competitions. I had performed in charity showcases. I had done all of this with my instructor. After all this time, I had yet to find a partner of my own.

  Michaela had been taking lessons for only one year. She felt she was ready for competitions. Like me, she had no partner, only her instructor.

  There was a major competition in two months. Michaela and I both wanted to compete. The competition consisted of ten dances: Viennese waltz, fox trot, tango, quickstep, rumba, cha cha, Paso doble, samba, mambo, and jive. On top of that, each couple had to perform a solo routine of a dance of their choice.

  During one of my lessons, Michaela’s instructor Adam came over to me.

  “Jeff, I have something to ask you. I know you are competing in two months. So is Michaela. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to go with her. I wanted to run the idea by you of partnering with her in the competition.”

  I thought about it for a minute. I had won competitions with my instructor. No offense to my teacher, but inside I wanted a challenge. I saw that Michaela was not a bad dancer. I agreed to be Michaela’s partner.

  Over the next few weeks, the two of us worked together to build the chemistry needed between dance partners. We built the trust. I worked on my lead with my new partner.

  In the first month, we spent three days a week training two hours a day. On Monday and Wednesday, we rehearsed the ten required dances. On Friday, we worked on learning a solo number, a bolero, a very sexy, seductive dance.

  With each lesson, Michaela and I grew closer as friends and partners. After the first month, the chemistry was there. The trust was there.

  With one month to go before the competition, we concentrated more on the solo routine. We knew the steps in the ten required dances, but still spent one day a week perfecting them. The solo routine, however, had to be learned from scratch and thus needed more time devoted to it.

  By now, Michaela and I began hanging out outside of the studio. We had grown to be more than friends, but not enough for a relationship.

  With a week left before the competition, we knew our routines. We spent this week perfecting everything. Lines, fluidity, every little detail.

  The night before the competition, we were rehearsing in private, away from all instructors. We knew this routine backwards and forwards. At the very end of the routine, I gently lowered Michaela to the ground. The routine ended with me staring deep into her eyes, her lying on her back.

  In this instance, the feeling of the dance overcame me. At the end, I kissed her. Knowing this was not part of the routine, I pulled back quickly. I knew what I did was wrong. I also knew that we had grown closer each day we rehearsed.

  I looked at her, and she did not seem embarrassed. In fact, she rose up and kissed me. In fact, she kissed me with the passion of the bolero.

  After two months of training together, this dance had brought out a part of us neither knew we had.

  Her kiss ignited a fire between the two of us. As the flames grew high, we each shed clothing. As the fire reached its peak, all clothing had been removed.

  That was when I realized that I needed to douse the flames. With my hose, I entered the hottest portion of the fire, between Michaela’s legs. After fighting the heat for a while, my hose sprayed. Instead of cooling her down, fighting the flames only made her hotter. There had to be asbestos in the floors to keep them from catching fire too. The sprinkler system had to be malfunctioning; otherwise both of us would have been soaking wet.

  In time, all fires eventually burn themselves out. So, too, did this fire.

  The next day was the competition. As we got there, there was a feeling of uncertainty. After last night, there was a fear that we were too close. As we talked about our routines, that fear subsided. Watching the warm-ups, we saw the other competitors having fun out there. It loosened us up as well.

  The competition started with the ballroom dances. We nailed the fox trot, but stumbled a bit in the Viennese waltz. This had always been my weakest dance. We recovered and nailed the tango and quickstep.

  There was a brief intermission, with an exhibition dance from our judges, a professional couple who had appeared on Dancing with the Stars.

  After the intermission came the Latin competition. It started with a cha cha, followed by the samba, m
y favorite dance. As the rumba started, I felt a bit nervous. The rumba is the dance of love, and after last night, I didn’t want to be too risqué. Michaela calmed me down and we nailed the rumba. We also nailed the mambo.

  Next, the Paso doble, the dance of the bullfighter. I channeled the passion of the bolero and combined it with a new-found intensity and performed my best Paso routine ever.

  Finally, the jive. I knew this was Michaela’s weakest dance, and dancing this last after the other nine dances didn’t add to it. But she fought through it and we danced a good routine.

  With the group routines completed, each couple had to perform their solo routine. One by one, we watched the other couples perform. Some of the routines were really good, better than ours, I thought.

  Then, it was our turn. I could feel the spark ignite when I looked in her eyes as the music started. We danced a smooth, passionate bolero. I lifted her in the air as though she was weightless. At the end of the dance, I gently lowered her to the floor. As the music stopped, instead of kissing her as I did last night, I simply winked and smiled. I pulled her up and we took our bows.

  After another brief intermission, the winners were announced. As they announced third place, I saw that our name had not been called. Then the announcement came.

  “And the winner in our amateur couple division... Jeff and Michaela!”

  We hugged each other tightly, then went up to accept our trophy. I could tell that tonight there would be another celebration. Better put the fire department on alert.

  DREAM WORKOUT

  Jeff was a bit overweight. Okay, he’s quite overweight. So, how could someone that heavy have that first experience? By losing weight.

  I knew I needed to shed a bit of weight. I heard about this camp where I could do just that. Three months of working out and eating right.

  I went there with high expectations. I quickly found that it was not as easy as it looked. From someone who ate mostly fast food, eating healthy was very hard. I never worked out, so it didn’t take much to get me winded.

  We had two personal trainers there, Sean and Megan. Given my needs, Megan worked with me. She was stricter, but she got results.

  After the first week, we had our first weigh-in. I had only lost three pounds. Megan was upset. She worked me harder the next week.

  After the second week, we had another weigh-in. I had better results, losing seven pounds. Megan still wasn’t satisfied.

  She made me a proposition. If I could lose ten pounds at the next weigh-in, we would have a special private one-on-one workout. I took her up on the offer.

  I worked out harder than ever before. I spent many hours on the treadmill, on the bike, and lifting weights. I watched every single calorie.

  After the third week, I weighed in. Megan was there to see the results. Twelve pounds. As excited as I was, I could also see a smile on Megan.

  The next day, we started with a two mile run. I was sweating buckets at the end of the run. Megan just had a glisten to her.

  Part two of the workout started when we returned to the camp. Megan took off her pants and lied faced down on the floor. She then told me to take off my pants. I was hesitant at first, but she’s the boss.

  She told me to hover over her and do fifty pushups, so I did. With each up and down motion, I entered her rear. You’d think that the more pushups I did, the more tired I would get. I actually got stronger the longer I went, but after number fifty, I was spent.

  She gave me two extra incentives. If I lost a total of fifty pounds, there would be another one-on-one workout. At the end of the program, there was a marathon. If I finished the marathon, there would be an extra special one-on-one workout.

  With incentive like that, I knew I had to do whatever it took to lose the weight and get into shape. I ran faster and at a steeper incline on the treadmill. I did more reps on the weights. I cut down the calories.

  Three weeks later, I had reached that fifty pound mark. As promised, we had yet another private one-on-one workout. This time, she had me run five miles before the pushups.

  For the last five weeks, I worked on building endurance. I had a twenty-six mile race to run, and I needed to finish. I cut back on the weights and concentrated on the treadmill, bike, and Stairmaster.

  At the end of the three month camp, I had lost a total of ninety-seven pounds. I went from three hundred four down to two hundred seven pounds.

  A week later was the marathon. I saw Megan for the first time since leaving the camp. Now I knew I would finish this race.

  The gun sounded, and I took off. I paced myself. Around the nine mile mark, I started feeling like I might not make it. Then, I thought of Megan, and I got my second wind.

  I felt good until I hit mile seventeen. That’s when I hit the proverbial wall. But I knew what I had waiting for me at the finish line, and I was going to finish this race, even if I had to crawl on my hands and knees.

  By mile twenty-three, I was walking. My legs were rubber and on fire, but I would finish this race.

  I saw the finish line. Megan was there waiting on me. When I saw her, I took that last bit of energy I had and sprinted to the finish. I crossed the line and passed out.

  When I came to, Megan was standing over me. I hoped she didn’t expect me to perform now. I was hardly in any condition.

  Fortunately, she gave me a few days to recover. She invited me to her house for a workout that, according to her, “I would never forget”.

  Once I was back to one hundred percent, I took her up on the offer. I went to her house. Her assistant answered the door. She told me that Megan was waiting for me in the gym, third door down the hall on the left.

  When I walked in, there she was. She was in the buff. Michelangelo couldn’t have sculpted a better looking body. She told me to join her. By that, she meant for me to take my clothes off. As I said before, she’s the boss.

  She walked over to the ab straps, placed her arms in them, and pulled herself up. She spread her legs. She told me to come over and do fifty pelvic thrusts.

  When I came into the house, I had a limp rope. Seeing her in that position, though, I now had a weight bar.

  After the fifty thrusts, she was just warmed up. She took me to the inversion table. She set me on it. I hooked my legs in. She took a running leap onto me. We were upside down now. I started doing more pelvis thrusts.

  After a few minutes, the workout was over. Too bad this was the last I would see of Megan.

  I considered putting the weight back on so I would have to go back. I decided against it. I knew that I wouldn’t get the same treatment from her the second time.

  YEAR IN THE WAITING

  I believe in the old saying: “The best things in life are worth waiting for.” Especially in this case.

  I could still remember the first time I saw Natalee. I went to see my friend Scott. He had company, his girlfriend Paige and her friend Natalee. It was love at first sight.

  “Jeff, this is my girlfriend Paige and her friend Natalee.”

  Our eyes locked. We exchanged hellos and phone numbers. Her flowing brown hair. Amber eyes. Freckles all over her face. Petite frame. I knew that she was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

  Our first date was typical. Dinner and a movie. Walk to the door and said good-bye.

  Our next few dates were similar. We spent some nights at home, renting movies and ordering takeout. We were more friends than boy or girlfriend. I knew as much about her as she did me after the first month.

  Two months into the relationship, I declared my love for her. It would be for not if she did not accept it and return it. Not only did she accept it, she returned it sealed with a kiss, our first kiss.

  Three months in, we decided to go exclusive. Not that I would ever stray from her. Both of us being virgins, we decided that just because we were going steady, that was no reason to ruin it by having sex.

  As I said, on sight, I knew Nat was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life w
ith. So, on our six month anniversary, I planned a great picnic dinner. Fried chicken. Potato salad. Corn on the cob. White wine. And a surprise.

  As we finished the meal, we lay on the ground, staring at the clouds. Suddenly, a plane flew overhead. It was dragging a banner behind it. “NATALEE, WILL YOU MARRY ME?” As she looked at me, I was holding a half-karat diamond engagement ring. She gave me her answer with a hug and a kiss.

  We set our wedding day six months from today, our one year anniversary. We didn’t plan a big, fancy wedding. Just your basic church wedding. Friends and family.

  A month after our engagement, we found an apartment. Although we were living together and sleeping in the same bed, nothing sexual happened. We decided to save it for the wedding night.

  Finally, the day arrived. I stood at the altar wearing an ivory tuxedo. At my side was my brother, the best man, and the ushers. As the bridesmaids walked down the aisle, the ushers met them and escorted them.

  The music played. I stared down the aisle. I saw an angel in white, minus the wings. As she slowly inched her way to me, my heart began to race with every step. Her father handed her to me.

  The preacher began the ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite Jeff and Natalee in the bonds of holy matrimony. Be there anyone who feels that these two should not be united, please speak now or forever hold thy peace.” I looked around as if to say “Don’t even think about it”.

  From that point on, I had no idea what the pastor was saying. I was lost in Nat’s eyes. Suddenly, I felt a nudge from my brother.

  “Do you, Jeff, take Natalee to be your lawful wedded wife?”

  “Oh, yes, I do.”

  “And do you, Natalee, take Jeff to be your lawful wedded husband?”

  She smiled at me and says, “Yes, I do.”

  “May I have the rings please?”

  My brother handed him the rings. He blessed them, and we placed them on each other’s finger.

  “I now declare you husband and wife.” We kissed.