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The Discontent In Freedom
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Discontent in Freedom
by Jason Coughlin
Last night I dreamed about Doug Race, my best friend in high
school. Doug and I were so similar that I actually thought we were the
same person in two, different bodies. Our parents were divorced and
involved with other people. We had been only children. We were both
estranged from our mothers. We liked the same things. We had the same
sense of humor. Only our bodies seemed to distinguish Doug from Jason.
I have red hair; he has shiny, jet-black hair. I don't wear glasses;
he wears glasses. I burn; he tans. I was chubby and ugly; he was
well-built and beautiful. But even though our bodies looked physically
different, we were still a perfect match. We were almost the same
height and weight, standing side-by-side. We ran at almost the same
speed, running side-by-side.
Also, Doug and I were emotional whirlwinds because of our
divorced parents. We didn't know it at the time, but we were enraged.
His mother knew this, and supported a baby-sitter for him (us) until
well into the eighth grade. We would lock the baby-sitter in his
basement and pour cold water under the door. We would lock her out of
the house and then drench her with the hose. Finally, in an absolute
rage, the baby-sitter tried to run us over with her car. Happily, we
jumped on the hood, pressed our noses against the windshield, and
chanted something creative and provocative, probably "Nah nah nah nah
nah nah!" After we jumped off the hood, she drove off and never
returned.
At first we were overjoyed at our newfound freedom, but we soon
found that in gaining our freedom, we had lost our outlet. We learned
that freedom contributes to discontent rather than being a comfort from
it. So with no outlet and even more anger, we began hammering away at
his mother, who had ruled that in the absense of the baby-sitter, Doug
was to stay around the house after school.
I don't remember who initiated our little games of "Truth or
Dare," "Double Dare," and "Strip UNO," but in reflecting about it, it
doesn't matter. The enthusiasm for exploration was mutual. As with
everything else, we started out small by just daring each other to take
our clothes off. Then after reading _Penthouse Forum_ and
_Variations_, we started to masturbate together. The next logical step
was mutual masterbation. Finally, we performed oral sex on each other.
Limiting exploration to the context of the game freed us from
feeling guilty about our socially unacceptable behavior. On our final
journey, Doug initiated sex without the game. I remember that I was
surprised because he was flirting with me, looking at me with a wry
smile, his eyebrows raised. We were in my room so I turned on my
television to mask any sounds, we pulled our clothes off, and without
kissing, we crawled into bed. I slithered under the covers and
performed fellatio until he came. Then we traded places. I remember
sitting there, watching Johnny Carson, running my fingers through
Doug's jet-black hair, praying to God that I would come soon.
Finally, Doug came up for air, noticably upset that I hadn't reached
orgasm. To this day, I don't know why I wasn't into it. My only
guess is that it wasn't exciting outside of the game.
Later, we went skinny dipping at a private pond up the road.
We were both incredibly turned on by swimming naked together, the cold
water making our testicles bouyant. Skinny dipping really is a
strange feeling since most of the day your testicles are supported by
your underwear. After crawling out of the water, we each started
masturbating. Doug came first, and I remember that I was surprised
that it was possible to reach orgasm so quickly. In disbelief, I
asked him to show me that he had come, and he refused.
Doug started having severe problems with his mother. Finally,
he ran away from home and moved into a farmer's house down the road.
Motherless, he went out drinking a lot, slept in a cold room in the
farmer's attic, got up every morning at dawn to milk the cows, and did
poorly in school. After graduation he signed up for the Navy, and
disappeared.
In my dream, we are both young, thin, and muscular. Our bodies
are hairless, smooth, and pale except for small tufts of pubic hair.
We are naked in an open bed with clean, white sheets, covered only with
a thin top sheet. The bed is huge, and the room is even bigger.
Although we are alone in the bedroom, I can sense eyes on us. I can
feel that we're being watched very closely, and yet the eyes pass over
us, not seeing us. They're looking for us and they know we're in this
room, but for some reason, they can't see us lying together in this
open bed.
I have the feeling that Doug is a prisoner here. I can't tell
whether he's a prisoner because he is a leader in whatever country is
hosting my dream or that he's a prisoner because of a crime that he
committed. But, he's a prisoner. We can't leave the safety of this
bed.
Doug has been gone a long time so that we're actually
celebrating his return and our love. Like the wife Penelope, I've been
waiting for years, and upon his return, I'm willing to passively
sacrifice any part of myself for his pleasures. He's on top of me
although he doesn't physically rest himself on top of my body. He's
looking into my eyes with a passion so intense that I can't bear to
match it. I can only study his face, trying to etch it permanently
into my memory.
God how I love him and how he loves me. This is Paradise that
has been denied to us for so long! We both know this without having to
speak it. He presses his penis into my abdomen as I stroke his
testicles and his ass.
When I wake, I look around my room for Doug, and not seeing
him, I call out to him. Then I remember that when I was home last, his
friend Chris Rappolt told me that he's living somewhere in Connecticut
with a house, a wife, and a baby girl. My dream of intense love
suddenly becomes a dream of intense sadness and longing. I realize
that we'll never be together, and the thought that he might be my
soulmate scares me. The thought that I missed my soulmate makes me
feel that there's nothing left to live for. My deepest love is the
love that I'll never have.
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