Written by juangarianojuan
28 Aug 2012
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21 minute read
I have often had erotic dreams, but none had ever been like this one.
Let me explain. In the old days my wife and I lived in a town called Albany, in West Australia, in a little suburban house on a street which contained row upon row of such little boxes. We were poor, but not desperately so, for I had a steady job in a small factory which made cogs and ratchets and we had enough money for the occasional holiday in the mountains or by the sea. Our main worry was in fact not our humble condition, but the growing violence among the people around us and their growing rage at each other, a rage which would drift back into our own household, our own hearth, and make us harsh ourselves. In fact, at the time of which I speak, our marriage was already starting to fall apart with our constant bickering and my wife rarely let me between her legs.
So I was not that upset when I discovered that the society in which I lived was about to come to its end.
My first inkling that great changes were under way came in the form of lurid dreams which I began to have, night after night. I say “dreams” but really it was only one dream, repeated again and again, a dream in which I would be standing at my bench in the deserted factory and as I wondered what had happened to my workmates a young woman with long black hair, blue eyes and clad in a tee shirt and jeans, would come up and look at me, then, without speaking, she would stand on the other side of my bench and pull off her tee shirt, revealing two long, pointed tits with thick, stiff nipples. She was I saw quite flushed with excitement. Then she bent and slipped out of her jeans, her thongs, her undies, and, swayed round to my side quite naked and kissed me hard and long on the lips, her tongue probing my mouth. As she did so she unbuttoned my shirt and then moved back and pulled it off, and when I pulled off my trousers and shoes she pressed up against me. I was now quite rigid and giving me a squeeze she lay back on the floor and lifted her legs, holding her toes and spreading her thighs to present her hairy clit. I knelt down and pushed in, She was tight, but I soon plumbed her to the depths of her eager little womb.
Before I came, however, we would become aware of a roaring sound. We would run outside then, still quite naked, and see to our horror a giant wave of water a kilometre high rolling steadily towards us from the horizon. We would try to hide in a basement then, just as we had closed and bolted the doors and had piled furniture against the cellar door, we would realise that the water would pour in and drown us anyway and would desperately undo all we had done, only to be overwhelmed as we worked. Then I would wake, sweating and with a beating heart and an erection. The next time we would try to climb up the fire stairs in a tall building, or try to run inland. It did no good.
Finally, one hot summer’s night, I had my last dream. In this the girl and I fled to an ancient steel yacht on a pedestal in a park with a brass plaque set into the side of the concrete base, a monument to some old maritime explorer. Inside the boat someone, a derelict perhaps, had placed a mattress on the bare steel floor and as we sat on this, our hearts pounding in fear, we were suddenly hurled upwards and I remembered no more, for I must have hit my head on the low metal roof.
When I came to I was lying on the mattress and the girl was sucking hard on my cock and just then I came, filling her mouth with my semen. She swallowed and smiled at me and then I noticed that the boat was rocking up and down. When we went up on deck we found ourselves on a sea littered with the debris of the drowned city beneath. The sky was overcast and drizzling, but I suddenly realised that we had been saved and began laughing hysterically. The girl joined in and soon we were clasping each other and sobbing with relief and mirth on each other’s shoulders, then kissing and feeling each other then lying on the deck and making passionate love again. Then I awoke. I had come in my sleep and lay there for a while, thinking of my mysterious dream lover and coming hard again.
At first I paid no attention to these dreams, except to wander round the parks of our city when I had the time, looking for any boats like the one in my dream, but found none. I shrugged my shoulders and, since the dreams had stopped, I resolved to ignore the whole thing.
Then, one day, it all changed. One day, while working at my bench, sorting and packaging trays of bolts still warm from the machine that made them, I was vaguely aware of one of the receptionist from the front office crossing the floor with a paper in her hand but did not look up till the last moment. It was a new girl, with a list of the numbers of cogs I had to put in the boxes. A change in policy. She handed it to me and smiled and I am afraid I could think of nothing better to do than to stare dumbfounded at her, for she was the girl of my dreams, though dressed in a full white blouse that reached to her wrists and in a long denim skirt. Her hair was long and straight and black, and her eyes were blue, her face broad and her lips full. I could not suppress a shudder of premonition at this uncanny appearance.
“Are you Ok?’ she said, looking at me quizzically.
“Ah, yes,” I managed. “I’m OK.”
She did not turn and go, however, but stood looking at me, a faint smile on her lips and a slightly puzzled frown on her brow. and I knew I had to say something or she would leave me forever.
“I was wondering…” I began in desperation. She continued to look at me with those wonderful eyes. “Can I see you after work? For a cup of coffee somewhere?” She hesitated and my heart sank, then she smiled.
“Of course,” she said.
I learned as we sat in the greasy café that afternoon, that her name was Claire, that she was only 24 and that she had no partner, lover, or even near relatives. When it was time to go I was so bold as to clasp her hand and give it a squeeze.
"We should do this more often," I said, looking deep into her eyes.
"Do you have an hour to spare before you go home?" she said. I nodded, dry mouthed, and she stood and drew me to my feet.
"Then you can come and see where I live."
Once in her little flat we stripped and fell on each other as though we had known each other for months, and made wonderful love. As we lay there on the bed she reached down and ran a finger into her cunt, looked at it, then sucked it.
"You have wonderful white spunk," she said. "That's always a good sign."
After that I saw her in her flat every day after work in the café, spending much of our time feeling and holding each other, between bouts of love making. Soon we developed a deep friendship, for she was quite sympathetic to my former dream, for I now had them no more, and to my fears of a flood. She advised me to built some sort of boat myself.
“Perhaps,” she said, smiling at me, “You could even take some of your friends.”
Now I was always late from work. I simply loved being in her company, looking at her talk. It was crazy. An adolescent infatuation, but I really needed that sort of contact since my life was a fairly empty one at this stage. I told my wife I had had my shift extended at the factory, to explain my lateness, and it is perhaps symptomatic that she did not show the slightest interest.
The boat, I decided, would not really have to do anything but go up on the crest of the flood and then come down, hopefully in the same spot, and would have to contain food and water. It could therefore be of a fairly simple design. Accordingly I began building what was to be little more than a welded steel drum about the size of a garden tool shed, in our back yard, much to the protests of my wife, who did not believe in any flood and thought I was just doing it all to get at her. She was a tall and waspish woman with lank black hair, a shapely body and a demanding disposition and she punished me for my Ark by making my life even more difficult than before.
She also made a point of flirting as often as possible with the young men who lived next door and who worked odd shifts in the local garage. And more than flirt for she now spent a lot of time in their house and it became common knowledge that she had made herself available to all their friends. Once I even spied her with her dressing gown hitched up, her bare bum thrust through a hole in the fence and her hands on her knees. One of the mechanics, was standing on the other side slamming his meat into her.
Emboldened by my wife, these neighbours of mine now mocked my structure, till I finally resorted to telling everyone that the cylinder was a water tank I had contracted to make for an eccentric millionaire living in the desert near Kalgoorlie.
It only took me a couple of months and I was finished, and now I had to insert padded seats and seat belts, for the ride could be a rough one. These I got from the family car, having no more money, which of course put it completely out of action and caused further bitter recriminations from my wife. I also had to furnish my Ark with supplies. This last I calculated, was a simple task, since we would surely not have to stay long on the surface of the waters. I therefore loaded a month’s supply of food and fresh water.
But now I began to have my doubts. Was it all a stupid fantasy of my sick mind? Was my wife right after all? Now, if I came out into the back yard to climb up into my boat (one entered from a trapdoor in the roof) and my wife happened to be leaning over the back fence talking to some partially clad Adonis next door with a spanner in his hand, and often the other hand reached out to fondle one of her exposed tits, she would not fail to make some comment about “old Noah here”. The young man would laugh and add his own comment, not a nice one generally, for thanks to my wife they all despised me and would, I am sure, have had great satisfaction in beating me senseless, given the slightest opportunity.
Finally the end came. A giant meteor was to pass close to the earth, we were told, and was already visible in the night sky. When I stood outside in our back yard that night and saw the bright little star on the horizon where no star ought to have been, I knew that our days were numbered. Announcers on the television however told us not to panic, and that this new companion of ours would have no more effect than to cause some spectacularly high tides. Most of my fellows in any case treated the whole thing as a bit of entertainment, like the New Years Eve fireworks. Something to enliven their otherwise colourless lives.
At this stage I tried to persuade my wife to come and live on a daily basis in our shelter but she laughed at me, so I stopped going to work and spent all my time in the Ark, or else frequented Claire in her apartment, for she had stopped going to work too.
On the fourth day, as we were watching the midday news bulletin on television, we heard the news we had been expecting, and dreading.
Even before she began talking the announcer, a handsome matronly woman, appeared to be in a state of considerable agitation and as she spoke the reason became clear. The meteor had come much closer to earth than anyone had expected and a giant tidal wave had sprung up in the mid Atlantic and was now racing at an incredible speed towards the helpless cities of the eastern seaboard of the United States. She had called it a tidal wave but it was more than that. It was more like a tidal mountain, a tidal continent. Within the hour we knew the worst. The entire population of the eastern United States was being swept away. There were no recorded survivors and the wave surged on, two kilometres high, across the Mississippi basin, across the prairies, drowning all living creatures, only to die out in the peaks of the Rockies. Nor were the cities of the Californian coast to be spared. Here the sea began to rise and rise till it had engulfed the entire coastal plain under a crushing mountain of water which, as it began its terrible progress out to sea, left as total a destruction of life as its more violent eastern cousin.
Claire and I wasted no more time but moved that afternoon into my Ark. My wife made obscene comments about my “whore” but still refused to join me and in fact heaped abuse on me when I came one last time to fetch her. The wave would never reach Australia, she said, and in any case she was going to have fun at an End of the World party with her friends in their next door property.
“And don’t expect me home tonight, either,” she jeered at me, slamming the door on my back. I knew that I would never see her again.
For the rest of that afternoon Claire and I stayed awake in our Ark and watched as the young men next door laid her naked over the bonnet of a car in the front yard and systematically screwed her. She herself was in a state of high arousal and kept urging them to fuck her harder. Soon other girls and even older women joined her in her fun.
Meanwhile it was clear that Australia’s turn was coming as city after city across the Pacific fell silent. All over our land angry mobs crowded down to the waterfronts, trying to get onto something that floated. Thousands too fled the cities in their cars, seeking the mountain tops, but were soon forced to continue on foot through fields and scrub when the authorities ordered military road blocks (for no apparent reason that I could see). Others barricaded themselves in cellars, in underground railway stations, in their houses. As my little portable television showed all these scenes, I was vividly reminded of my nightmares and then, at last, just after sunset, our new satellite rose in the sky, as big as a full moon but of a greenish tint, and people gathered on corners, in gardens, on roof tops to watch the giant. Towards midnight I climbed out the hatch on the top of my craft and sat beside it surveying the streets of my own town from this vantage point, for we lived on a hill. My wife and her friends had all left for another party, to try to escape? I did not know. The front yard was littered with empty beer cans and items of clothing. The other houses about us were now deserted, the doors and windows open. Most of the cars had been driven off. Here and there down the street, by the light of the street lamps, one could see people moving, and once a fellow passed wearing a yellow life jacket, with a snorkel and mask pushed up from his face and carrying a pair of flippers. Some of the people were hurrying along, carrying bundles, or children, but others just stood in the middle of the street and stared up. Then someone screamed. A long dark line had blotted out the lowest of the stars on the eastern horizon and I think I screamed myself, transfixed, back in my dream again. Then hands pulled at me, dragged me back inside the Ark and I heard the hatch being slammed down and dogged shut. Soon we were both belted into our seats and we waited, our hearts pounding. I remember looking out the little porthole at my side and seeing a street light, a man and a woman arguing, a small child crying at their side, but I felt not the slightest pity for what was about to happen to them.
At this point a huge black shadow erased the scene and we were swept up and sideways at a great speed. I remember wishing that we had been wearing helmets when there was a terrible crash, our vessel reeled, the internal lights went out and then we were rocking on what felt to be the waves of the open sea. I looked out the porthole which had now cleared and saw the water stretching in the dim light to the horizon. By craning my neck up I could see the green moon which had caused all this, still riding serene in the heavens above and when I looked at my watch I saw to my surprise that less than five minutes had passed since Claire had dragged me inside and shut the hatch. It seemed much longer.
I unbuckled my seat belt and Claire did the same and while she reconnected the lights, I looked out another porthole and saw the sea stretching as far in that direction as it had in the other. Here was a predicament I had not foreseen, for though the force of the wave was no doubt carrying us far inland, what would happen if, when it receded, we were swept far out to sea? Would our provisions last the time it took to drift to solid land again?
For the time being however we had everything we needed and while the intake fans hummed away we sat down to a late night snack and tried to pick up some news. The television aerial had of course been ripped off but I was able to rig a new one with an old wire coat hanger. Even so, the set remained blank. Only a short wave radio we had with us (thank heavens!) brought us news of further panic around the world to our west. India, the eastern seaboard of Africa and the Arab world were still alive, but there was no news at all from the cities already hit to our east.
We stayed up the rest of that night listening as a world died, and by midday the next day there were no more broadcasts. The entire globe, for the first time in a century, was free of artificial radio waves as its surface was free of human voices. This was a terrible thing, yet at the time all we felt was a profound sense of relief at being saved.
We slept the rest of the day on a mattress I had placed in the Ark, awakening at sunset. In the fading light I examined the hull as well as I could and saw a football shaped dent in it, halfway to the water line, but no water had trickled in so we were, for the time being, safe.
The days passed. We read enjoyed each other's bodies, ate and drank sparingly, of course, tried the radio and talked things over. Once the shattered debris of a wooden yacht floated past, and occasionally a piece of styrene foam would drift into view, or a branch, or a bottle, but I suspect that the oceans had long been littered with things like this, for we had indeed been swept out to sea. There was no further sign of the green moon and the tides had now presumably returned to their normal course. But where were we? Sooner or later we would find land, but in the meantime, just in case, we fished and caught rainwater in a plastic sheet to supplement our provisions.
A month went by like this and we had begun to despair when we at last sighted land. It was a hilly coast and soon we were crashing about on a long sandy beach. We and in a matter of days we had found a large coastal lagoon, ringed with fertile soil, which we began to plant with the seeds I had brought with us.
At first we thought we had been the only survivors, but then, after a couple of days on dry land we noticed a thin column of smoke rising from further along the beach. Cautiously we approached and to our surprise found a girl of some 16 years old sitting by a fire. Her name was Jenny and she had been the only survivor of her parents' yacht, sunk on rocks far out to sea. She had managed to paddle ashore on an old surf board and now she lived as best she could on shellfish and crabs.
She was overjoyed to see us, and I could see from the look in those grey eyes and from her dishevelled blond hair that she was still suffering from her trauma, still a little unhinged. That night as we sat round our own camp fire with her, all of us sitting against some old driftwood logs, she told us a little more of the loss of the yacht, but then, overcome with grief, she suddenly stopped and walked off a little way. We said nothing, but when she began to pull off the ragged shorts and old tee shirt the girl wore, I looked aghast at Claire. She put a finger on her lips. Now Jenny slouched over to the fire and knelt down facing the flames as though to warm herself. She began to fondle her breasts. We continued to say nothing, but Claire gave my hand a squeeze. She could see that I was becoming aroused by the girl, but that did not seem to worry her. On the contrary. She began to lightly stroke my erection and as if this were a signal, Jenny now got on all fours and faced away from us so that we could see by the fire light that her piss flaps were engorged and wet, presenting to me like an animal in heat.
"Go on," said Claire. "Poke her. She needs it!"
So encouraged I crawled over to the girl and knelt behind her. As I held onto her hip with one hand a fed my tool into her frantic little love hole, she gave a whinny of anticipation and then started immediately to climax as I slammed into her sweet hole and came myself. Later on we lay down on some bedding we had taken from the Ark and I made love slowly to each of my women in turn. Finally, as the sky became grey, we all fell asleep in each other's arms.
Within a month or two both of the women were pregnant and the rest, as they say, is history. The Ark was washed out to sea during a particularly violent storm some years later, but by then we were well established and we soon had a dozen children growing up around us and the beginnings of a small village.
There are no doubt primitive bands of people in other parts of the world, men and women who were lucky enough to find themselves in very high mountains, in the polar regions, or on the crews of cargo boats far out to sea when the Wave passed, but we cannot be sure. Whatever the case it will be many centuries before the human population of this planet can again support even the most primitive of civilisations, even the smallest of cities. Perhaps that is a good thing.