Real Dreams of Him

By Lily Turner

For what reason have you been awake all night?

Reading a love story awakens a woman's hiden mind. That's why we have some stories here to create the perfect atmosphere for pure pleasure.

Relax your mind.

Release the stress.

Sit back and take in these experiences.

Whether you are soft and tender or vigorous and intense, these stories will surely excite you.
 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gonzales Garcia
• Release date: May 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223233138

Book preview

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Table of Contents

Real dreams of him

CH. 01

CH. 02

CH. 03

CH. 04

CH. 05

Real Dreams of Him

Author: Lily Turner

Real dreams of him

CH. 01

My name is Rosenn and I'm 20 now, although I had just turned 18 when most of the things in this story happened. I'm not a 6'0 tall blonde with big tits, so if that's the only type of girl you care about I might come off as a bit boring. A lot about me is pretty average. I'm a bit inferior 5' 5. I'm not telling you how much I weigh, but let's just say I've been called bony more than a few times in my life. I have auburn hair that I've always kept short; For the past few years, I've worn it a bit longer, in a bob with long bangs, which I think look pretty cute — not to brag.

I always wear glasses; I can't stand contact lenses for some reason, so I'm stuck on my glasses. At least my nerdy black frames are suddenly cool now. Like most redheads, my skin is fairly fair and I have a few freckles on my cheeks - I hate those, by the way. My chubby cheeks look like a little kid's to me, but Gabe always said they were cute.

Gabe: That's what this story is about. I mean, it's about me and Gabe, but the part about me would be boring and lame if it wasn't for Gabe. Gabriel Jose McKinney: my stepbrother. I'm only skipping to talk about him, but since I'm writing about him I thought it was only fair. If the last name seems odd, it's because Gabe's mother was Cuban and she arguably won the coin toss to name him.

If you never heard his name, you probably wouldn't know that he has a Cuban mother. Well I guess a lot of Cubans are pretty fair skinned so maybe you could. He's quite tall, about 6'3", lean, but totally fit from the sport. Nowadays he's more likely to be held with a guitar than a baseball bat, which for me is even better were mean to me. Gabe had medium length black hair and when it wasn't too long he liked to wear it up. He had the most beautiful brown eyes that just had a kind of sparkle that's hard to describe maybe if you're ever in If you were in love with someone, you saw that look too.

I should cave in though, because things don't make sense if you don't know what it was like before my mother married Gabe's father and I met my stepbrother for the first time. My real dad's name is Ed, and he's an IT guy for a company in another city about 50 miles away. We talk a few times a year now, but I haven't seen him in a long time. Even when my parents were together it seemed like he was never there, never had time for me and my mother.

I found out the reason for this too soon: he was having an affair with a woman at his old job, which he had when he was married to my mother. Her name was Karen and she ruined my life even though it was years before my mother found out about her. Shortly thereafter, she filed for divorce. Looking back, I think I'm proud of her for not putting up with his shit.

I was only eight when my father left, but I was old enough to understand what happened, or at least what I thought happened. I've heard enough of my parents' fights in the final months of their marriage to know that my mother no longer pleases my father. Apparently his new girlfriend Karen did things for him that my mom would never do. Of course, I didn't really understand what that meant at the time, but I guess I always remembered it as some kind of shitty lesson: if you don't please a man, he'll leave you behind.

After the divorce we moved into a cracker box house and my mom became kind of a zombie. I mean she used to go to work and take me to school and go to the store and stuff like that. She neither got drunk nor tried to kill herself. Still, she seemed kind of...giving up, I guess. She stopped dressing nice, she never wore makeup, and we never went anywhere for fun anymore. She always said she was tired after work, so we mostly just watched TV together in the evenings.

I was always shy as a kid and never spoke to boys. I had a few friends but my only close friend was Natalie, possibly the only person in the world more introverted than me. We could talk about anything - I guess you don't have to worry about gossip if you both only have one real boyfriend. Anyway, things were going pretty well until I transferred to middle school. Then my life took a dramatic turn for the worse.

It started with a girl hating me without me being able to say it. To be honest I can't even remember who it was. Then it was all her friends, then her friends. If enough people hate you, then it's easier for others to just go along with it. Nobody stops and asks why they treat another person like shit - they just go along with it. That's how it was at my new school. The ringleader was this girl, Ashley Moore, but really it seemed like everyone was going along with it. My clothes were too tacky, my hair made me look like a boy, I was too skinny, too fat, too smart, too stupid. Nothing I did seemed right anymore and I just believed all the horrible shit they said about me. Suddenly no one spoke to me between classes or over lunch.

It hurts me to tell this story, but I think it's important to understand. I was only in sixth grade at the time, and Ashley and one of her henchmen splashed water on the front of my pants in the bathroom and told everyone I peed my pants. Well, that doesn't seem like the worst bullying of all time, and I'll admit it isn't. But I walked around feeling embarrassed all day, and not just because people thought I was going to wet myself. It's hard to explain, but in my screwed up brain I really felt like I did it. I convinced myself a bit that it was my fault. I guess you could say I had an active imagination, but when people said mean things about me I took it really hard, like it was true, even though deep down I knew it wasn't true. I just couldn't resist something like this and spent a lot of time alone and crying to myself when I was younger. Yes, I know, pathetic, isn't it?

The worst part was that all of this happened at an age where I was starting to have feelings for boys. There's one more thing you need to know about me, something I always knew about myself, even though there was nothing I could do about it. In most situations I'm reserved, shy, a wallflower: you get the idea. But I have this impulsive streak. It's like I get too tight and then just do something crazy without even thinking about it. It's gotten me in trouble more than once - let's just say I once allegedly pushed a girl off the monkey bars in the playground for insulting my lunch box in first grade.

One day in seventh grade, I got tired of being alternately ignored and taunted. I wanted a boyfriend so badly, but I had no idea how to actually get one. I have no idea what was going through my hormone crammed head, but I approached this guy I'd been dreaming about all year. I will never forget his name: Ben Michaels. He was a skater guy with long, shaggy blond hair and a beautiful face. He always wore those skater hoodies and baggy pants that I thought were so cool back then. Without any warming up I asked him to go to the seventh grade school with me and then... I kissed him. In the dining room. Above all.

Needless to say, that didn't end well. Instead of just being a hopeless loser, I suddenly became the school's biggest slut. I wasn't fourteen, I had my first kiss in front of the whole school, and kids were whispering behind my back about things I didn't even understand back then.

For some reason, having the other kids call me bitch was worse than anything that had come before. Of course, stupid of me, I thought they were right that the sexual feelings and thoughts I started proving I was a slut forever doomed to social ridicule. I thought it might be over after that year, but by the time I got back to eighth grade, it had gotten worse. Of course I was totally a virgin. I couldn't even imagine what sex was like, but it didn't matter. Kids can be so mean.

I've heard things about myself that I didn't know existed. They say I only got an A in Mr. White's chemistry class for blowing him off. (Well, huh! I rocked chemistry.) I only faintly knew what that meant. Thank goodness for Urban Dictionary!

At school I started to counteract my reputation. I've never even remotely worn anything. Heck, I never wanted to look cute. I tried not to talk to boys, especially cute ones. I made myself the world's greatest prude and it never made a difference. No matter how hard I tried, the bad bitches at school would spread stories about me and isolate me in a little bubble. Except for Natalie, who was only spared the agony by being completely invisible to everyone, all my friends have been in books for a long time.

It was around the middle of my eighth grade when my mom started dating Emmett, Gabe's father. She started wearing skirts and dresses again, put on makeup, even went on dates after work. It was like she had a shot of energy and life again. I was happy for her, even if there were things about him that I didn't really like at first.

Emmett was a pretty big, burly guy - not fat and not a bodybuilder, but a really solidly built man. He was a contractor specializing in home renovations and repairs. I believe he had started out in actual construction before moving into more sales and appraisals and owning part of the company. He was much more religious and conservative than my mother and I. While I never had to go to church with him or anything, my mom started going with him. He was also somehow traditional. It was subtle at first, but I found myself acting more and more like the little lady of the house, letting him do manly things like mowing our grass while she made him dinner and cleaned up after him.

At first I thought Emmett was a male chauvinist I guess, but he always treated me well and my mother seemed happy. He seemed to find me hilarious as I didn't like to dress up and shop like a girl, preferring solitude and a copy of Tolstoy or Jane Austen. His way of looking at things may have been old-fashioned, but at least he wasn't looking for my mother. Speaking of fucking - I totally found out later that was why she was so much more perky and vivacious. I never really caught them, but I could hear things at night over the music they were playing that must have made my mother quite happy.

However, after only a few months, my mom sat me down and told me that she and Emmett were getting married and that we were moving into a new house as a family. It was all quite sudden, but since pretty much everything had improved - the house, my mother's mood, our finances - I couldn't really complain.

The only thing that was strange was that I had never met his son before. I only saw Gabe for the first time when he was helping his father carry all the heavy furniture inside. Seeing him lugging around sofas and wardrobes with his dad made him look so masculine. To me, he just had it: he was beautiful (he would hate if I called him that) but also strong, manly and powerful. Although Gabe wasn't much older, he always seemed totally responsible and much more mature than he was in my mind.

It's safe to say that I instantly had one of those classic schoolgirl crushes in my gift. Of course, I was only 15, so I didn't do anything about it. He would be my brother