Dear Diary,
I know I've been neglecting you, lately. I'm sorry. I wanted to share with you something that happened to me, last night. It was a dream, and yet, it was so very real.
I was younger, just out of school, just shy of adulthood. Still a little round. Still eternally scruffy. I was wearing an old bandanna against the chill, and was sitting with my best friend on the cliffs overlooking a vast lake on the borders of the Everfree.
I leaned against a rock, sitting upright, smelling the forest air, listening to the gently lapping waves below. She laid beside me, her hip pressing into my side. The air carried the promise of a frost, but that little bit of contact kept me warm.
She smelled like almonds, and sunshine.
She was lying down, peering into the horizon, the grey-blue sky drawing her gaze as she rested her chin on her crossed forehooves. She wore a yellow summer dress, and her white hat hung from the branch of a barren scrub plant.
Her mane was a deep green – just this side of forest – and would have run to her hooves if she stood. It flowed this way and that with the breeze. Every so often, I would reach out, and trace the outline of a strand or two as it rested against her back. She would smile, and glance back at me, her hazel eyes twinkling with contentment.
I felt at home. At peace.
Hours passed, and the sun that was once overhead settled behind us, casting our shadows out into the nothingness. Stars twinkled to the east, under a gibbous moon that was already climbing, having cleared the horizon long ago.
She had moved to my side, against the rock, at some point, and rested her head against my lap. For my part, I stroked her hair, and listened to her breathe.
The moon continued to climb, and one by one the stars filled the deep blue sky.
When the moon had reached its peak, we watched it, craning our necks back. I dropped my head first, to look at her, and she kissed me on the cheek.
This opened a door, somewhere.
I stroked her face with a hoof, tracing her cheekbones to her temple. She pushed against it, and then pushed against me, and then kissed me on the lips.
I was lost.
Timidly at first, I began to return her affection, kissing her forehead – as I had done for as long as I could remember – then her muzzle… her eyes… and then finally I pressed my lips to hers. Everything vanished. There was only her, and me, and rock against my back. Soon, even that was gone. She kissed me again, and again, all over my face, and my neck, and my lips – oh, my lips. I was drowning in butterflies.
She ran her hooves through my mane, mine holding her waist, her mane flowing over us both. I slid off the rock, and was prone, her atop me, crawling over me, her head framed by a pale blue moon. And she kissed me again. Her hooves slid across my chest. I pulled the straps from her shoulders. She sat up, then, and stretched her forelegs above her head, her dress falling about her waist. She radiated the moonlight.
Taking my hooves, she placed them on her chest, and held them there, moving slightly against them. I stroked her, gently. In the back of my mind, I knew I had never done this before, and I was almost afraid to hurt her.
Beneath her, I stirred. She smiled, not mischievously, not playfully, just pure joy, and pulled my bandanna off, then fell atop me, her chest against mine, as she took me under her spell of kisses. Then, she shifted herself, pressing against me.
I knew only the moon and stars watched.
She shifted again, and began kissing my chest, my stomach, her mane's delicate strands making every particle of my being tingle. I caught a lock in my mouth, tugging at it, and breathed her in. My hooves could only reach her face, and so I caressed it.
And then she breathed on me, and took me into her mouth.
I shuddered, and my mind spun. My hooves froze, outstretched into nothing, as she took me into her mouth again, and again, gently, each time letting my head break through her lips, before closing them more tightly, and sliding down the shaft. I reeled, legs twitching, hips grinding. I would have pulled her closer had I only been able to move. Tension began to build, and my eyes closed involuntarily – I wanted to watch her, every part of her. Then she sucked, hard, slowly, from the base of my shaft to the tip, in one movement. It felt like an hour passed as she moved across the sensitive skin, her mane pooling across my thighs and stomach.
I moaned, the first sound I could remember making since our day had begun, and she slowly sat up. She had removed her dress at some time during her sorcery. Her warmth - no, her heat - pressed against me. She lifted herself up, playfully dropped her dress across my chest, and lowered her self onto me.
My legs rose, guiding her closer, cradling her tail against my thighs as I sank deeper and deeper into her, and into her spell. Then, she began to rock her hips, side to side, front to back, exploring every side of my throbbing member, muscles contracting and fluttering across me as I penetrated again and again.
She bent down and kissed me, taking my hooves into hers, holding them at my shoulders, pinning me beneath the love she showered across my chest and lips, and the lust we shared below.
I was inexperienced, and the sensations too strong. Her scent, her touch, the tendrils of her mane, the feel of the cotton dress, the feel of her and the heat and the soft moan building in me…
I thrust against her, once, twice, and then came, a guttural moan accompanying my convulsions. She threw her head back and laughed, breaking the night with her cry of conquest and love. Her heat redoubled, if that was possible, and she became liquid, an ocean pounding against the rocks. I barely heard it, my world reduced to pure sensation as I flowed into her, and she flowed around me, a unison of body and spirit.
She kissed me, then, shaking, giggling, and I felt hot teardrops fall against my face. She kissed them, but more fell, and soon she was kissing at random, the fires low but the strength still in us both. She lay against my chest, never once unstraddling me, and kissed me once more.
She stared into my eyes, and I into hers, and she said behind her tears the only words spoken in the dream.
"I miss you."
And she was gone. Vanished. I was alone, chilled, beneath the moon and stars. Her scent lay about me, her kisses cooling on my cheeks, her white hat still dangling from the scrub.
But she was gone, her dress as well.
And I woke up, spent, damp, the smile on my face fading as tears overtook it.
The troubling part…
It was her. Not as I remember her, pale and pure and full of love, but how my mind imagined she would be, had she lived. Had she grown.
And that's my conflict. My eyes are still damp, the fight against sniffles subsiding, but the lust I felt last night and into this morning are at odds with the love I felt with her in the waking world. They can be compatible, but we never had progressed to that point in reality, and never would have even if she'd lived. To be honest, I suspect I won't progress to that point with anypony.
So that's my dream. Eros, and Agape, and a million other things.
And I can still taste her.
-Smudge