The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

John awoke in the early morning, after the night before to an empty bed and the sensual aroma of their lovemaking, so strong still in his mind and senses. Blinking to full alertness a few times, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, noticing how really good he felt- strong and loose. He hadn’t felt like that for a long time. He called her name without lifting his head from the pillow, but there was no answer. He had hoped against hope.

The memories of the night before then came flooding back to his mind in full. His eyes stung then shined painfully in the morning, after that night before. He knew then that she’d gone. It had all been true and not just a crazy dream, brought about by working long hours on the damn book, with not much food or rest.

Turning his head slowly, he felt a single tear roll down his cheek as he glanced at the clock on the wall. It had been several hours since she had entered the apartment with her heavenly casserole. He had noticed the clock beside the door, just before that very first, special kiss.

He glanced over at the window. It was still dark outside. The view of the city lights from his bedroom looked glorious; everything looked glorious and he felt wonderful. In fact, he couldn’t believe how wonderful he felt, until he walked fresh from the shower a little later, dressed in nothing, but a wet towel. It was almost as if everything that had ever worried or concerned him had been lifted from his mind in that one beautiful joining of their hearts, their minds and their bodies. He was amazed, literally amazed. He had never felt like that after lovemaking before and actually believed in every sense possible that he was very much alive.

Thoughts about what Christie was and who she was and what had happened between them, along with the ultimate result had come and gone continuously since his eyes had opened. Each time, he had thought them with fondness.

After dressing, he made himself breakfast, and then cleaned up his cooking mess. Then he sat down at his writing desk to write the ending he knew now that he would and could, and he did. The words seemed to flow forth through his fingertips and type themselves while he watched.

Within an hour and a half, he had finished the book. In between sentences and paragraphs, he had tried to get into deep and meaningful thoughts about her and what could have been, but his thoughts just wouldn’t go there. They remained light-hearted, in spite of his efforts to make them otherwise. In the end, he had accepted their presence in the purest form they were.

What might have been, he reflected, packing up the book in preparation for the publisher-is not what should have been. And what could have been was what was not, which leaves me with only the here and now to deal with and to live in.

Somehow, a part of his mind told him that that was exactly where he needed to be from then on-in the here and the now; not in the past and not in the future. Everything was going to be all right. He felt that, somehow. Besides, she had told him it would be. She had told him so.