Tales from the Tail — Do Dreams Of Your First True Love Still Haunt You?

Client’s Tale.

I remember it like it was yesterday. The feeling. My leg brushing up against yours. Touching my first true love. A transfer of energy that would make my heart race, my cock swell. Longing for you. But why? Misunderstood emotions. No one to confide in. I needed help to navigate those thoughts and urges, to harness those feelings. It was young love. Oh, how I would have died to lie next to you. To embrace your body fully. Please become a reality, I would beg. Tall, smooth, lean. A work of art in human form. I can always dream...

You came back to me last night. There I was, bleeding out my heart. But you turned your back. I was 16 then. 30 years later, you’ve finally figured yourself out. You’ve come back to me. Fuck you. To think what we could have had. But we didn’t. We couldn’t. Tears started to well up. We can’t just pick up where we left off. There’s no chance to restart. There’s too much distance between us. Dreams fuck with your mind. They easily right a wrong, bring back a feeling after years of suffering. It’s late. Too late. We have aged. Grown apart. Now you come? How dare you! Fuck. Still you taunt me. And neither of us wins. Oh, how I would have died to lie next to you. To embrace your body fully.

My Discussion.

Every one of us shares a story of our first love. Sometimes it’s a good memory, sometimes a harrowing one. That dear friend who you thought needed — and wanted — more, but in the end, all they yearned for was companionship. The straight wanderer who flirted with their sexuality, only to follow the heteronormative path when things got too real. Married, with two kids, and still taunting you.

Last night, I had this dream where my first true love came back to me, confiding about his new found love of anal. I couldn’t believe it. I wondered if it was anal sex with a woman or with a man. He explained how his orgasmic sensations were indescribable. I finally asked about his family. He confirmed he had left them. He expressed guilt over shunning my previous attempts so many years ago. We spoke for quite some time. Enough time that Harry Styles walked past us — it was a dream after all — and turned around to give a warm greeting. But I remember I held my ground when he asked to pick up where we left off. Louder and louder I yelled, “It’s too late! ” and “How dare you now!” I heard him yell back, “What nerve.” It was clearly some pent up anger I still had about what could have been. He then quietly departed.

I immediately awoke and started writing down everything I could remember, because at that moment, it was so real it was palpable. In any other dream, had he simply said, “Suck my dick!”, I would have immediately dropped to my knees. But sometimes dreams are a reminder of the life I have, the fate I was given. And it makes more forever grateful for how things actually turned out.

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