The Last Flight Chapter 7 - Sex Stories

The Last Flight Chapter 7

... said you were quite agitated last night.” She paused as if waiting for a reaction. “Are you all right now?” “Once you had given me a wonderful orgasm, I was.” I thought but what actually came out was, “ I had a bad dream.” She stepped towards the bedside. “Do you want to talk about it?” I told her about the crash and being trapped and the fire. “That is not unusual after such an experience you know.” She sat beside me and took my hand. Her soothing words and kind manner made me feel much better, Just talking to her and knowing she understood was a great help. “I am afraid that you will have more such dreams but, gradually, they will fade and become just a distant memory.” “I hope so.” I squeezed her hand. “During the war I worked in a hospital in London. I saw many dreadful things. That is why I know you will be fine. You are young and strong.” I realised I was still holding her hand but as long as she didn't pull away I felt secure and maintained the contact. “I also dreamt of...” You, I wanted to say, “Jemima.” “A nice dream?” she asked. “No, she came to say goodbye. Is there any news of her Françoise?” I squeezed her hand again. “She was still in theatre when I arrived but I will go and find out for you.” She released my hand. “Rest now and I will be back shortly. Some visitors will be here to see you but I have told them they cannot come before ten.” and, turning away, she left me to my thoughts. For the next few minutes I had time to think ...

... about my dreams. Why did I have such an erotic dream about Françoise? She was pretty, certainly, but she was twice my own age and I had never ever had an erotic dream about a woman before. What on earth had happened to me? It was a though that one kiss with Jemima had awoken a sleeping monster. And Jemima, why did I dream of her leaving. The thoughts spun round and round in my head and I began to worry more and more. I just didn't understand any of it. I began to feel afraid, the adrenalin building up once again and I felt hot and uncomfortable, sweating profusely. “Karen, you are all right?” It was Françoise, back from the theatre. She came quickly to my side and felt my forehead. “You are sweating but you are not feverish.” “I, I don't know, I suddenly felt confused, afraid. ”I blurted the words out, thankful that I was not alone any more. She sat in the chair alongside my bed. “Ah, yes. Again, that is to be expected. It is what the English call a 'panic attack'. It happens after such a traumatic experience. You are safe now. Try to relax, breathe steadily and you will become calmer.” I took her advice and controlled my breathing and, sure enough, my heart rate slowed and breathing became easier. “Did you find out anything?” I asked when I had finally settled enough to think rationally again. Françoise frowned. “They did not tell you?” she asked, carefully. “You're friend, she...” “She what?” I said panicking now. “Tell me what?” To be continued...