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From: otzchiim@aol.com (Otzchiim)
Subject: [Otzchiim] Daydream Believer (1/2) (M/F, cons, rom, 1st?)
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Otzchiim@aol.com

     This material is intended for individuals of legal majority.
Those of legal majority but adolescent attitudes may wish to go
elsewhere also, cause this one's kind of mushy and the sex
never really even happens within the story itself, though it is
described in detail.   This story was fun to put together, and I
hope it is on your side too.



                        DAYDREAM BELIEVER

     Ginny Adams was very glad to be where she was, but she still
woke up every morning wishing that she wasn't.
     She had felt lonely when she was living on the family farm;
the boys (and later men) around there went much too quickly from
being too young to drive to the farm to having already moved out
of the area.  There was no future for her in working on the farm,
at least if there was anything else she could do; the farm was
clearly going to her older brother, who wanted it.  Ginny didn't
want to own the old place anyway, though being a farmer's wife she
wouldn't rule out.
     Living on the farm, also, things were a little cramped, with
her older brother and her parents and the two younger children who
were getting bigger all the time -- especially her 12-year-old
brother.  And it looked like her older brother's girlfriend was
going to marry him and move there soon, though they would be going
into an outbuilding, at least to sleep.
     So Ginny took training in electronic bookkeeping and got a
job at the Wayne Bank in Philadelphia, working on account
problems.  While she couldn't say that the work was interesting,
it was more so than she expected.
     In Philadelphia, Ginny had an apartment that gave her three
times the room to live in that she had on the farm.  While the
place was spare when she moved in, she had spent the last six
months finding furniture and odd decorations she liked, until she
had to control herself and quit because it was getting cluttered.
     She missed the rooster every morning.  Neither the alarm nor
the rush-hour traffic was quite the same, especially on weekends
when she turned the one off and the other didn't arrive.  While
the city had perhaps as many odors as the farm, if they were
noticeable they were unpleasant.
     There was a future in working at the bank, if she wanted it.
Job openings came regularly, and there was no telling where they
might go.  So she should have been content, over all.
     But Ginny was lonelier than before, in a way.  There were
young men around, certainly.  Every one of the single women
working at the Wayne Bank was attached to one, it seemed like.
They all talked about shows and dinners and trips to the country
with them.  Ginny was more than a little shy about speaking to men
whom she didn't know, and she didn't know any in the city.  She
wanted to make a start somewhere, but she couldn't see any way to.
     If there had been more married women in her office who could
invite her to parties along with unattached young men, it would be
different, perhaps, but so would this story.
     As it was, Ginny devoted herself to attending concerts and
visiting museums and, especially, reading books from the library.
     Christmas was coming up next Friday.  It was a three-day
weekend this year and half the single women were taking leave to
make it last four days or more.  Carla said that she and Robert
were going off to Lancaster for a ski trip.  Janine and her Matt
were going to visit his family up in Connecticut.  All around the
room the talk was of romantic excursions and parties and big
dinners.
     Ginny herself had just talked to her parents the night
before, on Monday, and had reluctantly agreed that the expected
snow would make it not worth trying to drive to the farm on
unplowed roads.  So she was going the spend the weekend alone.
     She had been sitting there being a little unhappy when Carla
asked: "What about you, Ginny?  What are you going to do?"
     Before Ginny could think of what to say, she heard herself
saying: "Oh, David and I have decided to stay in town and have a
quiet Christmas together."
     All around the room there was a silence broken only by the
rustle of eyebrows raising and ears pricking up.  Carla said: "Who
is David?  We knew you were a quiet sort, but have you been
keeping him a secret from us?"
     "Oh, he's my boyfriend," Ginny said blithely.
     All the other single women gathered around, and a couple of
the married ones as well.
     "What's he like?"
     "Where did you meet him?"
     "Where does he work?"
     "How serious are the two of you?"
     Ginny had to think very fast.  That last little sentence had
gotten her in deep waters and she would have to paddle hard.
     She mentally seized on a man whom she had seen walking on the
street nearby, and then at a concert that she went to on one
particularly lonely night.
     "Well, he's not very tall, only an inch or so more than me,"
she offered.  And they waited for more.
     "He has broad shoulders, though," Ginny continued.  "He works
as a claims adjustor at Center Life."  That was in the building
across the street, and indeed she had glimpsed someone there
through the window who might have been him.
     Her flow of invention was running easily now.  "He calls me
his vegetable love, because we got to know each other slowly."
     "He calls you a vegetable?" laughed Carla.
     "From the poem.  'Vaster than empires and more slow,/  My
vegetable love doth grow.'  From 'To His Coy Mistress,' by Andrew
Marvell."
     "He calls you a vegetable and slow and you like him?" laughed
Carla again.
     "Not to mention saying that you are vast," said Martha, who
was always on a diet.
     "Not even half," threw in someone else.
     "And he compares you to a mistress," said Janine teasingly.
     "How long have you known him -- or maybe I should ask how
well?  This might be a real secret!"
     Ginny blushed and took a minute before she could speak again.
"But he is very romantic, and playful, and nice to talk to," she
said.  "We aren't all that serious, but I have hopes."
     One of the bank executives walked by then and the women
quieted down. And the subject of David did not come up again that
day.
     But at times during that afternoon, and on the street-car
going home, and especially that evening, Ginny thought about her
half-imaginary boyfriend.  She certainly did not know that his
name was David; she only knew that he ought to be a David, that he
looked like a David.  He might really be an Ignatz or a Heinrich.
     He might be married (no, she thought she remembered at the
concert that there was no ring on that finger -- then again, maybe
he didn't wear one).
     He was very likely, she thought sadly, to be involved with
someone, probably living with her.  She felt a touch of envy
towards the rival she had just imagined.
     David might be gay!  She turned away from that thought.  That
would be too much of a loss.
     Ginny thought that it would be so nice to have David, her
imaginary David, here in her apartment to talk to.  She saw him at
a symphony concert, so surely they could talk about music, and
about life and...  It would be so nice to have him hold her and
maybe kiss him, and...  And she dozed off thinking in that
direction.
     The Christmas weekend was quiet but very lonely.  On the
Tuesday after, Ginny was standing after work, waiting for the
street-car to take her home, when the door of the Central Life
building opened and David walked out.
     Ginny was stunned that part of her fantasy was true; though
since she had seen him walking in the area, and thought she might
have seen him in the offices across the way, the wild guess was
not so wild after all.  She looked at her watch and saw that she
would have to wait five minutes more for the street-car.  Then she
reflected that she had nothing to do tonight but eat dinner, and
that would wait until she cooked it -- and if she ran too late to
cook, sandwiches would do.  So...
     She set off following the man, crunching snow underfoot.  He
walked into a park and stopped to watch some children play, and
she stopped beyond him to watch the same children.  When he walked
by her, she kept her face turned to the game of tag, but saw him
in the corner of her eye and was sure that he looked at her and
smiled.
     He must like children, she thought.  Maybe he is a child
molester, stabbed another part of her mind, but she rejected that
idea as she shuddered at it.
     Ginny began to dream of being married to him, and raising
their children, diapering and dressing and sending them to school,
and she barely came back to the world in time to see David get on
a bus that went uptown.
     Besides, Ginny told herself on the street-car later, she was
getting things out of order.  A lot had to happen before children
came into the picture, including speaking to David.
     She saw him once more that week, when she dawdled in front of
a department store window, looking at the still-up Christmas
display.  The window she picked was near the bus-stop that David
waited at, and she saw his reflection as he also looked in it --
or was it at her?
     On Saturday the second of January, Ginny woke up before she
needed to, at least for a Saturday.  Partly, of course, this was
because of all those years on the farm where the cows and chickens
didn't take weekends off.  She never thought then she would miss
the rooster.
     She wished it were possible to keep a dog in this place; she
wouldn't be so lonesome.  Maybe she should get a cat, though her
idea of a cat was a barn cat with a lot of room to run in.
     Best of all, of course, would be to wake up with David's arm
around her and his warm body beside hers, his subtle male smell
coming to her.  She thought she should be ashamed of that feeling,
but she defiantly wasn't.  But of course, she was getting things
out of order again.  To wake up in bed with David would require
going to bed with him, which would require a whole lot of other
steps which would only begin with speaking to him.  Which she
hadn't done yet.
     She was too nervous to do that, let alone all the rest of it.
     Besides, Ginny thought grumpily as she sat in her bathrobe
and sipped a cup of coffee, that bed wasn't wide enough for two
and was much too lumpy for comfort for -- what two people could do
in it.  Not that she had any experience at that.  She had seen
animals, of course, living on the farm as she had, but the
attitude of the females varied a lot depending on the species.
And she certainly wanted love to go with the sex, which it didn't
seem to with animals.
     She had some ideas from reading novels, also, especially
paperback romances, especially some of the lines they had these
days.  But they made, well, going to bed with a man, sound better
than it probably was --though she couldn't say, could she?
     The only part of that whole internal dialogue that remained
in her conscious mind was the idea of looking for a new bed.  Her
present one was bought in a hurry, second-hand, when she moved in,
and while it was a mistake it was one she could live with.  And
she had, about long enough.
     A couple of hours later when Ginny saw a sign on a rowhouse
reading "Bed $30," she remembered her decision.  The doorbell was
answered by a plump woman around fifty with a broad smile.
     "Does the bed have boxsprings rather than just bare springs?
And how much extra would you charge to take it over?  Or would it
fit on top of a Mazda?" Ginny asked in a rush.
     The woman paused and slowly said:  "It doesn't need springs,
nothing, and it would go better inside.
     "Though if you live close by," she continued, "I can put the
whole thing in my shopping cart and walk it over with you."
     Ginny was obviously very puzzled.
     "It's a waterbed," the woman explained.  "The frame and
mattress are maybe 50 pounds altogether, and the frame comes
apart."
     Waterbeds were very comfortable, Ginny had heard, though that
wasn't what was usually talked about with them.  The naughty image
was not one she had to live up to.  It did not fit this woman, nor
her husband who now walked into the room.
     "We bought it when my husband hurt his back, since he could
sleep much better that way," the woman went on.  "But we have
redecorated and bought a king-size one with dresser drawers built
into the sides."
     "It's a double bed?"  Ginny hesitated a moment while her
waking thoughts came back to mind, and she blushed a little.  "But
I'm single."
     "That's quite all right," said the husband.  "Someone like
you should have no trouble fixing that situation, and that's one
less important thing to buy when you do."
     That decided Ginny, and when the woman's husband (Jacob, his
name was) said he would bring it down in two trips, she offered to
go up with him and carry it all.  When she mentioned she was a
farm girl, he gladly agreed.
     Ginny and Rachel, Jacob's wife, kept up a string of chatter
for the four blocks back to Ginny's apartment.  Rachel made sure
that she knew how to put the bed together and fill the mattress,
and Ginny borrowed a hose from the janitor after her shopping was
finished and spent the evening in sloppy clothes pumping water in.
By the time she finished she was happy at the accomplishment but
tired enough to appreciate the warm comfort that the waterbed gave
her.
     The next morning she was much less achy than she expected,
but she had to confront the one major problem with waterbeds --
you don't want to get up.
     She put her old mattress, springs, and frame in the basement
for the janitor to dispose of.
     That afternoon she went to the public library and spent an
hour or so browsing in two or three departments when she spotted a
face she recognized -- that of the man she called David.  He was
glancing at a popular book on housing problems, and when he took a
seat at a table, she took some courage in both hands.  She sat
across from him and a little to one side.  She pretended to be
reading, but she was really looking at him as much as she could
without being obvious.  And imagining a long conversation with
him, hours and hours of getting to know him, ending with a deep
and satisfying kiss.
     She was startled out of her reverie by the buzzer announcing
that the library was closing at five.  She checked out her book,
and he followed her out the door.  But they didn't speak.
     On Tuesday Janine came by her apartment.  Janine was probably
her closest friend in the city, and the two often ate downtown and
did some shopping together after work.  Ginny had not thought
about it much, and she would have been quite surprised to find out
(which she didn't) about all the gossip after Janine reported back
that Ginny had not only bought a double bed to share with her
boyfriend, but a waterbed!
     On Thursday, Ginny was waiting in the park as David left work
and walked through it, and she took the chance of smiling at him
and complimenting him on his tie.  He was startled but pleased,
and in her first good look at him close up when he was wearing his
name badge from work, Ginny saw that he did indeed work for
Central Life, and that his name actually was David!  The last name
began with a C, but she didn't want to stare at it and make out
the name -- she was tempted to stare at his face, maybe, but not
his name badge.
    At least they had spoken to each other, she thought on the way
home, even if what they said was inconsequential.  But life's full
of inconsequentials, it's all in how they add up.
    Ginny sat in front of her television that night, the one with
the tiny screen that she had in her bedroom back on the farm, and
which she had not yet replaced because, well, she did not watch
much television.  There was a detective show which the TV critic
in the newspaper had said was good and not getting the audience it
should.  So Ginny decided to try it and see if she agreed.
    The plot was about someone threatening a dancer in a stage
musical who had seen a murder and was going to testify.  The
police and chase portions were all right, but the couple of dance
numbers that were thrown in were really well done.  Ginny thought
to herself that it was a pity nobody watched variety shows any
more -- or at least that was what everybody said.
    Ginny started to wonder if David liked to dance.  She hadn't
done much herself since high school, but that was in a way because
she liked it too much.  Being close to a man for hours, being held
close to him, and getting lots of physical exercise would tend to
make her mind (and body) dwell on other physical exercise she
might have with the man, and she hadn't wanted to go in for that.
Not before David anyway.
    She pictured herself on a dance floor, her body pressed
against his, moving gracefully to the music.  There would be no
words to the music, nothing to occupy the mind at all, only the
body.  The sound would often be at a volume that precluded
conversation, so they depended on more basic language.


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