“There is nothing for you here, only death.”

Peter watched the screen as Liv Tyler fell against the shoulder of Hugo Weaving on the screen.  He loved that voice.  Hugo Weaving’s voice…the voice of Agent Smith in The Matrix was likely the one he recalled best.

Well…Mister Anderson…” Those words brought a slight grin as the memories of his youth in the cinema watching the movie briefly swept through.

The black couch creaked beneath his weight as he shifted, curling a thick leg beneath him.  His eyelids had difficulty staying open, though he had sworn to keep awake through the film.  He did not want to sleep again.

White walls were deep in the shadow of the evening and appeared as shades of grey with no light on.

…but his eyes closed.

His dream was the same as it had been since the other day…it had always been of her.  The redhead of his wet dreams named Roxie.  First seen on the glossy pages of magazines he had purchased as a 20-year-old boy.  Her body of perfect curves that was round in just the right places and really not the typical skinny skin-mag model.  Most recently he saw her at the tip of his tongue in his accidental first appearance as a porn stud on set.  His mind kept returning to the vision of her riding his erection…her beautiful full curves beckoning beneath a blue robe as she faked her way through an orgasm for the camera.  Then his mind would wander to the sweet taste of her pussy as he brought her to a real one.

She had been shorter than he had expected.  The pages had made her appear taller.  Admittedly, he was six-foot four…and she was not.  In fact, at best, she was nearly a foot shorter.  He also expected her to be older, even though he had long since looked up her porn profile to find out she was a couple of years younger than he.

That evening, as soon as he had returned home, he realized just how unrealistic the idea of anything more seemed.  Just like the film on the DVD player that he watched, she was a fantasy that passed his ship in the night.

His mind crossed back to the scrap of paper he had left with the director, Raoul to give to her.  The one on which he had written his name and phone number.  His bashful mind felt flushed as it imagined her throwing it away.

He was nothing more than a stud to her.  How could he be more?

His hand feeling her silk skin of her hip returned to his memory.  The smile she gave him.  Her moan of orgasm as his tongue danced.

His eyes snapped open in time to see Gimli telling Aragorn, “I cannot jump the distance, you’ll have to toss me. Don’t tell the elf.

Picking up the half-full can of beer, he took a long hard gulp.  His eyes glazed over anew watching the Elven archers march into Helm’s Deep.

His eyes drifted back into the black…

The sound and warmth of her breath upon his chest was next.  Coconut, it seemed, was the scent of her red disheveled hair.  Hair, now, that he wished he could hold in his fist as he thrust into her from behind.

His time when he had been inside her was too numb of an experience simply due to the shock of what had happened.  He imagined such warmth inside her that his dreaming body stopped shivering with these thoughts.

Bed sheets were a cloudy puffy white, and the mattress was over stuffed.  Rolling her onto her belly, he rose on his knees behind her as she lifted up on to all fours.  He heard a halfling voice say, “The ring will not save Gondor.  It only has the power to destroy.”…just as his mind imagined his erection poised to enter.  The tip pushed against the lips of her pussy and slowly they parted with wet welcome to him.  His hand wrapped itself in her red hair and tugged, pulling her back against him and sheathing the erection deep between her legs as his other hand gripped her hip.  They moved together with rhythm to unheard music with pace varying from gentle love songs to rocking anthems.

Blue skies above with birds singing as they watched.  A few clouds drifted past, not wanting to ruin the view.

A sudden crack of thunder brought more fucking as she landed on her back with arms around his torso and legs around his waist locked at her ankles as she pulled him deeply.  Her lips found his and soon their tongues danced a tango that would produce legends.

Lightning flashed and rain began to pour on the writhing bodies.  The sheets were gone and the couple danced together in the flashes of electricity.  Both soaked as they pumped into one another.

“I can’t do this, Roxie,” he whispered into her ear.

“I know…by all rights, you shouldn’t be here,” she agreed with a giggle.  Her strong legs tightened further around him.

As Peter’s dream cock drove into his dream woman, he heard a bell in the distance…he heard it ring but continued plundering her gardens…

…the credits of the film moved up the screen in front of him, and the mobile phone beside him rang with the old style ring he had chosen.

Peter dreamed…and snored…in his black and white world.

Caller display on the phone read “Unknown Caller”.

Roxie looked around her apartment nervously as the phone she held against her ear rang.  Hope drained from her as she heard the automated voice of the message center.

“You have reached the voice mail of…”

Then his voice…”Peter Anderson”

Roxie grinned like a teenager with a crush and even lightly stamped her toes on the wooden floor.

Her cup of tea rattled on the TV tray beside her as lightning briefly illuminated the tiny room.

“Hi, Peter,” she giggled.  “This is Roxie.”  She blushed as she hated using her stage name but did not know what else to say.  “Hope you will call me back when you can.”  She rattled off her number and hung up.  A sip of tea laced with Bailey’s and she curled into her chair.  Slowly she allowed her eyes to drift closed as she remembered…

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