Micro Monday, Flash Fiction

They Had No Idea How Much They Had in Common

Sometimes you just need a helping hand…

Lenny and Ron plopped into their seats, bright smiles plastered on their faces. They removed their ski goggles and gloves, ready to order hot cocoa or something stronger. The slopes outside still looked busy.

“Someone looks chipper,” one of them. It doesn’t matter which one.

“You look pretty happy yourself.”

Unsurprisingly, each thought that the reason for the other’s jolly mood was his performance on the slopes earlier. Although both had done well on the skis, it was not the reason.

“I had the best dream last night.”

“So did I!”

In an uncommon fashion, each man fought to be the first to describe his dream in more detail than necessary. One of them won. Eventually. It doesn’t matter who.

He indulged in illustrating the sensation of a delicate hand latching onto his member and stroking up and down with the optimal rhythm, not unlike a perfectly run slope, like the one he had just had on the way down, hands firm but not too firm on his ski poles and all the motions just right. The swaying, the increasing and decreasing in pressure, even the climactic squeeze.

When it was his turn, the other man jumped at the chance to describe his dream. Except his friend had already taken all the good words.

Faced with this obstacle, the two buddies settled on closing their eyes and reliving the dream from last night. The rapid heart rate, the shallow breaths, even the eventual moans escaping his lips. The ultimate explosion. The resulting relaxation.

“Man! You guys missed out!” Harry plopped into his seat next to Lenny and Ron.

Lenny and Ron peered at each other, obviously wondering if Harry had also enjoyed the same wonderful dream last night. One of them asked.

“No…” Harry confessed. “But I do remember my dream pretty clearly. You know how I don’t usually remember my dreams.”

Lenny and Ron nodded. Dreams were a hot topic last night, since the three men were obliged to share one oversize bed due to a booking error. Harry had drawn the short straw and gotten stuck with the middle.

“I dreamt I was skiing,” Harry said.

Then he proceeded to describe how the two ski poles fit perfectly in his hands. He even latched onto them. He found the optimal rhythm as he made his way down the slope. All the motions were just right. The swaying, the increasing and decreasing in pressure, even the climactic squeeze as he stopped when he came to a stop.

“But when I woke up, my hands were weirdly sticky.”

Dash Ip believes he heard a variation of this tale many years ago. Alas, he forgot who told him, but this is his way of passing it forward.

Another by Dash