"Why can't it just be a bad dream?" She asked, quite pathetically.I placed a hand on her forehead and slid it over her hair. "My dear, none of us are ...ruly awake. We are caught in a net of sleep and dreams, which we have unconsciously woven ourselves into."---Lolita kept to herself for the days following. Most days she sat in her room, staring out the large window, over the forest below. The drugs that had been administered to her daily, as part of her psychotherapy did nothing but push her in. It was a busy week and the days flew by. Before I knew it, it was Saturday afternoon and I had discussed with my family that I was meeting with my friends for movies. I obviously met up with Dylan again. And again we skipped movies, got milkshakes and headed to the spot at the staircase in the basement. It wasn't long after we started making out that his hands wondered down my pants, telling me that my pussy felt amazing with less hair on it. He fingered me, rubbing up and down my my clit,. More

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