Veesta the V

Veesta slowly and reluctantly opened her eyes. She had that dream again, the dream. The dreams were becoming more frequent in the last year. And Veesta was not even in them; It was just random body parts moving together that showed up in her mind and stayed for the night. Their bodies looked nothing like her own either. The ones she dreamed about were thin. Always thin. Veesta wasn’t fat, she had to continuously tell herself that. But after two children, the extra weight never left her, leaving her fuller in her breasts and thighs than she wanted to be.

Veesta dreamed of people that looked nothing like her doing things she had never done. But it didn’t change the fact that she woke up with damp underwear and the urge to touch herself.

She heard the shower going and knew that Omar was in the bathroom getting ready for work. She looked over at the time: 6:41 a.m. She had about nineteen minutes before the girls’ alarms went off, and probably another seven before her husband came out of the bathroom. She only needed four minutes tops, two if she used her vibrator.

She stared at the drop ceiling in her room and her left hand moved to her inner thigh. It traced the stitching of her panties. Veesta paused, then gave herself permission to slide an index finger underneath it. Her lips parted in a sigh as she felt the stickiness inside of her. She touched her engorged...