The sound of hooves drew my attention to the road, and I smiled at a couple of riders as they passed me. The sheer friendliness of people here, after the atmosphere of a big town, kept surprising me. I appreciated it, but hadn't fully adapted. Strangers greeted me like a friend, and I wondered what would happen if I had enough time to make actual friends with anyone.

When I glanced back to the edge of the graveyard, the pretty girl had gone.

I dreamed about her that night. The kind of dreams I'd not had for a lot of years. Her blonde curls tumbling into my face, skin tasting of honey and soap where I kissed her. She came naked to me, sliding beneath my covers with alluring certainty. I felt the youthful silk of her thighs rub over mine, our breasts pressed together. As she moved on top of me, a slow fire grew in my body. I wanted to roll her over and seduce her with my tongue. The need to make her gasp and buck gripped me hard, but I couldn't move, and no words reached my lips to ask her to shift. Instead, she pressed and rubbed, until I felt her wetness on my skin. For what seemed like a blissful age, she rocked against me. Little breathy gasps filled my ears. She strained and moaned, and I felt the shudders in her body as she came.

I woke with the taste of sex in my mouth, and a hunger I thought had left me forever. Lying in bed as birds sang up the dawn, I replayed the dream carefully, relishing the details. I considered touching myself, but it seemed enough to contemplate -- the effort of masturbation too much for me. Just to be wanting it again felt like a blessing. I hoped it meant I was getting better, not worse.