You don’t like to sleep alone. It’s really weird, since you’ve always slept alone, but it’s true. The colony outside your doors somehow rubs it in, since you know all the little carapacian dudes cluster together when they sleep. You tried joining them once, but it wasn’t what you wanted it to be. A bit too crowded, too loud, someone always getting up or turning over. You’d retreated back to the bed your mother left to you after only one night.
It’s not all bad, though. You have Frigglish to keep you company during the day. At night, when he’s slunk off to explore, you have your pillow.
That sounds sad.
It’s not an ordinary pillow, though! It’s about half as big as you, for one, and it’s squishy. No feather stuffing for this baby, no sir! Instead, it’s filled with soft little beads of stuff that move around easily under your touch. It molds to your body when you hug it close. You haven’t given it a name, but you sometimes like to pretend it’s another human, sleeping beside you.
You’re not lonely, you swear!
Having the pillow helps you out. You’ve cried into it, practiced kissing with it, even rehearsed conversations with it when you were especially far into the bottle. It’s never disappointed you. Even now, as you turn eighteen, it’s there for you. Just… in a different way…
“Mmm, baby, c’mon,” you say, palming your breasts, nipples hard and dark. You’re naked, lying on your back on the floor of your bedroom, legs propped up on the bed. Between them rests the pillow, conforming to the curve of your ass on one side and the flat plane of your stomach on the other. It feels cool against your crotch, but you’ll soon warm it up. You arc up into it, squeezing it with your knees to get some resistance.
Tonight, you’re pretending it’s Jane.
You don’t always do that, pretend like that, and you kind of wish you didn’t have to use your friends in your fantasies, but they’re the only three people you talk to. It gets boring when all you imagine is dick, though, so tonight Jane has the privilege. It’s not the pillow but the warm expanse of her back you feel when you reach down and stroke. Your labia aren’t meeting fabric but flesh. You’re wet with her excitement, not your own.
“Janey, Jane…” you coo, and slip one hand under the pillow, under her belly, to touch yourself, pressing your clit just so. You imagine they’re her fingers running over you, probing, and hesitate a bit. She would be shy about this, you’re sure. It’s cute. “Don’t wordy, Janey… Worry. It’ll feel good for you, too.”
The pillow’s not really doing it for you where it is any more, so you lift your legs off the bed and turn over. Now, the pillow supports your belly and chest as you get up on your knees, both hands now busy behind. Your fingers are slick, so you slide one, two inside. You’d blush to say you do this a lot, but what else is there to do? The carpet is soft against your cheek and you moan in your throat.
“’Rolal, please, someone’s gonna hear us,’” you mumble. Jane has a Southern accent in your head, though you know she’s not from the South. You just think it fits her, the prudish, pushy Southern belle type. The pillow sends a thrill down your spine when you brush your nipples across it. Naughty, naughty.
“That dosn’t matter,” you chirp. “Doesn’t. What are they all goin’ to do about it, anyway?” To prove your point, you let out a gasp. That ought to rustle her jimmies, get her close. You’re pretty close yourself, and you love to share.
When you do tip yourself over the edge, visions of Jane’s flushed cheeks in your mind, you duck and bury your face in the give of your pillow. You can get a bit screamy and you really don’t want any of your well-meaning neighbors to get curious. Not after last time. Thankfully, though, your voice is swallowed up and it’s with a clear conscience you ease, exhausted to the floor.
You pull the pillow up under your head, yank the corner of your sheet down to cover you. That was fun. You don’t even mind that your nightly companion now smells of you. It might give you good dreams, now that you think about it. You could use some of those. You don’t like to sleep alone.