I think everyone has nightmares.
You know the type, those dark dreams where you wake up feeling cold and shaken just before the relief washes over you.
I don’t have those dreams often. But there is another type of dream which is almost as bad, I think.
Those dreams which are so good, you want to stay sleeping forever to find out how much better your life could be.
Reality is grounded in these dreams, making them feel so sure and real that waking up to your unchanged, stagnant existence is the worst thing that could occur.
Last night, I dreamed of girl.
Of course, I know who she was. I won’t mention it here, because despite how honest some of my entries are, I need to keep some things private.
The dream wasn’t very long. At least not that I can remember.
It began. We were lying abed, both in the fetal position facing the wall. She in front of me, both of us feeling too shy to slip into that delicious full-spoon position.
“Make up your mind.” She told me.
She was referring to the trepidation I felt toward the pursuit of something more than a friendship with her.
I didn’t answer. I kept my eyes on the contour of her waist, the way it fell like a valley between her shoulder and backside.
Suddenly, my hand was beneath her, against her hip, creeping between her waist and the soft mattress.
Even remembering now, I can feel how soft she was. Her skin was like thick caramel milk, my fingers caressing it slowly.
I felt a pull, hard. Both at my chest and my groin. I wanted to press up against her, hold her tight and never let her go.
It was the answer she wanted, but the words I never breathed.
Suddenly, she was pressing herself against me, a scarce inch between her back and my front.
My hand was half-wrapped around her belly, fingers tracing nervous circles just beneath her belly button.
“Don’t get too close.” She warned, despite her own movements. “You haven’t made up your mind yet.”
I felt part of the bed fall away beneath me; she was nearly pushing me off the mattress!
“Sweetling,” I uttered, “you’re the one pressing against /me/.”
More silence. She felt as if she’d been caught out. A wounded puppy, scalded for poor behaviour.
Slowly, my hand returned to her naval, my palm snaking under her black top to feel her warm skin again.
“And I haven’t made up my mind yet,” I said quietly, her hair on my lips.
She span, and she was atop me. Straddled on my waist, her thighs against my hips, her hands on my shoulders.
“I’ll just kiss you while you think about it,” she told me, her face smiling so truly that I was so convinced this was, in fact, her.
Our lips pressed together. Then again and again. My mouth opened as did hers, and we kissed deeply.
Her tongue against mine thrilled me, and her wet mouth had my hands clawing at her legs.
My nose pressed up against her face, I could smell her skin, rich and tropical.
I swear I awoke with my mouth open and moving.
And I felt cold and shaken, and the memory of reality only made it worse.
I rolled onto my back in the dark, and looked up to here her smiling face should have been.
It was absent, of course. Nothing but the blue-black of city darkness swirling and curling about, playing tricks on my eyes.
I recalled the words permanently inked into my back, then. And I sighed.
I thought about her a while longer, and then rolled over on the opposite direction and closed my eyes.
My left hand curled and uncurled against nothing in the darkness.
Love and Kittens,