Love Dream in Dreams

Forward: I am me, although maybe a little younger. At my most aloof, distant, expressive, and intense.

Setting: the dream begins as I am sitting at a long table with several family members. There are a few conversations between 3 or 4 pairs of people, so the room is quite full, loud, and vibrant. I’m content as usual to simply eat and listen to two or three of the conversations without comment. Most of my family knows me well enough not to ask me questions, and I appreciate their discretion.

Sitting next to me is a boyish young man who I do not know. Mostly I’m ignoring him. He seems somewhat interested in me but my coolness towards him does not falter. He eats in silence, though I feel that he is listening and watching the room.

Near the end of our meal, someone at the end of the table strikes up a conversation with my neighbor. At first I don’t tune in, as he is utterly uninteresting to me, then some word catches my attention and I add theirs to the monitor. The man- for I glean that he is close to me in age- goes on about his venerable business ventures, delving in far too much detail for anyone to maintain even polite interest. Wow, what a schmuck. I think to myself, and have nearly tuned him out again when the family member asks, in a slightly sardonic tone, if he does so much professionally he mustn’t have time for any hobbies. And, I kid you not, but Mr Great continues on in another insufferably long tirade about his very accomplished athletic prowess. Near the end of his epic recitation, he couldn’t possibly fail to mention that he was a decorated kick boxer, black belt in two karate styles, and a competition MMA fighter. This, for some reason and against my better judgment, impressed me.

The dinner was finished, his exhausting monologue having taken up all of dessert. Annoyingly, most of my family had listened intently, almost encouragingly. I was the first to rise and leave the table, using the first excuse that came to mind.

“Bathroom,” I excused myself quietly, took my time, and did not return to the table.

I was alone, as I often prefer to be, in a quiet niche in the house when I was surprised by the boyish man. He entered the room quite comfortably, as if he’d been there many times before. I tried not to be overtly rude by showing my annoyance, but I’m not sure I succeeded.

I didn’t look up from what I was doing, nor acknowledge in any way his presence. He seemed okay with that, which was a relief. I continued to scan the page of a journal I’d brought with me, too distracted to read it now.

It was a moment too long, and I felt an uncomfortable pull to look up. He might be staring. So I did. And he was. Ugh. I’m not sure the look of annoyed perturbation was well masked, either.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked smoothly, apparently ignoring my utter distaste for his presence. I shrugged noncommittally, unable to bring myself to be entirely rejecting.

He leaned casually against the backside of the couch that was the centerpiece of the room. I’d chosen the only chair that wasn’t faced by any other piece of furniture. It was obvious he’d only come in here to see me.

“You’re a cool cat,” he said delicately. The way he said it, almost made my hair stand up. I felt the electric current of goosebumps on my arms. I sighed and sat back in my chair. My legs were tucked up underneath me, hidden under the hem of my skirt.

“Yeah? What’s it to you?” I retorted tartly. I sounded more annoyed than I really felt. I was sort of interested, now. This boyish man- he was tall, thin, and lithe. He walked like a sphinx, and I knew he was physically powerful. Economically stable, but that usually eroded the mind. Maybe not this time?

He shrugged noncommittally, mirroring my prior gesture. My eyes narrowed. I suddenly remembered that I am notoriously a terrible judge of character on first impressions. I tried to rack my brain to remember if I’d ever met him before. Then I’d have an excuse; his wasn’t our first meeting!

But, I’m afraid it was, and my self pride took another blow. Damnit! Why is he so annoying?!

He was grinning now, as if he’d won something. “You’re fascinating, you know that?” that careful tone, but sincere.

That prickly feeling again. Oh, I really hate myself sometimes. And my face. It’s uncontrollable. It gives away everything. There’s no coming back from this. I look away quickly, if only to save my last shred of pride.

He shifted his weigh slightly, as if he was the one who was uncomfortable. I look up at him, a little surprised. And he did seem at least a little off balance. And not used to it. Not used to it at all.

Shockingly, my cold heart melted just a little bit and I caved an inch. “So you know these people?” indicating my relative’s, who had apparently invited him here.

He shrugged, “Sure, there were part of a business partnership-” then I zoned out anything he said after that, until he came back around. He wasn’t an oblivious talker, however. He was thankfully attentive to his audience, coming back around quickly with a shocker- “and I’ll be going on the trip with you to the park.”

My shock perhaps registered as stupification because he was quiet awhile, presumably to let the information soak in. the way he said it too made it sound like he was going with me, personally, and not my family. My eyebrow went up in an oh, you really think so? sort of way. “I’m busy that week anyway.” my reply was cool, calm, deliberate, and apparently very amusing. His grin was ear to ear, and infectious. I resisted it, but failed.

That was the moment a particularly obnoxious uncle decided to barge in and announce he’s done for the night in a slightly drunken manner. He winked rogueishly at the boyish man, said, “you two kids have fun!” loudly, and stuck out his hand to shake.

As he shook, he looked right at me and said “We will.” I tried very hard not to roll my eyes. I did succeed.

My uncle left and, I felt it was nigh time to excuse myself again, so I did. As I left, a thoughtful remark followed me. “You’re always leaving.” and I could feel his eyes on my backside. How aggravating! Yet I was thankful that I had worn my smaller skirt.

It was awhile before the family trip. The man was on my mind often, and I couldn’t quite sort out his deal. It was a puzzle that needed solving, and my vice like mind would never let a problem alone until it was analyzed, taken apart seven different ways, reconstructed, and mulled over for at least a week. It is a real problem. Sometimes I don’t rightly know what actually happened and what is fabricated from all this intervention.

However, I was moderately convinced that the boyish man (I now know his name is Mark) has some interest in me. What that interest is, or where it came from, I can’t deduce.

I wonder too, what he must look like under his trim, well-fitted clothes. I wonder if he is the bulging muscles type, or the smooth, functional type with more fill. But, it’s really a moot fantasy. He’s… well. He’s obnoxious. And I can’t stand him.

But you like him.

/sigh.

Sometimes I really hate myself.

It’s the family trip. We’ve rented a bus, because apparently taking separate vehicles is unconscionable. It’s early morning, and the crowd is in full swing with cranky, whiny, snotty babies, loud tired children, and sleep deprived parents who just don’t care how much noise they make anymore. Fantastic.

In preparation for the trip I have arrived exactly 10 minutes before depart in my pajamas and having done absolutely nothing to my face or hair after rolling out of bed in the nick of time to drive here. Ignoring the many ‘good mornings’ and roll calls, I file directly to the nearest empty seat of the bus, plop down with my things, put a pair of noise canceling headphones on, and lean against my pillow to get whatever sleep might be there for the getting.

Before I’m really out, I feel someone sit in the seat next to me. I don’t care. I really don’t. It could be anybody. Anybody at all, and I wouldn’t care. I resist the urge to peek and see who it is. I don’t need to know. I really don’t. Frowning, I do fall asleep as the bus starts to move.

I wake up what seems like hours later. We’re still moving through the countryside, but a city looms ahead. I remember that someone is sitting next to me, and with all the indifference I can muster, turn my head. It’s my aunt Sophie. The disappointment is real, and revealing.

Why do I care?!

It’s disconcerting how disappointed I am. I specifically wore bedclothes, bedraggled hair and absolutely no face anything to tell him that I’m not interested.

Where is he?!

I sit up and rub my eyes in discontent.

“Good morning, beautiful.” it’s that careful, but suffocating voice. I try my hardest not to smile, and it’s actually really easy considering how unfortunate I look and that I’ve just slept in the fetal position for 3 hours.

“Hey,” I groan as I try to wipe away the last sleep from my eyes. He is sitting in the seat in front of me, and I belatedly wonder how he’d known so quickly that I was awake.

He’s grinning a fool’s grin, and I wonder why. I glance at my aunt Sophie suspiciously. “Is there anything on my face?” I ask her conspiratorially.

“No, dear, not a thing! There’s a lavatory at the back of the bus,” she gestured helpfully, as if I wanted to make sure my face did have things on it, and soon.

“Thanks.” I told her flatly, and didn’t move.

I spent the rest of the bus ride mulling over my options. As soon as the bus stopped, I hopped off like a giddy schoolgirl and made a beeline for the nearest bathroom. I shut myself in the farthest stall just as the first parent with a overhydrated child came in. Changing quickly, I donned a pair of jean shorts and a plain cami; clothes that were altogether unremarkable. Stuffing my pj’s in my bag, I squeezed out the stall as a mother squeezed in with her small children.

Sidling through the overcrowded bathroom, I didn’t bother glancing in a mirror, just went straight for the door. Once outside again, and free from the oppression of small humans with their obnoxious noise. Most of the men were mulling about with aimless, tired expressions; waiting for their wives or daughters or whatever to get out of the bath room. Throwing my bag down at the bus, I fished out a hair tie, and put my hair back using a relatively clean spot on the bus for guidance. I finish taming back the mop that is my hair, and glance at how my clothes actually look. It’s rare for me to take an interest in such things, but I wonder what Mark would think suddenly, as I eye how my shorts hug my ass right up to the meeting of my thighs, and how my shirt is actually riding up a bit right now… whoops.

I turn and tug my cami back down, but it goes too far, exposes not just a little bit of my bra. I tug it back up as I casually glace around, wondering if everyone is done yet, and stop dead in my tracks. Oh Shit. The feeling that courses through me is like lightning; exciting every nerve and bringing every fiber of my being to alert attention.

He’s just leaning casually against a cement blockade, arms crossed cooly across his chest, but he’s staring intently at me with an animalistic look I’ve never seen on anyone before. One of those hair-on-end chills sends my spine to shivering, so similar to our first encounter, but multiplied several fold. I am entirely unnerved, having been spied on in such a public place, by someone so obviously diabolical. My skin seems to move and crawl with the knowledge.

My early instincts take over and I look away. Having only just scanned the area, I think I can probably get away with pretending I had never seen that look. Never saw him there at all. I walk as casually as I can toward a group of family members standing in bleary patience. Pretending that I never saw him at all was difficult, with the image of his dark, lustful look smoldering before my minds eye. I feel my face heat and my heart jump around randomly, like a caged bird.

I joined the throng of tired, sleep-deprived adults and tried to blend in. I was far too hyped up to become one of them. Slowly I inhale and try to calm my frantic heart. Face still red, I resist the urge to glance sidelong to see if he is still looking. Sheesh. It’s like I’d never been checked out by a guy before. Even more mortifying, there’s that warm throb, down there.

Fuck!

Why is this obnoxious prick of a guy affecting me so much?! I wrack my brain, trying to solve this unsolvable puzzle. It suddenly dawns on me; I’m letting him! Yes!

I take my first really deep, controlled breath and feel myself relax. It’s actually a really nice day; the sun is just now getting high enough to really send some heat down, and the warmth on my skin feels heavenly. Just as my bossy aunt standing on the blockade, who I now realize has been shouting instructions at everyone, says

“Stay with your partner at all times and check in at noon, by the lunch court.”

I feel the warmth of the sun vanish suddenly as someone steps behind me. I don’t hear anything and I don’t turn. But I know. It know its him.

“Partner?” the form behind me asks, in a most quiet voice. It’s not a whisper, but a deep, throaty sound that I feel could barely register in the auditory scale. And I know what he’s doing. He’s asking me. I know that if I don’t answer, if I say nothing or refuse to acknowledge that impossibly quiet, genuine question, he will respect my choice. And he won’t ask again

Yet there was so much behind that question, my mind is swimming, nearly drowning, with the implications. I feel my skin prickle, hairs raise, my heart leap, my breath become shallow.

Things float in and out of my mind impossibly fast; what in the world could interest him so much? Why me? There are so many other girls, prettier girls, girlier girls, that would jump for him in a heartbeat. Maybe that’s not what he wants. Maybe he wants a challenge, or someone to thwart him, someone who doesn’t really like him in the first place? And what does that mean for me? Am I just a toy to him? Something to be played with and discarded?

And there’s that, much stronger now, wet and insistent throbbing heat down there. It’s obvious what my body wants. My body seems entirely helpless to deny what he wants. So much for altruistic love.

My body is tight and closed; it is reactionary but I do my best to keep the tension hidden. It is probably obvious to the interested observer, though I don’t pretend to fool them. It’s only the general public that I need to deceive. As hard as it strives to express itself in some culturally or socially inappropriate way, I clamp down even harder.

Before I can stop it, or even finish thinking everything through, my mouth opens seemingly of its own accord. What comes out is a sound wholly unfamiliar to me; its hoarse, low, breathy, full of longing, and a palpable need. It shocked me.

“Yeah,” I say, hardly believing that sound even as it issues from my own lips, which move in utter betrayal of my will.

A sort of giddy euphoria washes over me. My legs suddenly feel weak; my formerly tight muscles relax suddenly, and I feel almost as if I might faint. I have entered into entirely unknown territory. I’ve never done anything remotely like this before. And I have an inexorable feeling of lost helpless panic.

The form behind me coalesces. It becomes closer, bigger, engulfing me with it’s warm, firm strength. His body presses against mine, warming my skin and electrifying my being. I realize this is the very first time we’ve actually touched. Hands lightly grasp my bare shoulders, and I feel his face very near my neck, his hot breath on my ear. I feel his incredible smile, although I don’t see it. I can feel the pent up nervous anxiety, and concomitant relief in the hoarse, heady word he whispers,

“Good.” a single, simple word spoken quietly served as the final seal for our tacit agreement.

My eyes close in brief ecstasy. Now, he is gone, and I am left standing once again in the warm sun, among close and distant family members grudgingly moving out to start the days activities.

Holy Fuck.

Last updated June 10, 2019