I was laying there in what I thought was sleep, in between a dream, another dream and awareness. I wasn’t awake yet, just aware. I could see and feel a male form, strong, full and heavy above me. He smelled like everything good; like earth, a warm blanket, vanilla, stars and sweat. I thought, “There you go again, dreaming of strange men.” I hadn’t planned it. It just happens. It just happened.
He wasn’t too young and he wasn’t an old man yet and like any good, self-respecting dream lover, he was very handsome. Of course, he was. Who would ever purposely dream of an ugly lover? I held on to this apparition of sensuality for as long as I could, as long as my unconscious self would allow and in those long moments that somehow wasn’t long enough, I was in bliss.
Lips pressed to a warm, pulsing neck (what are you doing here?) Deep breaths of all those enticing but comfortable scents (you can’t be real). The familiarity was so confusing (why do I think I know you?) Scruffy chin, dark eyes of an unspecified color; soft wavy hair, broad shoulders, heavy with muscles (damn, that weight felt good). Tall (like I normally like them). Intense (like I usually attract them). Steady pulse, steady rhythm, steady mine.
When the morning came, he faded. I felt ordinary, dim, stunned and somehow less than what I was a few moments before. I lay there and looked around my cluttered bedroom–it was all there, my ordinary parts of living–dresser, vanity, book shelf and cat. I blinked a few times to clear my mind and then I cried. I really hate when that shit happens.