*Author’s Note: I’ve mentioned I’m reading Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. In the chapter I read today, she advises not to “write about” but just to “write”. Made me think about the last post and I decided to just write the dreams… At least for this first experiment, Peeps.
We began our nocturnal affair in line at an amusement park.
It was while waiting to ride the Big Wheel at Six Flags Great Adventure. You weren’t there the day of my Senior Trip. You were a year behind me in school. That part of my brain that knew I was dreaming tried to make sense of it but then, you took my hand. It’s warm, the palm smooth, the pads of the fingers rough from guitar practice. I pull it behind me, so that it’s now resting on the small of my back. I run my fingers up the length of your arm, my nails graze your neck, I tangle into your hair, and you move in so close. I can feel your heart beat against mine, your breath on my neck. You kiss my bare shoulder with those soft, soft lips.
The next time we meet there, I’ve been running, naked, in the rain. Away from what, or towards whom, I cannot recall. I climb up a set of rain slicked marble steps and knock on a door. You open it, pulling me in, hiding me behind you, making me feel safe. When that long forgotten danger is passed, you turn and gather me in your arms in one graceful, powerful movement. You carry me, whispering in calming tones, and I see the darkening spots on your heather-grey tee-shirt from the rain that is still beading on my skin. My arms tighten around your neck, I nuzzle my cold, cold nose into the warmth there. You lay me on a blanket, and begin to wipe me dry. The loops of the towel are a bit rough, like it had been hung up to dry. It smells a bit of salt water and mildew. Like the inside of your car after going surfing. I watch you intently, gently, rub away the rain, warm my body. You look up and smile and I melt at the blue of your eyes against your thick, golden lashes.
We’ve met many nights since then. Our eyes locking over our pint glasses at a bar, our fingers interlocking while in the backseat of a darkened car, our scents mingling, our breaths in sync.
Last night we were in my mother’s house, in her upstairs living room. I was sitting on her sofa, you were kneeling before me on the floor. Your arms wrapped around my waist, your face buried in my chest, you sighed, “I just can’t get enough of you.” You stood up, taking me with you. I stood before you, eyes closed, feeling the stubble of your cheek thrilling the curve of my neck as you held me so tight it was electric.
Somewhere here on Earth, I could hear Hubby’s snoring, tethering me to reality. I tried to get back to the dream. “Touch me. Touch me again.” I could hear you say.