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A really really short story....
First Timer!!!
I suppose that I am not the only one who writes based on dreams... (nice to know I am not crazy)
Love, Hate and Bad Clams ( A Short, short story)
I dreamed about you again last night. Of course it was a naughty dream. Is there any other kind of dream worth remembering? Yet again you invaded my restless tossing and turning, damn you. My very own personal dream burgular. Slipping past the defenses of my common sense and cool logic. Going around my reason and sanity so you can release my inner monster. It’s not real. I couldn’t possibly feel this way. I tell myself that your appearances can be easily explained by a piece of stale bread or bad clams. Except I don’t eat clams and I like my bread fresh. I don’t know what it’s supposed to mean. I can’t even tell you what I want it to mean. Trying to think along those lines is a little too dangerous right now.
What was my dream about?
Same thing as last time. You remember don’t you? I didn’t tell you? Damn, I thought I had.
This one was good, I hate to admit it but it’s true. It felt so damn real, I woke up and wondered why you weren’t there next to me.
Here goes.
I was in the shower and it was one of those claw footed porcelain tubs like the ones I grew up with. Those ancient looking white porcelain baths that was garbage when I was growing up (we all wanted a jaccuzzi but they don’t send those to Bed-Sty) but is exactly the sort of retro-chic antique that people kill each other for at yard sales. It was complete with green copper fixtures and hard water stains (which was decidedly odd because we grew up in the city and we didn’t have hard water - you notice the weirdest shit when you dream).
I could hear you coming, your voice carrying down the hallway. I was naked and there was no shower curtain. I thought about letting you know that I was in the shower but I suddenly wanted you to see me naked. I had a moment of doubt, just as your hand hit the faded brass doorknob. The protested groan of the handle being turned against its will was as sharp and clear a sound to me as a songbird. I wasn’t aprehensive at all. I could see the light flicker through the skeleton keyhole as you moved just beyond the doorway. And then the lock’s latch released and the door slowly opened. I bit off the warning that nearly escaped to ruin the moment.
So I let you come in.
It dawned on me that you would have been able to hear the water running and you never bothered to ask who was in there. You wanted to see me too, didn’t you?
Do you have dreams about me?
When you sleep am I there with you? I wonder if I return the sensual favors in your dreams. I should. It’s only right after all. What’s good for the gander can be good for the goose.
I remember that when you opened the door you stood there for a moment before walking in and closing the door behind you. You mumbled some sort of apology and something about having to pee really badly. I wasn’t even listening. All I knew was that I was naked and wet in the shower and there you were.
Standing in a room with me. And I was naked. Did I mention the fact that I was naked?
You turned to leave and, I don’t know why, I grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you towards me. You resisted only at first.
“Come here.” I said.
“I can’t” you replied.
“You must.” I insisted.
“I shouldn’t.” It was a weak response when I could see what you really wanted to do in your eyes. You were looking me up and down, evaluating what you saw. I could see your want and your indecision. I felt the same way.
Other than the falling water, the room grew silent suddenly. The sunlight filled the room in this brilliant soft pastel orange glow. It was like someone painted the air in crayola burnt sienna and orange.
“You should.” I whispered.
“We shouldn’t do this.” I could feel the fight go out of you as I began to draw you to me. I could see the droplets of water begin to cover your face, then your shirt and suddenly I found you were wet all over.
Once I had you in my arms, pulled close to me under the warm water of the shower you relented completely. I kissed you and felt you press your lips against mine. I felt your body give itself to me. As I stripped off your clothes and drank the water as it flowed across your skin, I found myself marveling at the light saltyness of your sweat washing away in the closeted rain. There is something to be said for being naked, half naked, wet and showering.
I woke up and felt confuzed, caught between my dream and what my mind tells me I really feel. Well, judging by my physical reaction at least part of me thought the dream was real but that’s neither here nor there. What I am left with is something of a split in personalities. Love or hate, heaven or hell? Which one is the truth? Maybe both. More likely neither.
I can’t begin to tell you how disturbing all of this is to me. I must have had bad clams. It’s the only explanation that make sense.
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