Archive-name: Dreams/incarnat.txt

Archive-author: Beth Winegarner   (c) 1993

Archive-title: Incarnate





        It had been days since I'd last seen you, and the time apart was

beginning to wear on my senses.  The solitude was making me begin to realize

the strength of my feelings, when we'd only known each other well for a few

weeks.  When I closed my eyes, your face, half-shrouded by memory

and my own illusions, lit up my mind.  And as I found my way into

dreams, on some nights, I was sure you were right there with me, caressing

the length of my back as if I were a cat that needed to be soothed into

placidity.  On the contrary; your touch kept me restless through the

long night.

        On this particular night of insomnia, I chose to act out the

forbidden.  Though I loved you, I was frightened to even imagine sharing

myself in lovemaking with you.  The guilt was immense; what if he found out

I was dreaming of another man?  What if he knew that secretly,

passionately, I thought of you and those thoughts only heightened my

emotions more?  But I had to do something before I went out of my mind,

before I acted my fantasies out in reality and destroyed everything I had.

I had to keep the thoughts from becoming flesh.

        And so I closed my eyes, and my deft fingers slipped down beneath

the cotton sheets of the dark bed, down into the recesses of my body.  My

left arm stretched behind me, above my head, while my right began to

explore the sense of fur and soft, padded skin.  It was the place I knew I

could never allow you to see, touch, tase, smell; but I could imagine you

in my place, imagine you making love to me as I made love to myself.

        The moment my middle finger found the small, hidden knobby

treasure, my mind flashed images of you and I, tangled.  Your mouth pressing

itself like a wound into my neck, my lips, my shoulders.  Your hands (it

seemed like there were eight of them) embracing every inch of my being,

pulling my body into yours like we were melting together.  Pictures passed

over each other as I rubbed my small, tender place; this felt like no

fantasy I'd ever had.  This felt like pure, intense memory, like something

long-buried and long-forgotten that had just now found its way to the

surface again.  And it was raging.

        I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't.  The pleasure kept coming

at me, pounding me; I felt you slip inside me, warm, heated, immense.  Your

body was heavy over mine, and I could see your long hair sticking to you in

the places where sweat had begun to bead up.  In my mind, your eyes bored

into mine, pulling back to look at me with dilated black pupils and

surburst-brown irises before the image slipped away and another, of me trying

to smother you with my own small pale body, came into focus.  My fingers

jerked hungrily, searching for the orgasm they knew was there,

hidden deep in the folds of my flesh.

        For one intense moment all the memories flashed before me like one

long reel of film racing out of control.  For that moment you were there in

the room with me, your pace matching mine, your thoughts and mine a single

dynamic of heat.  The shudders came and came and came, the vibrations

cutting into my soul like threads from another life.  The memory of you so

jagged, so real and fresh, had been a surprise.  And with the orgasm

arrived waves of tears, shuddering, knowing that I had somehow lost you

long ago.  Knowing I could not have you in that way again.  The pain was as

real as the images had been.  I missed you.

        I lay still, feeling the heat rise off of my warmed skin, the

shudders fading away again into peace.  My breathing stilled, my crying

became a shadow in the night as my mind wandered out into the land of

dreams once again.  I hoped to find you there, somewhere, in the mystery of

this incredible memory.

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