impossible dream

I don’t know how to tell you what I feel. I live in perpetual expectancy. You come and the time slips away in a dream. It is only when you go that I realize completely your presence. And then it is too late. You numb me. ~Henry Miller to Anais Nin

There was just something about him that made her pause. Thoughts of him never fully left her mind…always, always it seemed a part of him remained on her tongue.

He filled the air around himself with everything that was alive, dark and dangerous. She wanted him. She wanted him from the first time she saw him, when even then she recognized the look in his eyes. It made her fretful with a need she didn’t quite understand and left her with a longing she knew one day she would sate. She remembered how he looked at her that day, what he whispered to her and how his fingers felt brushing her jawline. He was dangerous though it was much later that she realized just how dangerous. He could hurt her, he had hurt her…and she craved pain from him with a hungry gratefulness she never quite understood. When she thought of him it always left her with a hungry feeling..and emptiness that she knew only he was capable of filling. 


His hands she would remember always…she remembered how they felt on her skin. His fingers seeking entry deep inside her cunt was a memory easily and repeatedly played back in her fevered mind. He demanded much, he took everything and even in his relentless passion for her there was a softness in his eyes that drew her in. It took hold of her each time she saw him and left her falling sometimes uncontrollably into the darkness of what he demanded. For him she knew she would do anything.

There was an undenaiable connection from the start….if possible he would have consumed her and often in her mind he did. There was a deep intensity in him that she imagined few recognized for what it was. She found herself haunted by him. When she touched herself in the darkness it was sometimes hours later that she realized her faceless brutal lover taking her, hurting her, pinning her beneath him and fucking her hard again and again was not faceless.

And when she saw him she was forced to quiet the child within herself from bubbling over….inside she would be giddy and leap throwing herself into his arms..speaking finally “it is you…it is the man in my dreams, I remember you…the lover who has taken me so many times in my sleep…it was so real, surely you were truly by my side.” And sometimes in her minds eye he would smile affectionately and tell her dreams were silly like that…he would tell her to forget him, their affair he would say was one of impossibility and certain pain. She would agree. Yet other times his handsome face would darken in her mind and his look would cause her to tremble. Her hands on his chest would suddenly be less sure and she would feel stunned by that elusive magic he was able to project…that nameless compelling feeling that would surround the moment and threaten to drown them both. It was just there….whatever it was. It was thick and deep and dripped off of them. His hands would grind into her skin and he would pull her to him drinking in her sweetness, her smell, her taste….he would whisper against the softness of her cheek that she was his…that she was his to take, to fuck, to hurt. His need matched her own and they were furious in their dark pursuit of the other…this brutal collision between man and woman was surely meant to be. Sometimes he would take her immediately…again and again he would plunge into her…his groan to her was everything sensual and arousing. Sometimes he would linger over her…playing with her body…enjoying the marks his hands, his belt, his teeth could leave on her white skin. She made the sadist in him more sadistic…the Master in him stronger…and he loved hurting her. He would turn her over onto her stomach and use her hard…he would bury himself deep in her ass ignoring her cries…mercilessly in his fucking of her as if he too had been dreaming and knew either of them could awaken at any moment.

She would waken in the hours before dawn clutching at this dream…his smell somehow on her pillow, in her hair, across her breasts..rising from the damp milky heat between her legs. He had been there with her in her sleep…she felt him. She tasted him.

3 thoughts on “impossible dream

  1. This is a beautiful piece of writing. Enchanting. I would not want to wake up!!!!

    Who are the lucky dreamers anyway?

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