Shadow Lover

Be advised ... this is somewhat risque’ in its telling,

but the dream felt real to me. And I do not know why I had such a dream.

************

The girl stands nude under the evergreen tree. She is very petite, with small, pert breasts. She stands with her arms raised above her head in seeming invitation for something to come from the sky. I notice that except for her long black hair and the small matching triangle below, she is very pale; her skin is almost milk white. The evergreen is a tall one, and although it is a warm day, its boughs are heavily laden with snow.

The wind picks up a little, causing the girl’s hair to blow about her shoulders and her skin tingles. I have no idea who she is; if I saw her walking down the street fully clothed, I would never look twice in her direction. But now, right now under that tree, I know she is magic. She is ageless.

The wind causes snow to drift down from the tree, sending it fluttering silently around the girl.

Immaculately formed flakes land in her now disheveled hair and stick there. She lowers her arms and the wind settles, but the snow keeps falling from the tree.

She seems to notice me then, even though I know she has been aware of my presence since the beginning. She smiles and I take that as an invitation to come closer. However, I stop in my tracks and watch silently again as she curls her hands around her waist. She is moaning, but I cannot hear her, and I slowly realize that I haven’t heard anything at all in this surreal landscape.

I have so many questions to ask her and begin to walk over to her once again. And again, before I have taken more than a step, she disappears, and the entire world begins to blur.

************

The room is shadowed in soft light and classical yet dissonant music plays on the Wurlitzer in the corner in true film noir fashion. I sit in a wicker chair facing him. I can’t see him in the dim light; I can just make out his shadow. Looking to where I think his eyes might be, I give him a small, secretive smile. I raise my hand to my blouse and slip it down one side, exposing my left shoulder. I sense him leaning forward in anticipation. Instead of bearing the skin of my right shoulder to him as well, I slowly unbutton the blouse and slip it off completely.

There is no bra to follow it. I sit upright in the chair, displaying myself to him for his attention, his enjoyment, his approval. His hand comes forward out of the gloom and rests gently on my right shoulder, gently massaging. His touch is so light, but I still groan in a strange mixture of agony and bliss. It is not just my shoulder he has touched. It is my entire body and soul. His mind reaches out and touches mine, our connection is so deep there is no need for words. There is no permission to seek. He knew long ago that with me there would never be a need to ask.

His hand still resides on my shoulder as I slide off the chair and onto the floor. The Wurlitzer skips almost imperceptibly as it switches to a new groove in the record. I don’t recognize the new song, and yet in some fundamental way I do. Still film noir, it is the type of song played during love scenes in old movies.

Indeed, the world becomes black and white there on the floor, the only color is the red lipstick I do not remember applying. It transfers to his neck as he takes me on the floor. Engulfs, consumes, and leaves nothing but black, white, red, and pleasure.

The young girl, no more than twenty, lays flat on her back and smiles beguilingly at the man who looks down at her prone figure. His age and her similarity to him in appearance would suggest that he’s someone she should know. She is naked except for a pair of light purple panties, which apparently he finds very appealing because his hand moves down her stomach and rests at the border. He makes to slide under the elastic, but she stops him by grabbing his hand in both of hers.

Slowly, slowly she brings his hand to her lips and kisses his palm. Then, quite deliberately, she puts his finger in her mouth and sucks it gently. The man’s eyes flutter shut as her tongue slowly massages the underside of his finger. He groans in frustration, and mutters something about not being able to take it anymore. She ignores him and he tells her to stop again, this time louder and more ominous.

As if in acquiescence to his request, she slides his finger from her mouth. He makes to reclaim his hand, but she tightens her own and brings his wet finger between her breasts. She starts rubbing his hand in circles, and it takes him a long time to realize that she has let go of him and he is now performing for her on his own. He stops.

“Turn over.”

The words are spoken more in a command than a request, but she seems happy enough to oblige. Her creamy back, with its light smattering of speckles between the shoulder blades, is a visual treat. However, it takes second place to the slight swell of her panty clad bottom. Much as before, his hand flows down her form to rest on that fabric barrier, and suddenly he pats her there so hard it could be considered a light spank.

An almost silent “oh” of surprise escapes her lips, and she wiggles her bottom almost invitingly. He is not discouraged. Again he spanks her, much harder this time. She gasps and almost whimpers but that doesn’t deter him from his task. Again the hand comes down, and again, and again. He gets a steady rhythm going and she buries her face in the pillow as little “ah’s” escape her lips, one for each smack delivered.

Eventually, this dark unknown stranger becomes dissatisfied with her current predicament and forcefully slides her panties down amidst cries of, “No, don’t do that!” Apparently though he can do that, and with a small flourish he discards the panties over his shoulder. Exposed to the room now is her heart shaped bottom, shaded a bright red from the man’s ministrations.

She knows instinctively to stay on her stomach for a minute to let this stranger admire his work, but soon enough, she again turns onto her back.

The view is improved one hundred percent by her lithe and supple frame. So flushed is she all over that had there been any doubt of her arousal, it is swiftly discarded. She gives the unknown stranger a “come hither” smile and before she could stop him, he was on her in a flash, surrounding her body with his maleness.

I want to ask him how he got here, but the idea is discarded as he kisses me. He knows that all I’ve ever really desired was this. To lie in bed with him and feel wanted. I nip his lip with a daring I don’t usually show. and he laughs softly.

Instinctively his hands cup my breasts, and I put my hand over his, never intending to let him go.

I do let him go though and his hand explores under the covers and I whimper softly and bury my face against his chest. My legs spread in invitation.

This is the single moment I have waited for all my life and the moment has arrived. I feel so sexy and alive. This man, a man I do not know, wants me for me.

The evidence of his arousal puts me over the edge; and I tremble so hard I figure I must surely break. His finger still plays upon my flesh, but I can’t stand for him to continue, so grabbing his arm I put his hand back between my breasts. I lie there next to him, shivering in this single moment in time. A moment that seems to be never-ending.

Eventually, the tremors pass and somewhat nervously I reach over and pull him against me. I gain the courage to tell him what I want. Finally the words come out, much quieter than I intend but still, they are there.

I stop and blush for a minute, feeling ridiculous. He does not prod me to continue and I feel tears come to my eyes for the love I feel for this man I cannot see. It gives me the courage to go on.

“I want to have your baby.” There, I said it. It was corny, but maybe sometimes corny is underrated. If he thinks my plebeian dialogue is ridiculous he doesn’t say so. Gently removing my hand, he turns and positions himself atop me. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I exhale it upon him joining me.

The world narrows to the feel of him, to our heavy breathing and the whimpers I can’t seem to stop making. He stiffens slightly and as his gift hits my walls, I pray that it will go where it needs to be.

He leans down and gives me another kiss. I feel sophisticated and mature with him... and I feel like all of my dreams are at last realized.

************

I jerk awake in my bedroom, and in the delirious aftermath of my dreams I turn to him, only to find that he is not there.

Reality comes crashing back as I realize he is still thousands of miles away, somewhere in a place he doesn’t know I exist; this stranger that I have fallen in love with, probably sleeping by now in his own bed, having his own dreams. Tears threaten but I blink them back furiously.

I settle back on my pillow and without realizing it, my hand rests on my stomach and starts to rub the emptiness there. I drift off to sleep and if another eight dreams are conjured up; I won’t remember them upon waking.

There is no point in believing in dreams.