Dream Weaver

From my remembrance shall not pass- some power

Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind

Came o'er me in the night, and left behind

Its image on my spirit- or the moon

Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon

Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was

That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.

Dreams

Edgar allen poe

The music flooded the tiny cottage and soared in the crescendo of the storm. The lightening was upon the shore now, and the wind was slamming the rain against the windows now with force enough that the water sprayed onto the bare wooden floors. She scampered around closing the windows, pulling the shutters tight as she went.

The bath was almost ready, hot and steamy just like she liked it. She left the door open, so she could hear the rest of the concerto that was playing. Classical music always seemed to calm her frayed nerves more than any pill could, and especially here lately.

She just couldn’t act anymore it seemed without all the analyzing and such. She hated it. It must be the ocd kicking in again with her she thought.

She stepped into the bath, toe first to test it out. She held on to the side of the tub, and let the rest of her body slide on in the hottness. She felt wrapped inside a liquid cocoon, safe from the storm that raged outside. Even with the hot water, she got that chill again. It started from the base of her neck and rain down her spine. She reached for the sponge to put some soap on it, and thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

She leaned over to look a little further…nothing. It was nothing. She continued to bath, plunging her head in the water relishing the feel of it dripping off her face. She lay back for a while, relaxing her body. The peaceful Harmonies du soir Andantino in Db seeped into her mind, freeing her of any other thought that she may have had. This was peace, something that had evaded her for the longest time now. She smiled wistfully. When she was here, was when she was somewhat happy. When she was here, she knew that for a short while there would be quiet in her chaotic soul. This was a resting place, a living grave yard for her spirit to come without the restraints of the mortal world to drag it back down into the mire.

The melody faded off into another one of Litzs’ greatest symphonies, lulling her ever further into the surrealness of what was surrounding her.

Then she felt him. His presence was something she could always detect. She knew the moment he stepped into the house, not making a sound. She could feel him. She smiled, excitedly and lay quiet waiting for him to find her in the tub. He never made a sound as he walked through the house.

She felt him kneel down stealth like, right behind her head. She then felt his hands upon her wet hair, moving it over her shoulder. She felt his lips on her wet skin, soft and moist as he licked her should and kissed the base of her neck. She moaned, feeling his hands come around her arms and cup her breasts.

Her nipples became hard, as his fingers began to pinch them. His mouth never stopped kissing her on that spot under her hair. She could feel herself respond to his attack on her, her body rising up to his touch. His right hand trailed down her arm to her hand. She could feel him bend over her, and place her hand down to her crotch. He spread her legs slightly, and started moving her hand, guiding it, placing it on the one spot that sent electricity down her groin. His hand was controlling, precise in where he wanted her fingers to go. He took one, and inserted it into her, guiding again the momentum he wanted her to have.

She heard his breathing get as erratic as her own, as she was now breathing heavily. She had not expected this at all. He had come in early and unawares to her. And here she was going to surprise him, him instead surprising her greatly with this one act.

“C’est le paridis au bout de vos doigts” she heard him whisper in her ear, as he bit on her neck, and licked with his long tongue.

His voice was deep and low as he worked her hand with a fever. His kisses were on her neck, his left hand still upon her wet breast, the other guiding her still to unknown pleasures. She could feel herself getting wet, tightening up, as her finger made its way in and out, the palm of her hand going over the swell of her clitoris. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest, as her body rose time and time again to her own pleasuring. She leaned her head slightly to the left as he bit her neck and sucked on her shoulder. Her moans became louder, deeper, as he would not let up, his finger also now working magic on the inside of her, penetrating her with long deliberate strokes. He placed her fingers directly on her clitoris, moving them in small quick strokes over it. His finger returned to the wet solace of her, finding the one spot that he hadn’t touched. She heard him moan in unison with hers. He was getting close too, she could feel him rock her body with his, the water splashing now out of the tub and onto the steps leading up to the sunken pool…

“mon amour, mon amour, oh mon dieu!” she heard him grunt as her body tightened around his finger, releasing all of her passion. She felt his body against her shoulders, tighten, his arms around hers now, her hands on his strong forearms as her body rose out of the water in sheer rapture.

She felt his lips on her neck, his teeth upon her pulsing vein…

Her head jerked, forcefully at that. She must have fallen asleep at one point. The music had stopped, the storm now just the pattering of rain on the tin roof. She didn’t hear the thunder any more, and there was no more flash of lightening in the windows. The water had grown tepid, and upon observing her fingers, they had wrinkled like prunes. She felt shaken, disoriented at the vestige of the lingering dream. She looked around, and saw no one. No, he hadn’t come in on her, it was just the dream again..

She raised her hands up to look at them and laughed, thinking about the little boy in ‘home alone’. That’s how he always checked to see if he was ready to get out, his hands were wrinkly. Hers happened to be wrinkly, and slightly tired.

She rose up, letting the water trickle down her body, got out, and dried off. She had wrapped a towel around her head, and proceeded to unwrap it, and dry her hair out some what. The gown was lying on the bed, and she debated on slipping it on now, or waiting.

She re programmed the stereo to something soft and low, her mood disturbed somewhat by what she had experienced. Again, it was all too real for her. This had been her quandary all along. The dreams were getting to her, and waking up finding her sheets in disarray when this happened was like having him there with her. He had become in essence her incubus. What scared her most was, she was beginning to like it, to embrace his touch when he wasn’t with her. She loved being able to feel him, touch him. She loved to wake up half asleep and still smell his sweat upon the sheet where he had lain. She could smell his cologne on the pillow that she lay against…

Even when he wasn’t with her, he was…

In the dream he came to her

His form was just a shadow

Beckoning love from her lost soul

Weeping because he could not have her…

Shadow lover

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