Dreams and Illusions

I remember there being a man - and I felt attracted towards him. His whole stance, his whole posture emanated confidence - not arrogantly so. He was the type of person who wasn't afraid of what he wanted; he could get that with what he had. Around nineteen - the same age as my dream self. Mature. He wore a crisp black suit, the top button on his white shirt undone. Sharp jaw line; light stubble. Dark brown hair; light brown skin.

Black high heels; my long, thin legs extending from them. Black tights; modest black dress. Short sleeves, slightly dipping neckline. Collarbones. Dusty brown eye shadow. Long, dark, wavy hair.

I never saw my face.

I strode slowly and confidently towards him. I remember his eyes; dark. His smile; his lips stretched out slowly.

We were in something reminiscent of a dressing room; dim evening lights emanated from what seemed like mirrors. I; perched on the edge of a dressing table, my legs extending out. And my black high heels. He leaned against something - a wall? his shoulders always leaning towards me as he spoke; laughed. I remember the proximity between us; how the air seemed charged.

It was all about touch. About how the simplest things a guy does can stir your feelings, how the simplest touches can wreak havoc.

My body facing forward from my spot on the table; shoulders directed towards him. He; leaning against the wall beside the dressing table, facing me. Perpendicular almost. We were close. If I extended my hand up from the dressing table, I would be touching his face. No one else was in the room; the door closed. We simply spoke; laughed. Soft eyes. Intimately. Sometimes his hands played with my hair, or drew circles on my skin. My breath hitched lightly.

Our eyes locked. His eyes devilishly playful, he smiled slowly. The small distance between us mocking us. Challenging us. Suddenly we were standing.

I only remember glimpses of the rest.

He stood, towering beside me, facing the side of my body; my eyes swiftly closed. Anticipating. Closer now. I felt his breath on the side of my neck, ghosting up until his lips hovered near my ear. His fingers dragging up against the skin of my arm. His breath was sweet.

He spoke my name in a low rough voice. I looked up silently from beneath my lashes.

Other glimpses of how he leaned towards me as we sat; his lips delicately touching my face, slowly moving upwards.

His body fully pressed against my side, one hand moving up from the nape of my neck and through my hair, another slowly turning my body to face him. He pushed my body against a wall. Our bodies flush with each other, his teeth gently nibbling on my ear. My hands held by one of his above my head.  My lips parted; his making their way down my neck. His hands moving down the sides of my body before roughly grasping my hips. My hands running through his thick, unruly dark brown hair.

In another glimpse I stood, facing the mirrors as he stood behind me, his body pressing against mine. His hands delicately caressing my shoulders; he made eye contact as we locked eyes in the mirror.

His lips diving into the dip of my neck, kissing every inch of my skin, fingers grasping my shoulders.

In another glimpse, his fingers torturously dragged up the side of my body, under his. My head tilted back, my fingers raking up his back. His surprise.

Or when his shirt was hastily unbuttoned, his lips pressing against mine, his torso against mine. My hands roaming against the expanse of his chest, his broad shoulders.



I awoke startled.