I

He stands behind me, gently pressing his body against mine. Slowly he explores with his hands, beginning at my hips and following the curve of my body until his hands find my breasts. I feel my flesh tingling, my breath coming faster, deeper. His caresses increase in intensity, becoming more urgent. He moves us forward against the wall, suddenly before us, and I feel his hardness pressing into me through our clothes. As if reading my mind, his hands move from my breasts and begin pulling at the hem of my skirt to remove the unwanted barrier. I turn to face him, reaching for his belt, as eager as he to be rid of any obstruction. As our hands fumble to free our restraints, he kisses me, softly at first, then more insistently, passionately. I feel the softness of the bed. Downy blankets pillow around me as he claims me. I come immediately, crying out. Someone is calling me. It’s so faint, but coming closer. Calling my name over and over again. “Samantha!” I feel hands shaking me. Go away! Leave me alone! Let me get back to him.

My husband is there, shaking me. “Honey, you’re having a nightmare! Wake up!”

I reach full consciousness.

“What were you dreaming? Are you okay?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t remember.” I remember. God, do I remember. His hands. His kisses. The passion.

“Well, it’s over now.” Over. He pulls me close to him. Comforting. Familiar. Safe.

Guiltily I relax into him, all the while trying to hold on to the fire I felt with my dream lover. Replaying the scene again and again until my breathing betrays my thoughts, fast and deep again.

Sensing the change, my husband mistakenly reads it as being directed towards him. He fumbles with my breasts, beginning his routine. From there he reaches between my legs, never quite finding the right spot, and when he does, never quite finding the right rhythm. I moan, faking orgasm, knowing that the appropriate responses help to end this farce more quickly. Tonight he is on top. As always, his movements are the exact opposite of what I need to experience pleasure. I accommodate him, again to expedite the procedure. He grunts, holds still for a moment, kisses me, and rolls over. “Spectacular! Wow!” His breathing quickly slows, and soon his quiet snores tell me that he is asleep.

And now I’m awake. Awake and empty.

Try talking to him, you say? I tried. He gets defensive. And I tried taking charge. Guiding him in bed. Get this! The harder I pushed, the harder he pushed back. Nothing has worked. I even bought that book, you know, 101 Days of Terrriffic Sex, or something like that. He was too embarrassed to step out of his self-imposed box.

So, I dream. And boy do I dream. I’ve even been late to work because I hit the snooze button one more time, hoping to rejoin my dream after being ripped away by the alarm. Throughout each monotonous, stress-ridden day I find myself recalling my dreams. My nipples harden at the most inappropriate moments, my breathing changes; I flush for no seeming reason. All these responses might give me away if anyone bothered to notice. They don’t, though.

Lately my dreams have expanded to include day-to-day activities. It’s like I’m living a double life. Sadly, it’s my dream life I look forward to living. There’s passion and laughter and magic, things that are missing in my real world.

II

It about a year ago that everything changed. I had been having this recurring dream. It wasn’t every night, but often enough that I would sometimes go to bed early hoping maybe it will come tonight. The locations were always different. Sometimes it was a dormitory, sometimes a bar, sometimes a camp or commune type setting, but always the same face. His face. Then one night we talked. Just talked.

I’m sitting in a library; studying for some test when suddenly he’s standing across from me. He is so beautiful. I recognize him immediately and smile. “Well hello there.”

“This seat taken?”

“It is now. Have a seat.”

“What are you studying?”

“You know, I don’t know.”

We laughed together at the absurdity of it. “C’mon. Let’s get a drink.”

We’re sitting in one of those dance clubs. I remember feeling the bass throbbing, um-chi um-chi um-chi, while beautiful bodies writhe, their moves graphically simulating sex. In the way that dreams have, we are able to hear each other without shouting.

“Thanks for saving me.”

“What about your class?”

“I have no idea what class I was studying for. I don’t even remember being in school again.”

“I did it.”

“Did what?”

“Brought you there. I thought of a safe, non-threatening place where we could meet, without . . . you know.”

He actually blushed.

“So, why? How? I’m sorry, I’m confused.”

“I wanted more. You have so much passion, so much fire. I wanted to know the person, not just the body.”

We talk a bit, small talk mostly, then he takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. We dance slowly, even though the beat is hard and fast. Eventually the beat begins to move us and I feel him hard between my legs. We’re simulating sex with our dance moves, him grinding himself into my dripping pussy, soaking my skirt and his pants. Eventually that’s not enough. He reaches under my skirt and rips my panties off, throwing them to the dance floor where they’re lost immediately in the shuffle of feet. His hand returns and he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into me, immediately finding just the right spot. I writhe on his hand, cumming with a loud scream that no one hears over the music. I can’t unzip his pants fast enough, and soon he has one of my legs wrapped around his waist and is pounding into me, filling me completely, fucking me senseless. We’re still moving to the beat, and his thrusts are getting harder and deeper. He turns me around and enters my ass in one thrust while reaching around and fucking my pussy with his fingers. I can’t help myself. I reach down to work my clit with one hand and pull his mouth to me, over my shoulder, for a kiss with the other. We both cum, our bodies spent.

Suddenly, the fire alarm goes off in the club. I jump to my feet, ready to run, but he just stands there.

“The library,” he says. “Meet me at the library.”

And it was only my alarm. I hit snooze hoping to feel the energy of the club, hear the soothing quality of his voice, but it was gone.

III

In my real life I’m a manager. I constantly tell people to do things they don’t want to do, catch them when they’re doing something they’re not supposed to and keep them from doing exactly what they want to do, which is nothing, or nothing to do with work, that is. Not really on the slate for most popular, am I? I manage my employees with compassion and fairness, and I’m the one they come to when they need to make sure something gets done, but I’m still the enemy. Meanwhile, I work for bosses who are indifferent, spineless and non-supportive. I think they’re dipping into the till too.

But enough about that. Usually by the time I get home I have nothing left to give. My marriage is okay. I love my husband. He’s caring in his way, and sometimes we even laugh together. Most times we just exist together. The night after the visit to the library, I was distracted. My husband sensed it and went into comforting mode. He made the non-romantic baby talk he uses when he wants sex. I felt so guilty, like I’d been cheating, but it was only a dream, wasn’t it? So I had guilt sex. I really put on a show, too. I guess that’s what people do. All I wanted was to get back to the library. I thought I’d never fall asleep.

I’m sitting in a library. The library. Only this time there isn’t a test. I know where I am and why, and even that it is a dream. Lucid dreaming, I think they call it. But he isn’t there. I realize that I don’t even know his name. There is so much I don’t know about him. God, am I going crazy? It’s just a dream. Tomorrow I’ll make an appointment with a therapist. And then he’s there. Sitting in front of me like he’s always been there.

“I’m so glad you made it! So, where should we go? Paris? Italy? Vermont? St. Lucia? Hell, the Garden of Eden if we want.”

“Too much history.”

We laugh the easy laugh of old friends.

“Do you like wine? How about Italy?”

“Italian wines are my favorite! Italy is on the top of my places to visit list.”

He pauses, cocks his head and gives a half smile.

Then immediately, he’s all energetic and excited, like a kid. “Italy it is, then. I’ve been there a couple of times, and I know this great vineyard. Here, take my hand. You’re gonna love this.”

And we’re sitting on a blanket in the middle of a vineyard, with a picnic basket full of breads, cheeses and meats. There’s also a decanter of my favorite Italian red. His too, I find out.

“So what’s going on? Are you just a coping mechanism showing up in my dreams to compensate for something I’m lacking in my life? Or am I just so pathetic that I have to dream about happiness to find it?”

“We’re quite the pragmatist, aren’t we? Seriously, though, I was wondering the same thing about you. I found myself thinking of you during all my waking hours. Each night I’d go to bed hoping for a chance to talk to you, then I saw you in the library and I knew I had done it.”

“So you’re real? Who are you? Where do you live?”

“My name is Nathan.”

“Well, Nathan, are we going to waste this beautiful scenery, or are we going to enjoy it?”

He needs no further invitation and pushes me back on the blanket. We begin slowly. Kissing passionately and caressing each other’s bodies. Soon, however, our true natures take over. He circles my nipple with his tongue, then bites down hard. I yelp, not expecting the pain, then moan with the pleasure that follows. He moves down, using tongue and teeth, biting and caressing alternately. When he finally touches me with his tongue, I am begging to cum.

“Not yet,” he says.

He licks softly, slowly through the barrier of my panties. My hips are pumping, trying to force him to lick harder. He laughs softly, continuing to take his time. Finally, it seems like hours, he removes my panties and just whispers a touch of his tongue against my clit, pulling away immediately. I can’t stand it. I’m his. I’ll do anything at all if he will just fuck me with his tongue. And he does. He shoves his tongue into me as deep as it will go, then slowly drags it up to work my clit. I don’t care if he’s doing the alphabet, whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it perfectly. Slowly, he inserts one finger, then two, then three into my dripping pussy. He works me with his tongue on my clit and his fingers in my pussy. Soon I’m experiencing the most intense orgasm of my life.

Suddenly we hear air raid sirens and the wind picks up. Nathan is being dragged away, pulled by some force.

“The library,” I shout.

Faintly I hear him shout back, “The library.”

“Samantha! Wake up! You were mumbling something about the library. What were you dreaming about? I’m worried about these nightmares”

I lied. “I had this test, and I didn’t know what class it was for.”

“I think you’re working too hard. Why don’t you call in sick today.”

“I can’t. I’ll be okay.” In all honesty, I couldn’t imagine all that free time to think about Nathan. His name was Nathan, and he was real. He was waking up now, getting ready for work somewhere. Where did he live? Who was he? Oh god, this was real. Did this make it cheating?

IV

Work became the dream. I went through all the motions, but I wasn’t really there. I was at the library, at the club, at the vineyard in Italy. How could this be? Somehow I made it through the day, and that night I told my husband I wasn’t feeling well. He gave me a worried look, kissed me and tucked me in. “I love you sweetie. Get some rest.”

I truly was exhausted. It took all my energy to make it through the day trying to keep up the appearance of normalcy. It seemed I had just laid my head on the pillow when

I’m sitting in the library. He’s already there, looking worried.

“I was afraid you weren’t coming. I should have known better than to go to bed early.”

“I’m here. Now, no exotic places. Let’s not waste any time. My name is Samantha Wright, I’m married, I’m a company manager, I used to paint, I was good too, but suburbia has sucked away all my inspiration, I sleepwalk through my daily routine, and there was no excitement in my life until I started dreaming about you. Your turn.”

“Go figure, I found Mrs. Right.”

“That’s with a W.”

“I know, but it’s ironic, don’t you think? Anyway, my name is Nathan Blane, I’m single, I’m Vice President of a mediocre company, I dabble in writing, and I dread getting out of bed every morning just to be a part of the daily grind. I dread it even more now that it means I have to leave you.”

“So where does this take us? Now that I know you’re real I’m even more confused.”

He reaches across and takes my hand. The table is gone and we’re in each other’s arms. His kisses are less desperate, more caring and passionate. He cradles my head in his hand as he kisses me deeply, our tongues caressing, then fucking each other’s mouths. He parts my legs, moving them over his shoulders and enters me slowly. So slowly. I begin to thrust against him, wanting him deeper, all the way in, and he stops me, his hand on my hip to stop my movement and whispers, “We have all the time in the world, baby. Slow down.”

Finally…finally he’s all the way in. He pulls out just as slowly. It’s excruciating. It’s divine. Then he slams into me, holding just long enough for me to catch my breath, then begins fucking in earnest. He pounds my pussy, pushing my legs away from his shoulders to get deeper. I fuck back, hard. I want him to fuck me so hard that I feel it in my chest. I cum, hard, raking my nails across his back, losing myself in complete abandon, screaming.

But he’s not done yet. He flips me over roughly and takes me from behind. He has my hips in his hands, pulling me to him with as much force as he is giving me. He’s fucking me hard, and we’re both drenched with my wetness. Suddenly he pulls out and uses that moisture to lubricate my asshole. I know what’s coming, and I want it. I arch my back to offer my ass to him. He goes slowly at first, just entering the ring. He pulls out and moves in a bit further. Then he draws back just a bit and enters all of the way. I scream with the intensity of it, but begin fucking back as hard as he is. We fuck hard and fast. He’s so deep inside of me, and I can’t get enough of him. Finally I feel him swell, then shoot into my ass, spilling out. The sensation is too much, and I cum again. Exhusted.

V

When the alarm goes off I awake rested. I feel different somehow. There’s a purpose that wasn’t there yesterday. At work, everyone keeps asking me if I’m okay. I’m okay. I’ve never been more okay. Hell, I’m great! At home, my husband senses the change. On some subconscious level I think he knows. When he begins his baby talk, I say, “Not tonight,” and go to bed.

We’re sitting in the library.

“So, what now?” he asks.

“My place or yours?”

“Mine. It’s more private. I’ll have a plane ticket waiting for you in the morning. Just leave the house for work and keep going.”

“This is crazy.”

“Love is crazy.”

He kisses me. We luxuriate in each other, taking the time to explore every inch of each other’s body. We leave nothing untried, touching and tasting, laughing then moaning. Afterwards, we hold each other, eager for the time that the alarm clock won’t tear us apart. But, too soon, it happens.

The plane ticket is there, just as he promised. I take it and board the plane. During the flight I sleep. Not to see him this time, but to make time pass faster so I can see him. My Adonis. My passionate lover.

I leave the plane, my heart pounding. He has to be here, he bought the ticket. I look for him, but I don’t see him. Everyone has gone. It’s just me and one other person: a middle-aged man who looks anxious. It suddenly hits me. “Nathan?”

“Samantha?”

“I guess in dreams we can be anything we want to be. I wondered how a beautiful man like you could be attracted to a middle-aged woman like me. Well, this is me as I really am.”

He takes me in his arms. All of the passion is still there. “You are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. I have a surprise for you.”

“There’s more?”

“Remember that little vineyard in Italy?”

I nod.

“Well, we’re going to be spending the next two weeks there getting to know each other. There’s only one rule.”

“And that is?”

“No alarm clocks!”

Epilogue

It’s been about a year now. No, he’s not the beautiful young man I met in my dreams, just as I’m not the beautiful young woman he saw, but love has a funny way of making you look at things. Somehow we are young to each other, and that’s all that matters.