Brutal dreaming

She was an artist with a peculiar mode of expression. She would wear a tight white body suit and lay in her bed.  Near her were containers of paint and anyone that she felt worthy could dip their fingers into the paint and draw on her body. She didn’t approve of anything being written on her, but an expression of her inert sexuality though color was what she desired. I had a hard time getting the concept at first and it seemed rather risqué but from what I could see already painted on her it was something artistically sensual.

It was kind of a flesh meeting color kind of thing. I think I blushed as I got near her and she must have sensed my bashfulness because she sat up and drew me closer to her. She smiled at me and seemed to tell me with her eyes that it was okay to find some intimacy with her through the paint. I think I sort of laughed with nervousness until she took my hand, dipped my index finger into some red paint and guided my hand to her inner thigh where she began using my hand to draw.

I had a hard time catching my breath. She was too beautiful and this was just too intimate, but she smiled at me again and I felt myself calming down. I looked at what my red finger was painting on her thigh and it was a simple line, thick in the middle but sort of blurry at the edges. She then took my middle finger and dipped it in some yellow paint and returned to her thigh and added some yellow details to the red outline already drawn.  I couldn’t make out the shape of it, but I was felt myself getting dizzy with desire.

I had to step away from her. The experience, the direct silent intimacy of it had left me stunned. I’ve been with women, plenty of women, but I couldn’t recall this near panic rumbling I felt inside. It was as if through this action I had found love or at least knew what it looked like. It was red and yellow, soft and hot, a flame on the inside of her thin smooth thigh. She looked down at the fire now drawn on her and then back up at me. I could feel her desire, her longing to kiss me. I stepped toward her and our lips met.

Her lips tingled on mine, it was electricity, it was a blue spark exploding. I stumbled backwards a bit but she held me close, locked in this embrace with me.  I felt myself slipping away, as if I was no longer part of the real world. I felt ghostly. I felt unreal, like I had been unmade by God only to re-made as a kiss.

I fell back again, our lips becoming untangled. I slowly stepped away and seemingly into a new bed. A near-by bed and got under the covers. I tried to close my eyes and make myself real again. She didn’t let me though. As soon as I felt I was comfortable under the covers she came to me again. She was naked now; the paints and the white body suit left behind, and climbed into the bed with me. The shape of her body, her smooth unpainted skin now pressing against mine, I couldn’t find the air to breath. She looked at me with her soft knowing eyes and gently whispered, “Why did you leave?”

I woke up in my cruel lonely bed. My alarm was beeping like a maniac on my dresser. I felt the dream slipping away and I cursed its brutality.