by Jamie Joy Gatto
 

In shadows I awake after dreaming of haltering horses, the bitter taste of unsweetened chocolate, the smell of burning lumber, of running too fast and too far, but never fast enough. Images even yet flash inside my unmasking drape of sleep. Destruction, houses burning. My home crumbles behind my eyes, succumbing to a relentless blaze. Still lingering is the feeling of worn leather scraping at my palms and the sterility of chill, black night. The feeling of being afraid and alone, and of being homeless, loiters in the air.

In bed, stillness, dark. I am surrounded by cool, night air. My lover is next to me, tranquil, breath steady, a metronome of calmness. Our shared bedroom is a comfortable sanctuary whenever we are together. Now we are together every night. At my side, he doesn’t crowd me, but he is near, close enough to graze my aura. Security, safety, love and hope. When I awake fully, I no longer feel I am alone. When I awake with him at my right, I know I’ll never again live with the enduring plague of loneliness that once was my life. 

The feelings I have for him frighten me. I am often overwhelmed by the passion I feel, especially when I gaze at him. I love to watch him sleep. Only then can I pierce him with unflinching love. Only then do I dare to focus it, experience it, not shy away from my complete and total adoration of him.

I watch him as he lies there on his back, next to me in our bed, eyes gently closed. One strong arm is extended up over his head. His underarm hair is straight and dark; his skin eggshell smooth. He is angelic, almost cherubic: lips too full, lashes too long, the face of a Renaissance artist’s model. Peeking out from cotton bed sheets, his nipples lie upon his skin like evening primroses. They spread across polished skin stretched taut, flattened like two pennies we placed as children upon railroad tracks, crushed by freight trains to form smooth, copper ovals. Their beauty beckons me like a blossom; two garnet roses bloom for me this night. I want to taste them each, nuzzle them, place them between my lips and suckle them like a hungry kitten. 

My own lips plump at the thought, and I find myself wanting to spread my mouth over his glorious buds. My lips hover over a perfect, garnet circle. I breathe out. My breath presses hotly back at my face. He stirs. I don’t want to wake him, but I cannot resist. And when I take his nipple between my lips, I find skin so soft, I can barely feel it in my mouth. Flesh melts between my teeth like air until the bud hardens. 

He murmurs, a soft sound, but deep and rich with masculine longing. I toy with the delicate nubbin, carefully working it in my mouth as if it were a lover’s tongue; a French kiss formed from true love is made by my mouth upon his dainty member. 

My cheeks flush, a rush of blood quickens in my groin as I swirl my tongue around his hardening tip, then I suckle deep and long. I take his flesh more deeply into my mouth, then I begin to work it with my teeth and tongue. Gathering up the flesh of his aureole between my teeth, I suck it all in, then I drag my teeth along the tender, rubbery tip. More than a sigh, but less than a moan, he utters an intonation of sex. His chest rises and falls under me. I feel his breath quicken, and so does mine. My sex is wet, hungry for him.

His nipple now wears a hardon. I know his cock, too, has risen to the occasion. I feel it pressing against my naked thigh. The herald of his voice tells me that he covets more of the same treatment, and that his cock longs for the feel of my mouth upon it, as well. My mouth is still firmly locked upon his breast. Teeth scraping flesh, saliva mixes with a hint of salty perspiration from his chest. Soul kisses, salt-flesh filling my lips, smooth sensations, lapping, licking, another moan rises from within his pleasure center. He opens his eyes. His eyes are two dark lakes, rich with longing, that beg me to continue.

Great hands belonging to capable arms pull me toward his face and our lips lock in fervent passion. The roses that were upon his chest pale to the flowers of his mouth. His breath is smooth and tastes of the uniqueness of himself. His tongue, soft and firm, probes my mouth with precision and definitude. My mouth has been explored by him so many times he knows the map of my lips, teeth and tongue. Satiny tongue-swirls and deep penetration are interchanged with soft, firm, lip kisses. Our kisses are rhythmic, measured. Our timing is just right. We know exactly what we want from one another. Clarity in our lovemaking is imminent, but never tedious. I press my lids shut and dive into the endless waters of our kisses.

I open my eyes to equal his gaze. I close my eyes again. My body falls into him. He lifts me onto his body to impale my wetness upon his hardened cock. When I mount him I ride night horses, not too fast, not too far, never alone and just long enough. Fire ignites inside me and yet houses do not burn, there are no nightmares here. No, no nightmares, only pleasure, good dreams come true and future plans will make it through. I will survive, I will dare to hope and dream. 

I love him, I love him. I do. I say I do. I will say, “I do” -- marry him just as he’s asked me to. He will say it, too. He will keep me, be there for me, never leave me. I explode into roses, into blossoms, I land in a bed of flowers, I romp with night primroses; the scent of sex and flowers fills the air. With him I am never alone, always safe, always loved, never lonely, and always, always completely satisfied.

Copyright © 2003 Jamie Joy Gatto. All Rights Reserved.
A version of this story will appear in Wet Nightmares, Wet Dreams (STARbooks Press, 2005)