I Know She Is Lying There, Alone, Waiting for Me

She

By Lord Henry Wotton

I always wake at the same point in the same dark dream. I am watching a man, who I sense is Bob Dylan. Bob is walking through the desert just before sunrise, humming low and slowly. A woman is walking next to him, barefoot with a gold anklet. You can sense that she is leaving him, and he will miss her when she is gone - but she cannot stay. They exchange words, which are unfamiliar to me – ahpérnih, sápa, yámana and kíppa. And then they they both turn and look towards me and whisper: Mamihlapinatapai – then I wake, feeling like there is more to the dream that I am not being allowed to see, or do not want to accept. I slip slowly from my bed, into the pre-dawn darkness and silently travel towards her call.

I know she is lying there, alone, waiting for me.

During the drive, as always, I consider to return home. Trying to convince myself, this is good for me, it is what I need, it is what is deserve - but I also know that this may be bad for me in ways I do not fully understand or want to understand. There is only so much time. I think back to our first time together and the many times since. She is a drug.

I arrive and open the door. She is lying there. Pure, beautiful, untouched.

I rinse my body in the cold shower, so to be fresh and clean for her. I know she has been with others who are less thoughtful. The water is always shockingly chilled, but I know she will be comforting. I leave the shower and slowly approach her – no words need be said. She is misty and rested. I give her purpose; she helps define mine.

I bend down, reaching out my hands to gently touch her skin – I yearn to be with her, but feel a twinge of guilt in disrupting her placid beauty. The air is cool, but she will be warm. She is calling me inside. My fingers first spread her; I lean farther forward and soon am deeply inside of her warm and welcoming wetness, thrusting forward. I am free.

When she holds me – reality evaporates. I become of the sea of the stars where we are both from. Within her, I am alone with my fantasies. Our fantasies.

With each stroke, my legs tense, my arms embrace her - I gasp more deeply for air. I am too eager and my pace quickly increases, but she knows me well and resists just enough to prolong our time together. I reach forward and grab her, pulling her towards my face and then pushing her down along my chest. I feel as she passes across my stomach and disappears between my thighs.

We are moving in a hypnotic rhythm. Time vanishes. My pulse quickens. I know I must soon leave her. It is over. I must go. Will she be lonely when I am gone? I pull out of her but she clings to me. I stand and slowly wipe her wetness from my body and look down to her lying there, still swaying and pulsing in our rhythm. Her taste is still in my mouth; her scent still covers my body. As I leave, I pass the endearing lifeguard – witness to my many transgressions. I wonder if she will betray me. Can I trust her with our secret?