Dreams Ch. 01

The dreams are different every night. A lush green forest last night. A cool oasis in the middle of a searing hot desert the night before. Last week I was on a boat. Every location is different. Each one is of a place I have never been to but seem to recognize in the dreams. There is only one constant. One thing is exactly the same night after night.

I know every inch of his body. I know him from his silky black hair, bronze skin and chocolate eyes. I know his soft mouth, his sinewy hands and broad shoulders. I know his smell. Like sandalwood incense before it is lit. His voice is as familiar as my own; rich, deep and laced with lust. In my dreams, I give myself to him night after night willingly and sometimes wantonly. I obsess about him in the day anxiously lay my head on my pillow at night; ready to be with him again.

I lay in bed longer than usual this morning. The fog of my lust-filled dream has long subsided, but I have no desire to get up. Fresh tears still stain my cheeks. Frustrated, I wipe them away. These last few months have left me exhausted and depressed. The dreams certainly haven't helped. I open my eyes long enough to see the clock beside my bed. The green window illuminated 7:05 back at me.

I groan and push back the covers. I stumble into the bathroom and squint as I turn on the lights. Like a robot, I brush my teeth and wash my face before turning on the shower. My sleeping cap comes off in one tug. My braids fall free and down my back. I shake my head and then quickly run my fingers through them. The black hair tie and am looking for fell behind the toothbrush holder last night. I pick it up and stop to look at myself in the mirror.

Under the mess of brown and copper curls, my brown face is oval shaped. Almond-shaped puffy brown eyes stare back at me. My nose is a little too large for my liking, and my mouth is tiny and heart-shaped. Closing my eyes and throwing my head back, I collect my hair into a makeshift bun and grab towels from the closet. Dropping my nightgown at my feet, I move to the shower, slide back the curtain and step into the warm jets. Instantly, my dream comes back in full force. The warmth from the water brings to mind memories of another kind of warmth.

*****

In my dream, I am in a forest. It's raining. Not a torrential downpour, but the steady kind of rain that makes you sleepy in the middle of the afternoon. Even though it's raining, the air is hot and sticky. A large two-story house stands behind me. I sit under a gazebo looking into the woods. Mist has formed in the trees. The humidity has already caused my light blue sun dress to begin sticking to my body. The rain begins coming down harder, but it is not accompanied by thunder or lightning. The impulse hits suddenly. The kind of impulse that hits you when you are a kid before you learn to consider consequences. I stand and walk to the edge.

In one step, I am away from the gazebo and into the rain. The drops are warm. I tilt my head back and open my mouth. In a matter of minutes, I am soaking wet. Feeling like a child, I lift my arms and begin to spin. Slowly at first, but with each rotation, I am breathing and spinning faster and faster until I am laughing at the top of my lungs. The forest becomes a blur, but I am not dizzy. It's during one of these rotations, that I feel it. He is watching me. I slow my spinning and eventually come to a stop; my back is facing the gazebo. I know he is standing under it. I do not immediately turn around. I savor the feeling of being watched. My breathing is slowing and my arms are motionless at my sides. My heart beats faster as I delay facing him. My stomach is a furnace and heat is beginning to spread to the rest of my body. Unable to resist any longer, I turn just my head and look over my shoulder.

He leans against one of the wooden posts of the gazebo with his arms casually crossed against his chest. A pair of faded jeans is all that covers his body. His black hair is pulled back in a ponytail. His forehead, cheeks and nose showcase his Native American features. His skin is completely unmarred. I cannot take my eyes off of his broad chest. I lower my eyes over his flat stomach. A wicked thought creeps into my mind as my eyes wander even lower. A crooked smile teases the corner of his mouth as if he is reading my mind.

I turn around fully now and begin to walk toward him. I walk around to the front of the gazebo, but he stays facing the forest. My wet feet leave prints as I climb the steps and cross the gazebo toward him. He turns to face me as I approach. A full head taller than me, I have to look up to read his expression. There is no mistaking the look of wanting in his eyes. I know my dress is soaked and clinging to me, my hair is dripping down my back and my bare feet are covered in grass and mud. As I stand in front of him however, I feel like the most beautiful creature in the world.

His hands come up to frame my face. I close my eyes as he bends his head to feather kisses on my forehead, eyes and cheeks. When his lips brush mine my heart skips. The warmth from my stomach has spread to my chest and my arms. It spreads even lower to my abdomen and legs. I part my mouth against his. My arms snake their way around his neck as his arms pull me by the waist and press my body against his. I scrape my fingernails lightly down his back. He groans and pushes his tongue into my mouth. I cannot breathe and do not want to as his hands run up my back, down to my upper thighs and up again. His large hands cup my ass and squeeze. I moan in pleasure and feel myself moisten. Suddenly he pulls back and looks down at me. Smiling, he opens his mouth to speak...

I am alone. The gazebo is empty. The rain continues to fall although it is lighter now. My body trembles as it still throbs with desire. I feel hollow and struggle to hold back the tears cresting in my eyes. I step out of the gazebo and wander into the rain toward the house. I let the tears go. They are washed away by the rain.

*****

My mind floats back to present as I rinse the soap off my body. It is these dreams I hate the most. The short ones leave me tired and restless, teasing me with his brief presence. The longer ones allow me hours and hours with him. I stand under the jets a few moments longer, letting the gentle stream message my body. I shut off the water as it grows cold and step out of the shower. The shower cap is tugged off and I run my fingers through my hair to separate the braids more thoroughly. I take my time running the soft towel over my body while drying off. After hanging the towel over the shower rod, I stand in front of the mirror naked and examine myself for a minute. I don't obsess about my body. It's average. I have a long waist compared to my flared hips and my breasts are average as well (a full "c" up). My stomach is not ripped but it's flat enough for me. My legs bother me the most. They are muscled which I appreciate but, I cannot get them any smaller and trust me, I have tried. I have begun to notice little dimples on my ass that I'm not to please to see. I look at my hips again and laugh. "Child bearing hips". That's was grand-mere used to call them. I roll my eyes, walk back to my bedroom and open the closet. Black wide-leg dress pants, a black shirt and red boots comprise my outfit for the day. One quick check in the mirror confirms I am fully dressed. Grabbing my purse and keys, I am off for work. I just have to make one pit stop on the way...

My favorite coffee shop is just around the corner from me. I am not a breakfast person, but I have never been known to pass up a coffee. Café de la Ville has been in business for over 20 years. The shop sits on a busy corner downtown. The red brick building has green and white awnings that cover the dozen tables and chairs outside. Inside, the atmosphere is very comfortable. High pub tables sit strategically inside and a long service counter takes up the entire wall in the back. It is divided into two sections. It's early but the place is already buzzing with people. Some sit leisurely at the tables and sip coffee while reading books and newspapers. Others barely keep from spilling coffee on themselves and others in their haste to get to their next destination. I wander up to the right section of the counter and lean under the "ORDER HERE" sign. Joe and his wife Sara are behind the counter. Joe is ringing customers up and Sara is preparing drinks.

I came here as a child with my grandmother every Saturday. Her childhood friend Alex Summers started this shop after he retired and became bored. He has long since retired (again), but his son Joe runs the shop now. Easily 6 feet tall, he towers over my 5 foot 8 inches. His dark hair is buzzed military style, and his green eyes light up when he smiles. It is he that greets me at the counter.

"Good morning, Angie. You look like you could use a grande today." he smiled and winked at me before he nodded toward Sara and she nodded at me before starting on my macchiato. Joe Summers is old enough to be my father, but he is an impossible infectious flirt. Married to the same woman for almost 35 years, no one ever takes his flirtatious manner the wrong way. I smile back and wander over to Sara. She is the same height as me. Her wild curly red hair is tamed into a bun this morning. Looking at her, you would never know she gave birth to five babies. Her youngest is 15 and her oldest is two years older than me. She is a second mother to me and will take care of anyone in need. I lean away from the counter and let my mind wander back to last night's dream. I was pondering the difference between my "dream self" and my "real self" when Sara's words puncture my daydream.

"Hey bebe, you're a thousand miles away. Joe was right about the grande." she grins and slides the lidded cup into my hand. I shake my head to clear my thoughts, smile and reach in my purse, but she puts her hands up. "Get your money away. It's on the house today. She frowns a little. "Are you okay darling? You look a little distracted this morning."

"Yeah, I'm fine." I lie still smiling. "Thanks Sara. I will see you tomorrow." I say gratefully. She flashes even white teeth and nods before heading to the back of the cafe.

I slip regretfully out of the building and back onto the street. At least tomorrow is Saturday. I can sit and visit properly with Joe and Sara tomorrow morning.

The library is about 5 blocks from the coffee shop. A two-story gray-brick building, it is over 100 years old, which is new for this town. I have worked here since graduating from college. I make my way around to the side entrance and use my key card to open the door. The lights are already on, signaling Emily has already here. I emerge from the back and walk into the main lobby. Emily is already at work, turning on the computer stations.

"Morning Angela!" she calls without looking up. I am the only one besides her that shows up before 8:30, so she knows it's me. Her blonde hair is all I can see as she is on all fours under a computer station table reaching for the main power for the five PC's. Their circuit must have tripped last night. She grunt triumphantly as all five light up and hum; their systems beginning to load.

"Hey Em!" I call as come around to turn on the computers behind the circulation desk. I set my purse by the book drop and we quickly get into our groove. Em logs into the circulation desk computers while I begin shelving the books leftover from last night. She quickly joins me. Twenty minutes later we are finished.

Nine o'clock arrives as the others trickle in one by one to finish set up for opening. There are seven of us that work the day shift and four more that come in at noon to cover until closing.

My office is upstairs. Once everyone else arrives, I grab my purse from behind the desk and climb the steps. I turn on the lights to the entire second floor. In my office, I turn on my computer and sit behind my desk. I have been working here as one of the two reference librarians for the last 5 years after starting out as a library tech. It is comfortable routine. Almost too comfortable. Sometimes I wonder if that is part of the reason the dreams began. I also think that is also causing my underlying frustration with them as well. I have no other outlet for my pent up energy.

When they first began, I brushed them off as a coincidence. After a week, however, I knew something was happening. They began with just a presence. I could feel someone in my dream, but never was able to see the person. I did not begin to see him until after the first month. At first, I noticed him from a distance, always watching me. Each night, he moved closer and closer until I was able to see his face. The odd thing was that even though I had never seen him before, I knew his face.

"Hey, Angie." a voice interrupts my daydream. I look up to see Matt standing at my door. At 25, he is 6 years my junior. He has the face all mothers love, especially if he is at the door to pick up their daughters. His black hair is badly in need of haircut and moving dangerously into afro territory. He is unfairly muscled for someone who can count the number of sober days in college on one hand. His distinguishing feature is his blue eyes. He was always embarrassed by them. Strangers assume they are contacts. A black man with blue eyes? Welcome to Louisiana, the ultimate melting pot. My own grand-mere was the same deep caramel complexion as me with flaming red hair. It happens. Anyway, back to Matt. He is extremely intelligent and managed to get through college without cracking open a book. Just thinking about that makes me want to kill him. He's funny, arrogant but also has the capability of being humble. I love him. I hate him. He's the little brother I never had.

Matt works in the office next door to mine. He was promoted this year to reference librarian and is my partner in crime here. Like me, he had to do time as a library tech first but rose faster than I did after Ms. Foster, our previous reference librarian retired.

"Pittman is after that anthology series again." he smiles as he gave me the heads up and disappears down the hall.

I groan out loud. Pittman, the librarian, is an eccentric guy and that's saying a lot based on what I have seen in life. Highly intelligent, the man has absolutely no social skills whatsoever. He came into my office two weeks ago asking about an anthology series on Native Americans. His current infatuation is the Caddo Nation. He seems more adamant lately. Something was up. As usual, my method is getting him what he wants quickly in order to keep his visits into my office at the absolute minimum. I had made several inquiries over the last two weeks. I already have a semi-permanent offer from a seller. I do not like to tell Pittman anything until I have something solid. It was like promising a kid a new bike for Christmas and then not delivering the goods. I log into my computer and open my email.

"Speak of the devil." I murmur to myself as I look at the first message. It's a reply from my email Wednesday confirming the price. The email confirmed he was ready to sell. He had a condition however. He would send someone with the set to review it with us. Apparently, he wants to make sure we do not misconstrue any information. He also wants our assurance that this will stay in our private collection. I send my reply assuring him of all his requests along with the book keeper's information. I knew full well that this series will go into the private collection. Hell, I will be lucky to another have a look them once I finish cataloguing everything. I carbon copy Pittman, Matt and Laura, our book keeper. Hopefully, this will keep Pittman out of my office today.

The day slugs on. I handle emails, phone calls, patrons and lunch; then more of the same for a few more hours. Five o'clock could not have come soon enough.

After work Matt, Emily and I ended up at Antonio's for dinner. The Italian restaurant has become a favorite for Emily and me over the last five years. It has become kind of a payday Friday tradition. Sometimes Emily's husband, Jasper, joins us but tonight it's just the three of us. We are sitting inside at a table by the window.

We all sit in silence for a while after placing our orders. I watch people on the street. I love watching people. I notice a couple across the street stop walking long enough to embrace. The man kisses the woman softly and nuzzles her neck. I feel my throat thicken slightly as I think of my dreams. The thing that I struggle with the most about them is how easily I toss aside all restraint and fly into his arms. In real life, I am the first to dissuade a guy, not invite him over and definitely not jump on him as soon as I see him. Emily's attention is on the kitchen door, anxious for dinner. Matt is the first to break the silence.

"You should have seen Pittman's face when he got that email. He flew down the hall into Laura's office grinning like a five-year old. He almost gave the poor old woman a heart attack." Matt laughs and gulps down some of his coke. He likes to joke that he drank enough beer in college for a lifetime and no longer requires any now. I get the feeling there is more to that story.

Emily is the next to speak. Tall and wafer thin, you had an almost uncontrollable urge to tie her down and feed her massive amounts of lard. Truth be told, she could eat both Matt and me under the table and have dessert long after we both passed out. Good genes, hate 'em or love 'em. "I expect Laura is used to it. Has long has she worked with him?" Her brown eyes dart in my direction for an answer.

"I think close to 20 years. She was there long before I came." I shrug and reached for my sprite. Emily came to work at the library my second year there. She is our technical genius and puts out all computer fires. She also helps behind the desk and in the stacks.

The evening is beautiful and quiet. Another two hours and the streets will be full of music and night crawlers. A few of them are out now eating dinner before the binge drinking begins. I almost feel nostalgic for my college years as I watch a group near the back laughing and joking about classes and professors. Finally, our orders arrive and I dive into my ridiculously large bowl of linguine.

I lay in bed that night anxious. There is a part of me that cannot wait to fall asleep. Another part of me is apprehensive. A glance at the clock tells me it is midnight. I have been lying here for two hours. This is silly. It was not like I have a choice of whether to sleep or not. I have to relax and get a grip. My chest rises and falls as I take deep breaths to calm my mind. I stare at the ceiling, wondering where I will go tonight and I knowing that I will once again give into desire. I don't remember falling asleep.

*****

The air is hot and sticky. I stand on the patio of a beach house. The sun is just coming up over the ocean. It is early morning and the air is salty sweet. I stand with my back to a sliding glass door. The ocean breeze is warm against my skin. My nightgown sticks to my back. The green cotton material hangs just above my knees and flutters around them in the breeze. The ocean is calm and glassy. Waves lap up to the shore lazily and pelicans patrol the shallows in search of breakfast. The glass door behind me squeaks a little and slides open. I close my eyes. Strong arms encircle my waist, and pull me back against his hard body. I lean my head back into his chest. He holds me in silence for a while. I smell sandalwood.

"Come with me." His words are whispered gently against my ear as he walks backwards with me into tow into the house. The cool breeze from the house erases the humidity from outside as we stop long enough for me to close the door on the way in. Once inside, he turns me around in his arms. Those mocha eyes are glued to mine. I step out of his embrace to get a good look at him.