Lucid Dream Girl

OK, now that was just borderline crazy. She read my face and then made up her mind to tell me about her situation. "My mother was ill. Physically, she was mostly just fine, but in her head, she was very sick. I was pretty closely tethered to her all the time, she needed me that much. She wasn't mean to me, I mean she loved me and appreciated me and was even grateful for the care I gave her, but I don't think she realized just how much I missed out on my childhood. She was perfectly happy being cooped up with no one else to talk to but me, yet all I wanted was a friend." She reached out and held my hand with hers. "Thanks for being my friend, Mark."

I cut through more confusion and said, "I read that she passed away. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thanks," she replied a little sadly, "It got really bad in the end. She invented a disease that she was sure she had, and she passed away from it in her sleep. Later I was told that her body was in fine condition and the cause of death was unknown."

She massaged my hand a little with hers before I got up and refilled our coffees, she watched me closely the whole time. When I sat down again, she said, "It really is good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." I gave her a smile and a million questions I had for her ran through my muddled mind.

She read my face again and somehow I felt she knew what I was thinking. "Oh, Mark. You are so cute." She paused to blow on the surface of the hot cup before taking a sip. "So, I don't see a wedding ring. Any fiances or girlfriends I should know about?"

"Nope, none of that."

"Good," she replied. "Though I feel sad for you at the same time for that. Still the shy guy with the great adventures in his head." I looked at her face trying to figure out where that came from, though she was right. "I'll answer your unasked question though. I'm single too."

She chuckled to herself and continued, "Oh, I date. It's a pain in the ass, but I try. Only I keep looking for something in the guys I've seen, and they're just missing it. What about you?"

I replied honestly, "I date now and again, but they've all been disasters. I mean, monumental flops." Then I thought about what she had said and about how I had been looking for something too. I had been looking for my dream girl version of Myra, and nobody came close.

She laughed, "I know what you mean. I've had my fair share too. Oh, so I check the book release section in the Times every week, I keep expecting to see your name on the latest best seller. Did you publish under a pen name maybe?"

Until 30 minutes ago, I never mentioned to her in person that I wanted to write a book, so yet another twist in confusion. "Nope. I kind of lost my muse after high school so I don't write anything for myself anymore. It's all technical stuff now, like how to change a power supply in a medicine pump."

With a beaming smile she repeated almost inaudibly, "Lost your muse."

I thought I'd try to steer this conversation to some kind of normality, "So you know about me, now I want to know what you've been up to. School? Job? Have you done any traveling?"

"Yeah, sure," she replied, "I got a college degree mostly online. Mother thought I was getting a degree in economics but instead I got a B.A. in Humanities, a major in psychology. When she passed away, I got my teaching credential and I'm now a junior counselor for the high school. Funny, getting schooled at home, then college online, only now am I in an actual school building. Oh, and traveling, nada on that. Though I always hope to someday. I've got a thing for France, Egypt, maybe Israel, Turkey. Greece would be fun."

With her last point, I remembered a dream where we were riding a chariot over a cobblestoned street, pulled by 6 white stallions. She looked cute in a toga.

She studied my face again, "Come on. Talk to me, Mark."

In a moment of courage, I blurted out honestly, "I'm so confused, Myra. You talk to me like we're old friends. Like you've missed me even, but we don't even know each other. Yet, it's so familiar and at the same time, so impossible."

She sighed and took both my hands. "You said you lost your muse. It was me, wasn't it?"

I was floundering. "Yes. And no."

She nodded her head, like she fully understood. That was one of us. "Mark. I really believe that what's meant for you will always find its way back to you."

"You're talking about destiny, right?"

"Call it whatever you want, but in these short couple hours, I thought I knew before but I'm now positive that we were meant for each other. And you came back to me." Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She wiped them with the napkin on the table and composed herself following a sniffle. She got up and pulled me next to her. "Come on. We have to have a serious talk, and not here."

How much more serious could we get?

*

We walked to a little park a few blocks away. They're called micro-parks, but it was a nice respite compared to the chaos of the shopping centers and 7 lane roads crammed with aggressive California drivers that we walked through to get there. She insisted on holding my hand while we walked in silence, but I enjoyed the feeling, remembering our last walk on the beach together in my dream.

She asked me to sit on a bench in the middle of the park while she paced back and forth in front of me, wringing her hands. This was not the Myra I was used to. My Myra was confident, bold, she used to say the wildest things and with no regret.

She finally landed on the words she wanted to say, "I want to break this to you gently, Mark. I don't want you to freak out and run. I've just gotten you back and I can't lose you again. I just can't." She looked at me nervously and sat down next to me taking my hands in hers.

"I didn't know how you did it at the time. When you broke the connection, I was really hurt. I was so seriously in love with you it was like I had been dumped. Rejected. For a while I just moped around and every night I went to bed hoping you'd bring me back. Then I tried to cope, thinking that you didn't love me the same way, but I don't know, I really felt something between you and me. It had to be real or it wouldn't have been possible to make what you did happen. You had to have loved me. How else could you have done it? And you were so good to me in your dreams. You really cared about me. You listened to me, we had wonderful talks in addition to our adventures. How many times did you make me your queen? I meant that much to you."

My mind screamed. For a minute all I could hear was white noise while I processed what she was telling me. I tried to get up and pull away, but she held me tightly.

"No you don't," she said while struggling to hold me down.

"This is fucking crazy," I exclaimed, hearing the panic in my own voice.

"I know, I know, I know. Trust me, it blew my mind when I first realized what was going on, but it happened. Just sit. Let me finish." I was breathing heavily but managed to calm down enough to stay seated. I could feel her strong grip on my hands lighten up.

She took a deep breath and continued, "It took years. Well after we had moved apart, but I figured out what you had done and learned how to lucid dream from scratch. When it finally happened, I tried to bring you in but couldn't. At first I worried you might have died, but I Googled you and it appeared that you were OK. It was two weeks ago when I was finally able to bring you in. There you were, in my boat in the Hall of Mirrors, and I left it up to you to find me. If you did, then we were meant to be. I just knew it. And here you are. You found me."

Only she started to cry at that, until it became gut wrenching, deep sobbing. Her face was wet with tears and snot running from her nose. It was the most emotional thing I had ever seen and my heart broke right there. I instinctively moved her to my lap and held her, rubbing her back while she buried her face into my shoulder, making my shirt wet.

I tried to make sense of it all in my mind, but that was never going to happen. None of this made any sense. Yet I couldn't deny that she had inside information into my dream and I had not told a living soul about that. What kind of phenomenon was this?

Then I had another thought. I immediately felt selfish for it, but the awesomeness of this was overwhelming but also so incredible. She's telling me that the real Myra and my dream girl version of Myra were one and the same.

After a while she calmed down. She apologized for her outburst and looked embarrassed, but I held on to her hands until she cleaned her face up with a napkin from her purse. I asked her, "Do you remember the advice you gave me in my last dream together, on the end of a dock over the water?"

She smiled and said softly, "Yes. I told you that when you talk to girls at school, pretend like you were talking to me, right? Did it work?"

"It did," I replied.

She got kind of a satisfied look on her face and cupped my cheek. "I'm glad."

We sat for a while. It was slow to sink in. With certain memories of times we spent together, I realized that she was the best friend I ever had, and not from a dream, but now for real. Could that be right? God, I hoped so.

I had to ask, "Myra. In our dream time together, were you in control of your own actions? Were the things you said in our conversations really from you? I mean, I didn't think all that up on my own, did I?"

"That was all me," she replied with a smile. "Though I wish you would have let me dress myself. Some of the things you put me in were a little hard to bear."

I grinned back at her. She said, "Do you remember that time you were sailing that big ship in a storm and we were chasing that pirate? You were so brave, and your imagination was running full speed on all cylinders. The storm was wiping our shipmates overboard left and right, but you gave me confidence to stand strong. You never looked to me as a damsel that needed saving but always as an active partner. Even when we caught up to the pirate, you gave me a sword and we fought alongside each other. As partners, a team even. The way you included me with respect and enthusiasm into your narrative. That's the very kind of man I've been looking for but haven't been able to find after you left me."

I laughed at the memory. "Yeah, I remember that pirate. Especially when you dodged his sword but he cut a lock of your hair off. You got so pissed you slashed with your sword like a demon, backing him right to the end of the plank before you fed him to the fishes."

*

We spent the whole day together until I walked her home and to my car. I used her contact info on my phone and we talked almost every day. We went out a few times for dinner and sometimes we would go over the finer points of some of my old dreams, but we were getting to know each other as the people we were now and making new memories.

It was nice. Sometimes I'd have some anxiety about the phenomenon we had shared together so many years ago, but I was so happy being with Myra that I just resolved myself to accept that what had happened really did happen and to not spoil it.

After one of those dinners, I walked her to her door and she kissed me. Really kissed me. Actually, I might have moved in to kiss her first. I was noticing a change in me, she made me a better person. I was more confident and just being around her made me feel more in control of my life and like it was less of a disaster. I could be myself around her and I actually liked this version of myself. It was from there that I summoned the courage to kiss her, which I moved right to the top of my list of things I cherished doing with her.

Even at work, I was more assertive, I stopped letting my coworkers get me to take on some of their responsibilities and stuck to my own. I started thinking about writing again and was journaling about my time spent with Myra. I was even sleeping better.

It was on a Saturday that we hiked Mission Trails Regional Park, reaching the peak of Mt. Fortuna. It is a long trail, very steep in places and very rocky. We were exhausted when we got to the top and I knew we'd have sore muscles later and probably the next day too. We sat and enjoyed the view, sometimes talking about all kinds of things. It dawned on me how easy it was to talk to her now. Just like it had been in my old dreams.

I brought up how I had journaled our time together from back in the day (um, night actually), and she was adamant that she wanted to read it. Everything. As soon as possible.

We made our way down the mountain, and I dropped her off at her home before going home for my own shower. She showed up at my door an hour later and I laid it all out for her on my iPad. She read while I made her dinner, and being a small open-plan apartment, I could watch her do so. She laughed out loud at times and would also go through a myriad of other emotions, sometimes very serious. Sometimes she would retell me one of my entries from her point of view and how she remembered feeling when she experienced it. Some of them she didn't remember at all until she read the entry.

I had her pause for dinner, and we ate in my little kitchenette, but not before she kissed me. "You know you have a book in there, don't you." She stated, not like a question.

I replied, "What are you talking about?"

"There's a book in there. All those entries, our adventures, our burgeoning romance. There's totally a book in there, maybe several. I'll see your name on the best seller's list yet."

*

Our muscles were indeed sore that evening. She tired of reading and then lay on the couch with her head on a pillow over my lap. I ran my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp at intervals. I hadn't asked her to stay, but she seemed in no hurry to leave. I had the ball game on with the volume turned down real low, but I wasn't really watching. She started to drift in and out of sleep until she sat up and mumbled for me to lie down.

She curled up into me. We spooned, me behind her with my arm around her waist, and I thought it was the greatest feeling in the world despite that everything else on my body hurt. This wasn't how I hoped the evening would end though. I had hoped she would fall asleep in my arms in my own bed and without her still wearing her tight yoga pants and tee shirt. We were both tired, so I understood. I turned the TV off with the remote, glad I had gotten the too-big-for-my-apartment couch and we had plenty of room to be comfortable together.

I had a strange sensation before finding myself standing in front of a reclining Myra, who was absolutely nude. She lay on a pillowed chaise lounge, a ribbon tied neatly with a bow around her neck and a gold bracelet with a charm at the middle of her forearm. There was a flower in her hair and loose sandals of some sort on her feet. She hid her mons with one hand but was otherwise completely exposed until I realized that she was recreating Olympia from Edouard Monet's painting, but with her own body. Without the servant in attendance, thank goodness.

She smiled at me with a playful, somewhat wicked glint in her eye.

I, on the other hand, was wearing a garish 19th century Parisian something. It reminded me of a Musketeer maybe. Myra lifted her hand, finally revealing her sex, and waved her arm as if clearing a table with it. Now I was naked from head to toe and she motioned me towards her.

I kissed her as she fully reclined but reminded her softly, "I promised you I wouldn't undress you in my dreams."

She replied, "Then it's good that this is my dream and not yours."

I climbed up next to her and we lay on our sides facing each other until we wrapped our legs together in a scissors fashion and we kissed some more until she positioned me at her entrance and we coupled for the first time. Well, in thought, actually, but it felt as physical as could be.

We moved well together, Myra had our two bodies corkscrew and slightly lifted off the chaise. As we rotated slowly, almost like a rotisserie, I would alternate at being on top and then she would all the while I was thrusting in rhythm with her thrusting back, in perfect time. It was probably the hottest thing I had ever experienced. We went at it for a long while, sometimes kissing and at other times, looking into each other's eyes until the scene changed. We were in a semi dark alley, I had her up against the wall as warm raindrops started to fall. The intensity of the rain increased as did the intensity of Myra. She moaned and I sucked on her neck as she pulled on my ass to drive me deeper, while I continued to push her harder into the wall. Before I knew it, I was the one against the wall with her defying gravity, grinding and gyrating on my sex in perfect time. Our hair was completely saturated while water ran down our faces in rivers until the rain gradually came to a stop. A gust of wind blew us into the air until there was nothing around us but a warm golden hue. The heavy air held us into a hover that felt as soft and wet as did her perfect insides.

It was such a sensuous experience; I was ready to climax and I hoped she might be ready too until she stopped moving and pulled her face back with a curious look. "Wait. Not like this. Wake on one. Five-four-three-two-one."

I immediately became aware I was once again on the couch in my apartment. Myra was quickly wriggling out of her yoga pants. I was a little slow on the uptake and didn't start fooling with the button on my shorts until Myra finished first with her pants and furiously worked on mine to get them down and off my legs.

She was breathing heavily and moved with intense determination until she was on top of me and trying to locate her entrance, guiding my erection with her grip. I managed to get her to pause.

"Condom," I gasped.

"Safe," she gasped back and with that she slid down my erection until it was fully inserted. Her moan was almost like a whisper, but I felt it too and she shuddered. Amazing in every way I could have ever imagined. Our pelvises danced in time with an audible slapping sound which just amplified the magnitude of the moment and the sensitivity of our very wet sex. I warned her that I was cumming and she just whispered, "Me too," before we both moaned through our climaxes.

*

*

I was staring out the second story window into the centuries old cobblestone street when I heard Myra clear her throat from behind me, "Ahem."

She was leaning in pose against the hallway, one hand on her hip, an elbow held high against the wall and exposing most of her leg through a slit in her dress. Not just any dress, but that of Queen of Sheba.

I approached her in full admiration until my arms were around her. "You look gorgeous, my love."

She kissed me and then said, "Thank you, my king." Stroking my cheek lightly with her long nails she spoke regally, "I had a great day today. I think my favorite part was being with you in the Hall of Mirrors. What was your favorite part?"

"I would have said seeing the painting of Olympia in the Musee d'Orsay, but now I think it's seeing you in this dress," I responded.

"Oh my gosh, Mark. It took us an entire year to save up for this trip, I had to find an artist to draw up this dress and then a seamstress to custom make it and in less than five minutes, all you can think about is for me to take it off?"

I nodded a silent affirmative and gave her a quick but meaningful kiss.

She responded dreamily, "As you wish."

*

*

*

The friendly bookstore owner that graciously monitored the question-and-answer period of my book signing event held up his hand. "One more question," he announced before pointing to a woman in the middle row who had her hand held up.

The woman nervously stood up but gathered her courage to ask her question, first starting with a compliment. "I loved your new book. Even better than the first one. What I want to know is that you describe your character's love interest with so much emotion and it was so heartfelt that I can't believe she isn't real. Do you have a real-life muse who inspired you to write such a character?"