Dream Logic Ch. 02

Thank you for the kind feedback on chapter one! This next part is more about developing the characters a bit, with less emphasis on the actual sex - but part three will be very much the other way around. Chapter three will likely be the last chapter for this story, but I may revisit these characters another time later.

***

"And over here, we have the hydromassage chairs. Their use is included in your membership, and they're great for relaxing after a long workout."

Harris made appreciative noises, and dutifully paused to look over the chair. Despite everything else going through his mind at that moment, he was actually very impressed with the gym he was touring. "Very nice. What's next, Kyrie?"

His guide turned and smiled, her grin most definitely lighting up the room, as far as he was concerned. "I think we've covered about everything, Harris!" She gestured around her, drawing Harris's eyes away from her and back to the assortment of other customers and workout machines scattered throughout the gym floor. "We've only been open for a year, but we've already created a thriving community, ranging from fitness professionals to those like you who are just getting started. It's important to us that all of our members feel welcome at all times, so definitely let us know if you ever have any problems along those lines — or about anything at all!"

He nodded. "That's actually really good to hear. I've had some problems at other gyms, who seemed to think it was funny to have bigger people come in try and lose some extra weight."

Kyrie's eyes narrowed. "Seriously? That's horrid!"

"I'm afraid so. Put me off going to a gym for years, a lot of time lost."

"Well, I'm really, really glad that you came in today." She glanced around again, her gaze lingering for just a moment on an older woman in a company-branded hoodie sitting off to one side, twenty feet away, her head bent over a stack of paperwork. Kyrie met Harris's gaze and and nodded her head towards that woman, silently mouthing the words "my boss", and gritting her teeth nervously for a moment. Harris glanced over and nodded back to show he understood, and Kyrie went back into "saleswoman" mode. "So... should we pull the trigger and get you signed up?"

"You really sold me on the place, Kyrie. Let's do this!"

"That's great! Just follow me back to the front desk, and I'll work through your forms as fast as possible."

As she turned to head that direction, Harris couldn't help but take a deep breath and boggle at everything going on this morning. Kyrie was an absolute knockout, unquestionably the hottest woman he'd ever had a direct conversation with. She was sculpted and fit in all the ways he wasn't, five feet tall and every inch of her a woman of legend. Her long golden hair was tied into a braid that reached the small of her back, and her dark eyes burned like coals, full of life and passion. Between the shape of those eyes and her last name of "Saito", Harris guessed that she was partly of Japanese descent, not that it really mattered. She carried herself with the utmost confidence and poise, reveling in the fact that no one would ever mistake her for anyone else. She was her own person, and Harris could tell that she loved being who and what she was. That sense of self was, if anything, even more attractive to him than the flawless curves barely hidden under her gymwear.

I want to find whomever invented this yoga pants trend, and shake their hand, Harris thought to himself, taking in a deep appreciation for the way Kyrie's backside moved underneath the tight fabric. Her pants and sports bra were both black with gold trim, and the pants had several areas along her thighs that were semi-transparent, further adding to the tantalizing effect.

As they reached the desk and sat down on either side of it, Harris took a deep breath to try and calm his libido. In most circumstances, he'd be idly wondering what Kyrie's body really looked like without those tight clothes, while trying not to be obvious about undressing her with his eyes — but today, things were different. Last night, these two strangers had somehow shared a dream, where they not only saw each other completely naked, but fell into a passionate embrace almost immediately. When they ended up meeting each other in person this morning and recognizing each other from the dream, both were shocked that the lover from their dream was all too real.

In his dream, he'd brought her to a screaming oral climax first, and then woken up just as she was getting started on returning the favor — and she'd dropped hints today that her dream had gone exactly the same way. Once the official tour started, she'd been very careful to be a complete professional, but there were moments when he thought she might have been looking at him with a very thoughtful expression.

"So, Harris — you're not just getting this membership because I'm the one selling it, I hope."

"Absolutely not. I mean, I'm..." he paused, trying to find the right way to phrase things. "...really glad to have your company, but I'm very serious about trying to get into a real exercise routine here. This gym seems like the best plate for that."

As she was writing something down on her clipboard, Harris decided to go for broke. "But that being said, I really would like to buy yo—"

Kyrie held up one finger to her lips, and pointedly glanced back in the direction of her boss. She tore a sheet of paper off her pad, and set it down in front of him. He looked down, and saw that she'd written a note for him there: STRICT COMPANY RULES. NO FRATERNIZING WITH CUSTOMERS...

She saw his sad expression, and held up one finger again, in a "wait for it" gesture before returning back to writing another note, which she passed to him a moment later: ...ON COMPANY PROPERTY. OTHERWISE, I WOULD HAVE BLOWN YOU IN THAT SAUNA ROOM, BELIEVE IT!

The exclamation point had a little heart for the dot, and was followed by a doodle of a slyly grinning smiley face, lickings its own lips. He looked back up at Kyrie, and she quickly traced a fingertip across her clothed nipple as her eyes locked with his. She then quickly produced a third note: YES, I WOULD LOVE FOR YOU TO BUY ME A DRINK. MY SHIFT ENDS AT 3:00 PM. HINT: I LOVE FLOWERS AND COFFEE.

Harris was still thinking about that hypothetical blow job, but he managed to carefully fold up the three notes, and put them into his pocket. "Thank you, Kyrie." He glanced over in the manager's direction, thankfully still distracted by her paperwork, and then back to the vision in front of him. "Once we get my membership sorted out, I was planning to go shopping for some workout clothes, and then come back this afternoon. I'm thinking I'll be back around 2:00, and then head out around 3:00. Maybe I'll see you around then?"

Kyrie gave a small laugh. "I've got a training session from two to three, so you'll see me on the floor — but after I'm done, I'll help you out with some cooldown stretches. Sound good?"

"Absolutely."

***

As Harris stepped out of the locker room at 2:00 that afternoon, clad in a brand new pair of loose shorts and t-shirt, he stopped and looked around the gym floor. While not excessively crowded, there were still a large number of people scattered around, each absorbed in their own routine, or working in small groups. He spotted Kyrie off in one corner, helping a pregnant woman work through some stretching routines, and decided to find his own patch of floor to do some warmups of his own.

It was still nerve-wracking, making his way through the aisles, passing by all these people sporting definition and muscle tone that a professional wrestler would envy. He knew it was irrational to think that they even registered his presence at all, much less had some sort of nefarious plan to humiliate him. But all the same, he still felt like he was walking around with a giant "Kick Me" sign pinned to his back.

Eventually, he did find an empty spot at the edge of the room, and after a few moments of indecision, started doing jumping jacks. A minute later, an man's voice coughed politely behind him, and Harris stopped to turn around.

The man standing there had the face of a grandfather, but the wiry and muscular arms of Bruce Lee. His hair was silver, his face full of laughter lines, and he bore a full mustache that clearly received as much hard work and maintenance as his arms did. "Are you Harris? Kyrie asked me to look out for you." He wore a plain white tanktop and a pair of purple sweatpants, his face wide and smiling.

Harris let out a held breath at the mention of Kyrie's name. "Yeah, that's me. I just joined this morning." After a moment's hesitation, he held out his hand. "Harris Kaminski."

The older man accepted the handshake, and thankfully felt no need to exert any strength into his grip then, which made Harris feel even more at ease. "Roscoe Jacobsen, pleased to meet'cha."

"Thanks, Mr. Jacobsen, I appreciate that. I feel out of my element here."

"Hogwash! And call me Roscoe, I retired from teaching high school ten years ago, and left the whole 'Mister' nonsense behind with it."

Harris gave him a thumbs-up. "Roscoe it is, then. What did you teach?"

"American History. Lord knows we're living in some weird times now, though. The history books on the early twenty-first century are going to make for some intense reading, no two ways about it."

Harris remembered his own history teacher, and the big poster she'd had mounted on the classroom's back wall. "My history teacher had a favorite saying: 'Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it.' George Santayana, I think."

Roscoe's smile got even wider, his gleaming white grin showing below his mustache. "Oh, I know we're gonna be friends now. You went to West Ridge and sat in Mrs. Russell's class, didn't ya!"

"Guilty as charged." Harris smiled as a few memories flitted through the back of his mind. "She was one of the best teachers I ever had, hands down."

"Damn straight, and God rest her soul. But we can waltz down memory lane another time, we're in a gym and this is workout time. I saw you doing jumping jacks just now — and I gotta tell ya: Don't. Wreck your knees with that shit, 'specially being a bigger fella. That's smart that you wanna warm up, but let me show you some better stretches for that. Sound good?"

In spite of himself, Harris looked around the room again, and thankfully, no one else seemed to be watching him and Roscoe. He knew in his head that he wasn't being set up to be some sort of show, with Roscoe as the instigator. But even so, the old fears were still there; Roscoe's kindness still felt suspicious. At that moment, his gaze came again to where Kyrie was working with her client. Somehow sensing that he was looking her way, she looked up, waved, and when she saw who Harris was standing with, she flashed him a big "OK" signal, making a circle with her thumb and forefinger. His last doubts fading away, Harris turned back to the older man next to him. "If you're willing to spend the time on me, I'm willing to learn."

Roscoe patted Harris on the back. "Son, I'm a retired widower with a fat pension, a healthy diversified stock portfolio, and more free time than I know what to do with. I got in on the ground floor with this new place, and I damn near made it my second home." He stood opposite from Harris, and stood with his legs slightly spread. "Now do what I do. Feet shoulder width apart, keep 'em flat, and reach up and over with one hand. Stretch out like you're trying to grab a ceiling light. Yeah, just like that."

***

One hour later, Roscoe and Harris were getting dressed in the locker room, having washed off the last hour's layer of sweat. Roscoe bent over as he sat on a bench, slipping on a pair of dress shoes. "So I got a question for you. If I'm outta line askin' you this, Harris, you just say the word."

Harris lifted up one arm to sniff himself, and put on another bit of gel deodorant, just in case. "Fire away, Roscoe."

"How'd you and Kyrie get acquainted?"

Harris paused as he replaced the deodorant's cap. "A series of strange coincidences, I guess you could say. We, ah, bumped into each other briefly last night, I apparently made a good first impression, and then it just so happened that she was working at the gym I was planning to join." That seems as safe an explanation as any, he thought to himself. "Blew both our minds when I walked in to see her behind the desk."

Roscoe nodded. "She said much the same." He looked up from his shoes, and straightened his collar. "You sweet on her? Because her eyes were all lit up when she asked me to help you out. I'd hate to think she's making something out of nothing."

Shaking out his jeans as he pulled them from his locker, Harris gave a lopsided grin. "Let me put it this way. Yesterday, I had zero intention of looking for a date anytime soon, because I've had a lot happen this week, and I'm still figuring things out. But Kyrie..." He paused to collect his thoughts again as he stepped into his pants. "I'm really glad this happened. I've known her less than twenty four hours, but I definitely want to keep on seeing her. So yeah, 'sweet on her' sounds about right." As he pulled on a clean black golf shirt, he raised a playful eyebrow in Roscoe's direction. "Why, am I going to have to fight you for her?"

Roscoe gave a hearty laugh at that. "I may be single, but I much prefer the fine wine of ladies my own age, thank you very much. Naw, Kyrie's a sweetheart. We've been good friends this last year, and I want to make sure her next boy's a kinder sort than the last couple of dolts she picked out."

Running his fingers through his hair, Harris cursed himself for forgetting to bring a comb. "Probably best that I leave that last part alone. Hey, does my hair look okay?"

His new friend just laughed. "You look fine, ya big bear. Now get on out there, and show her a good time."

***

"Look at you, Harris! Fresh out of the shower, just the way I like 'em." Kyrie and Harris were standing just outside the gym's front door, their breath misting in the cold afternoon air. Kyrie was wearing a pair of jeans almost as snug as her yoga pants, and a blue winter-weight jacket above that. "I didn't get to say before, but you look really good in that jacket. Where did you find it?"

He grinned, rightly proud of his favorite item of clothing. "I was in Los Angeles for a business trip, about four years ago, and spotted it in the window of a store as I walked past. I knew immediately that I had to have it. Glad you like it, and may I say you look lovely as well." He gestured out to the lot. "I happened to buy something for you while I was out today; if you'll follow me, it's in my car."

Kyrie sashayed alongside him, smiling up at her much taller companion. "Should I close my eyes?"

"No need, we're right here." Harris hit the unlock button on his keychain, and pulled a loosely-wrapped package out from the back seat of his four-door Toyota. Holding it out to her in both hands, Kyrie carefully ripped off the paper to reveal a small flower pot, containing a single orchid with dark purple and white petals, the long stem wrapped around a small metal rod sticking out of the pot.

"Oh my... Harris, are you on point or WHAT?" Her eyes lit up anew, and she squeezed his hands. "You are SO perfect, I can't believe it. But we have to get in the car right now. You're going to drive me home before this gorgeous blossom freezes to death." She carefully plucked the pot and what was left of the wrapping paper out of his hands, and walked around to his passenger-side door, climbing in without pause.

"I figured it would be okay to leave it in the car a bit longer while we got coffee, but this works too. What about your car?" He slid into the driver's seat, and held the flower again for a moment while Kyrie fastened her seat belt.

"I live three blocks from here, so I just walk to work every day. I've got a car, but I don't use it too much." She took the plant back, and pointed out his route. "Left out the drive way, then left again at the light, and then left at the second stop sign."

Harris shifted the car into gear, and made his way out into the afternoon traffic. "If you like, I can just wait in the car while you take the flower inside, and then we'll head to the restaurant I had in mind."

"Where did you want to go?"

"One sec." Harris watched the oncoming traffic for an opening, and then eased his car through the major intersection. "Okay. Ever had Ethiopian coffee?"

Kyrie shook her head. "I don't think I've ever had Ethiopian anything. Do they make it strong?"

Harris couldn't help but chuckle as he approached the last turn. "From what I've read, Ethiopia *invented* coffee. This place roasts the beans right in front of you, then grinds them up and brews you a fresh pot on the spot. And yes, it is very strong."

"Holy shit, I have to try that... wait! That blue house on the right. Park there."

Pulling up to the curb, Harris left the engine running, and unlocked the doors. "Orchid Home Delivery, at your service. I'll wait right here, and... Kyrie?"

"Yeah, Harris?"

"Thank you for trusting me, letting me drive you home. I really appreciate that."

Kyrie blinked in surprise, and absorbed that for a moment in silence. "Call it intuition, but I feel like you deserve that trust, Harris. Really." She looked down at the flower in her lap, and then raised her eyes back to meet his again, a new resolve shining in her smile. "Come on inside. It's too cold to wait out here." She opened her door, and turned back to look at him. "Are you coming, or what?"

Harris's jaw dropped, but turned off the car, grabbed his keys, and followed her up the side staircase to her second-floor apartment.

"I live by myself. The landlord lives on the first floor, but she travels a lot, so we worked out a deal where she knocks a little off my rent if I pick up her mail, shovel snow, mow the lawn, that sort of stuff." Kyrie immediately placed the orchid on a front window ledge so it could get some sunlight, and then grabbed a keychain hanging on a pegboard by the door. "In fact, I need to check that mail now, before I get, ah, distracted. Hang your jacket up, have a seat. I'll be right back."

Putting his jacket on an empty peg, Harris took a look around. The apartment's living room had a medium-sized flatscreen TV mounted on one wall, with a large rug and unrolled yoga mat before it. There was also a large sofa there facing the TV, but it was not the same pattern as the sofa in their shared dream, the one that seemed to shift in size to accommodate their cuddling. That dream-sofa had been white with gold flowers on it, while this one was a solid dark brown color.

He sat down, feeling his muscles unwind after the short but intense workout with Roscoe, and looked around further. The walls were painted a soft sky-blue color, and a host of framed photos and painting prints hung around the room. A young man with the same blond hair and facial features as Kyrie appeared in most of them, either with Kyrie or on his own — a brother, perhaps. One picture showed Kyrie and this man standing between an older Japanese man in an expensive business suit, and a middle-aged caucasian woman in a casual summer dress with Kyrie's smile and a thick mane of wavy blonde hair, presumably her parents.

His inspection was interrupted by a large cat suddenly jumped up onto his lap. "Whoa! Hey there." The silver-grey feline was larger than most housecats, stocky and muscular, with gold eyes and a well-groomed soft coat of fur. The cat looked him up and down, and then reared up on his hind legs to put his front paws on Harris's chest. "And what's your name?" The cat responded by butting his forehead into Harris's chin. Harris scratched gently on the cat's ears, which led to more headbutting and a loud purr that echoed through the room.