Dreaming In Neon

Awake. The clock blinks 3:42 with the red digital dot next to the "AM." I open my eyes to watch the headlights of cars momentarily stain the ceiling. I turn my head and watch her breathe. She's so comfortable with herself awake and asleep. So content in the world she's presented with. It's in the way she gives me those half smiles across the table or the way her almond-shaped brown eyes narrow to a slit when she laughs at something that only she would find humor in. It's in the way she takes a deep breath every single time she steps outside and looks up at the sky before proclaiming "Today is different than any other day!"

Sara and I met exactly one year ago today at a diner down the street. She bought me coffee and invited me back to her place and I've really never left. At twenty-eight Sara is obviously successful at what she does. What that is, I don't know. I've never had enough interest to ask. I do, however, know that Sara's husband, her "soul mate," she claims, died when they were both twenty-two. I also know that Sara loves me more as a son than as a lover. True, we are lovers, by all definitions, but not by design. Sara gives me food, shelter and doesn't ask where I've come from or where I'm going. That seems to be enough for both of us as I lie here watching her chest rise and fall under an old yellow shirt with oil stains that most likely belonged to her husband since I haven't seen her touch a car with any mechanic intentions.

I slide from under the sheets off the bed and grab the jeans I've left crumpled on the floor and I slip into them. I look at Sara resting. She looks so helpless all alone, but I know better. Her petite frame and alabaster skin are so deceptive to the holistic woman that is Sara. Like a mother bear: compassionate one moment, vicious the next (although, never unjustly). I pull an old t-shirt on that Sara gave me when I first moved in. It honestly looks like it was made for a child and has the words "Las Vegas!" printed on the front in rainbow bubble letters. I wonder if Sara's been to Las Vegas before. I don't think I have. After slipping into a pair of old shoes I step out into the dark air and look at the sky: void of all stars, moon, and sun. Coffee sounds good.

Sleep is pointless when you can't dream. As I stroll down the quiet street to the diner, something is amiss. Unnaturally quiet. But not fully void of life. Picking up speed, I keep my gaze ahead of me on my destination. I can see the diner now. Three blocks away. The shadows are coming to life all around me, stirring and inviting me into them. I hear whispers all around me in hushed excitement, as though they know my fate and can hardly wait to watch it unfold. And then… silence. Nothing should be this quiet, so I stop to listen for anything. Nothing. Suddenly, a figure forms from the shadows and steps forth. Time is frozen, I realize, as nothing is stirring but us. This figure wears a frumpy brown robe with a hood making it quite impossible to choose fear, excitement, or disgust as a response until two very feminine and pale hands with what seems to resemble tribal tattoos running down each digit and starting at the back of her hand, reach up to pull the hood back and loose the hair from it's confines in the robe. I can only offer a state of awe in return.

She steps towards me so that she is a finger's breadth away before reaching her hand up to gently stroke the side of my face. Her crystal blue eyes follow her fingers before she returns her soft gaze to mine with a half smile. Her deep brown hair that offsets her pale complexion cascades down her back in hundreds of tiny braids to her waist and she has a chain connecting the nose ring on her left nostril to one of her earrings in her left lobe. Finally, she draws her hand back and opens her silver-stained lips to issue forth a statement: "I've found you." She then runs the pad of her thumb down her tongue and presses it right above where the bridge of my nose ends while I close my eyes and in a rich, deep voice, she leaves me with the words "Come back to me."

***

I open my eyes. The sun is in the sky and everything is as it should be. Did I passed out? Have I been standing in the same spot the whole time? Rather than take time to actually figure this out, I decide to head back home.

Sara must be at work. She's left me a note that dinner is in the refrigerator and that she won't be home until later. It's signed with x's and o's. I'm not hungry. I just want to lie down so I walk to the bedroom and fall on the bed not even bothering to undress.

I close my eyes.

***

I open my eyes. This isn't home. Where am I? I lift myself off the tangle of rusty pipes that I've apparently been sleeping on. The air is yellow and dense with fog so that I can see only ten feet ahead. What is this place? I step forward with a journey in mind. All I see is dense air and tangled rusty pipe as ground, but I hear running water. Everything is so surreal. This must be a dream! It has to be! A lucid dream! I've never dreamt before… how strange. And yet, I continue forward to see what this dream has to offer.

After walking a ways, the ground turns into a dirt path and the air begins to thin out. I follow the path until it begins to descend into a body of water. I kneel to the ground to look at my reflection in the yellow waters. My black shoulder-length hair is disheveled and my eyes seem to be an icier blue than they actually are. I'm naked. Not a stitch on me. I stand up and look at my body and realize why Sara always nags me to eat. I look something like a bag of bones. Some rogue ripples of water quite suddenly interrupt my image and before I can look about the water to see the source of disturbance I can hear her humming. It's a girl bathing in the waters (although, why she is bathing in such water escapes me).

She is not borne of this earth: Sun-bronzed skin that glimmers from any slight flex of her muscles, taught and tone beneath that smooth, golden skin. A manifestation of perfection for my dream. She wades through the water, her hair, in golden ringlets weighed down by clouded drops of water. On her back she boasts six rings that pierce the flesh. There are three rings on either side of her spine about six inches apart with the two middle rings in line with her waist. A red ribbon laced through the rings pulls her skin taught and floats behind her in a saturated bow on the water's surface.

As she strolls through the water away from where I stand, her arms lay limp at the sides with her fingers redefining the wake she creates. If she is aware of my presence she has yet to acknowledge it. Reaching the other end of the pond, she lifts herself to sit on a brown, velvet blanket laid across the bed of rock lining the pool. It is as though her body was chipped from marble; so Romanesque and perfect. She is petite and voluptuous in the same motion with hips round enough to bear a child and breasts swelled just to the point where they don't give into gravity. She allows the water to drip off her body and without looking at me she asks, "Who are you?" Lifting her eyes to stare at me, she catches my response in my throat with her unabashed curiosity. "You're different," she proclaims quite matter-of-factly. Her voice seems to match that of a young girl both in pitch and naivety.

I start walking towards her, still silent, and I watch as she pulls her legs into her body crossed at the ankles with her hands clasped around them trying to keep everything from falling apart. As I draw closer I see that there is a definite incandescent quality to her skin and her eyes are of a golden hue, melting to a delicate chocolate brown on the outer edges of the irises.

"Come, sit with me," she urges while patting the area on the velvet in front of her. I gaze down at her for a moment with my head cocked to the side before allowing myself to sit cross-legged in front of her. "You are different," she repeats. "No marks," she comments as she reaches her right hand out to run her delicate and still moist fingers down my chest. Her touch is so feathery that whether or not she meant to arouse me, my nipples stiffen and I feel myself stir.

"Should I have markings?" I question, slightly teasing her with a half smile and a raised eyebrow.

"I've just never seen anyone around here without any markings," she continues to marvel, her eyes wide in awe.

"So tell me something," I lean forward and reach a hand behind her to gently pull on the ribbon causing her to jump with surprise a bit while still maintaining her position, "how did you manage to get these 'markings?'"

"They tell the story of why I fell."

"From grace?" I ask teasing her still. She just furrows her brow in confusion and acts as though I'd not asked that question.

"My name is Nahaliel. What's yours?" Her words are akin to that of a young child who has just found a playmate. Her purity stirs something within.

"Israfel."

"Israfel," she echoes. Her eyes gently wander as though she's looking at something visible solely to her before she decides, "I think I like that."

"You only think?" I question, raising an eyebrow. Nahaliel, again, ignores what I have said and is instead, obviously, thinking on something.

"Would you touch where I fell, Israfel?" I only smile at her, curious as to what it is she's actually asking of me. Nahaliel then, without a word, rolls to her knees and kneels upright facing away from me. Turning her head to the side to address me, she says, "Go on. Touch."

I kneel sitting back on my feet behind her and hesitantly finger the rings on her back while she begins to shudder and arch her head back before letting out a soft moan. "This is how I fell," she whispers as though it is a sacred secret. I continue to run my fingers over flesh, metal, and ribbon and she continues to sigh and speak in a hushed tone. "This is what sent me here. His touch sent me here." I would normally write this off as babbling, but she drives each syllable with such passion.

Bold and stirred by her moans and bodily reactions, I rise so that I'm kneeling right behind her and she coos when she feels me harden against her lower back, for I am at least a head taller than she. I run my hands under her arms and grip each breast, still moist, in my hands firmly and massage and grind them into her while clutching her closer to my body. Nahaliel wraps her arms around my neck and drops her head back to my left shoulder. Her wet hair sends chills up my spine and gives me gooseflesh.

"He was so beautiful," she continues, her breath gaining in speed. "And he said I could be beautiful too if I just let him touch me." I roll her coral nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and she inhales sharply while I grow at her obvious excitement and press against her lower back. Letting go of her breasts, I softly brush my hands down her ribs and over her soft belly to her mound which I can feel is covered in damp, silky curls that I instinctively know match her hair. I gently and quickly run the nail of my right middle finger downwards along the cleft of her sex causing her to cry out and snap her head up. And still she manages to speak. "He said it was just a touch, nothing more." She has this incredible heat emanating from her inner folds that counters the cool damp of her mound.

For a moment, just a moment, I catch myself and remember that I'm dreaming and I wonder how I could have such a detailed and fulfilling inner universe. Lightly teasing Nahaliel at her opening with my middle finger, I start to nibble on her right earlobe. I can't tell if she is moaning from pleasure or whimpering at the teasing right now so I dip my finger into her and place my thumb on her nub to gently begin massaging it in small circles. Apparently frustrated, Nahaliel places her hands over mind and forces my index finger inside her along with my middle finger while pressing my thumb harder against her bud. She gyrates her hips against mine and I roll my head back and moan to feel her soft skin rub against mine so aggressively.

Despite the splendor I realize we both are experiencing at this point, I remove my hands and turn Nahaliel on her back while kneeling between her legs and she giggles like a small child wrestling a fellow schoolmate. About to lean over her, she stops me with a hand to my chest and she sits up slightly to trace a finger down my forehead, nose, lips, chin, chest, abdomen, and she stops just before she touches my member and smiles at it curiously. I smile down at her, but it's not my face she's focusing on now as she swirls her finger around the root of my penis to the head leaving me moaning. But I can't take this anymore. I know I have to be inside this girl now. She sees this in my eyes, and I think it frightens her a bit.

While I support myself over her with my left hand by her shoulder, I hold myself in my right hand and push into her outer lips before pushing inside of her. Nahaliel arches her back and closes her eyes as she moans softly and lets her breath take its own course in quickening. I press on inside of her slowly pausing to give her time to adjust to my presence inside her. Her arms wrap around my back and she opens her eyes to look into my face while I tilt my head back in pleasure as I feel a gentle wave pass over me, beckoning me further inside this virtual angel that I have manifested subconsciously. Gritting her teeth, Nahaliel presses my entire length into her being letting go of me with her arms to grab onto the velvet and wrap her legs around my waist.

I'm inside her now and give a guttural moan expressing my current state of bliss. Grinding against her, I feel her inner muscles grip me as I pull out slightly and press in deep again.

"And now," she begins out of breath and while moaning, "I am fallen, forever." She pulls her legs around me tighter, making it harder for me to pull out at all so I grind against her while her inner muscles massage me. Without losing our connection, I flip so she can sit atop me. Her hands press against my chest as she quickens her pace with her breasts bouncing. Not missing a beat, she reaches behind herself and undoes the bow on her back and unlaces the ribbon. With her eyes boring into me now, she wraps the ribbon around my neck and cross it at the throat so if she pulls on it at all it tightens. A feral smile slowly spreads across her face as she grinds herself into me. I'm both excited and anxious about this new side. I reach my arms toward her to grasp her waist and pull her down on me with more force, but before I make contact with her, Nahaliel tightens the ribbon around my throat. It is not to the point where I can't breathe, but I certainly have to struggle. She smiles as my hands retract from her to struggle at the binding ribbon.

"Relax," She coos. "I would never hurt you, Israfel." Somehow, hearing her say my name justifies everything and I follow her instruction. Her inner muscles tighten around me again and I can feel myself reaching climax. Nahaliel feels it too so she drops the ribbon and I moan between raspy breaths. She then places her hands around my throat to coax the breath out of me. Reaching a hand between us, I find her clitoris and gently rub it in circles. Immediately, she responds to this by grinding onto my hips in a circular motion and rolling her head back to moan gently.

I feel myself build and escalate and struggle while she presses on my trachea. This immense wave of pleasure passes over me and as she grinds down on me I explode inside of her and struggle to keep conscious to the end of my orgasm. The lack of regular breath is making me lightheaded. I feel our fluids drip down our thighs and feel myself completely submit. As everything fades, I hear the soft moan of "Forever."

to be continued...

Thanks all so much for taking the time to read my story. Please vote and Please give feedback! It is always appreciated- cl0ck