Dreams and Realities Ch. 01

Michael looked across the room at Diane. Her eyes reflected her uncertainty as he crossed to stand in arm's reach of her. She watched his movements, fighting down her urge to flee. His hands came up and brushed her; chilling and electrifying her at once. He leaned toward her neck, causing her to instinctively tilt her head so as to expose a greater area to his gentle kisses.

Michael softly pressed his lips to Diane's neck. The mildly salty taste of her skin was altered by the mixed scent of floral perfume and of open pores releasing a distinctly human musk. He continued to slowly pepper her neck with soft kisses as his hands glid gently up and down her arms, bringing his hands to rest on her hips in a drift from her forearms.

Diane shivered at Michael's touch. His goatee, freshly-trimmed, brushed her skin and, coupled with his warm breath, sent her nerves into a state of heightened awareness. Her body sensed the new motion of his hands and drifted her hips forward, pressing her gently against him. His ministrations at the nape of her neck ceased, the absence of sensation sent a chill through her which was promptly replaced by a tide of heat that rose at the beginning of a passionate kiss.

A languid dance began, muscles responding to the music of desire. Bodies twined in a pseudo-double-helix and digital exploration gave rise to sonar-like maps and hidden dominions. Suddenly, as if wakened from sleep, clothes seemed restrictive to the dancers. Diane's blouse opened, by hands possessed of a desire to return to their exploration. Michael's shirt slid up and, as his arms lifted, found its way free of him and onto the floor.

Diane's fingers trailed down Michael's brest in mute appreciation. Shadows played in variegated patterns over his musculature, reflecting the motion which unclasped and revealed a portion of her hidden domain. Michael's lips, unemployed since their expulsion from the dance at the removal of his shirt, sought new diversion in the newly-revealed portions of Diane.

A new tune of desire began, sharp staccatos piercing the rhythmic rise and fall of andante melody. This visceral symphony continued for a brief infinity before what impediment remained to a more complete chord seemed stifling. These blockades removed, the dissonance they had created was resolved into a minor key and transitioned to a solo melody.

One became instrument, the other musician, in a trilling, lilting melody that filled the room to bursting with sound and scent. Perfume and sweat, antiperspirant and aftershave permeated the atmosphere , intoxicating the denizens of the place with a euphoric harmony of impulse and action. No sooner had they desired a motion than it had been accomplished.

Hands cupped and lifted Michael's head from his instrumental occupation and availed Diane another dance, this one inundated with the bittersweet nectar of as yet unfulfilled desire.

Her feet leaving the floor, the surreal sensation of a brief flight - a slow-motionbackward dive that seemed ideally suited to sensations accompanying it. A cotton-down ocean buoyed her back up to gaze earnestly into her own eyes. There were no "others" here, no anyone else or external being, simply the rise and fall of synchronous waves and the echoing rhythm of beating hearts.

Diane reached upward, yearning to reclaim herself - that new self hovering above her ancient being, a dichotemy of monolithic proportions which so fervently sought resolution that she found herself falling upward into the blissful oblivion of self-completion.

Michael gazed in mute adoration at the spectacle before him. Crystal beads formed, refracted light, and shimmered in a dazzling display akin to sunlight glistening on wind-blown waters. His mind wandered momentarily, his eyes reflecting his introspection.

Diane gasped at the renewed intensity in her new self's eyes. The urgency of union redoubled, an exponent without definition or limit which sped upward like a descent into madness of passion, into a stratosphere free of impedance. Free from the last modicum of restraint, the joined selves dove headlong toward a private sun, heat and gravity reaching out to envelop both in the glow of white-hot fusion. As completion was reached - the zenith of the plunge into a human solar furnace - the nuclear fireball exploded, washing existence in a bath of platinum and gold - a sudden valuation of each speaking neuron - which purged the binary and detonated two into a mutual infinity that shook Diane's being into the waking world.

In the moment it took her eyes to adjust to the darkness of her bedroom, her mind settled into the realization that she had only been dreaming. The residual tingling of her body belied this truth, but Marcus' steady breathing beside her attested to the veracity of her conclusion: Michael was not here.

Marcus stirred, rolling toward her and reaching out to hold her. Diane lay still, trying to steady her breathing from its ragged, frenetic pace. The dawn's light was already beginning to peer tentatively through the blinds, teasingly announcing a new day's arrival. Diane watched Marcus' hand questing about. She noted slight irregularities in his breathing that decried his presence in the waking world.

Diane lay waiting, expecting what followed. Marcus began testing, trying to discover whether or not Diane was amenable to advances at this early hour. She moaned softly as he groped her, voicing a pleasure she did not feel. His touch had been dull the preceding night and the morning brought with it an apathetic void which rendered his advances inconsequent. Her only reaction, at this juncture, was to be done with Marcus' company and be rid of his empty attentions.

Marcus' turgid desire, though short-lived, left Diane yearning for something she could not name - could not define. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound of Marcus showering, and wondered what nameless desire had consumed her - what tortured her with a yearning for something which dispassionate intercourse could no longer assuage. As the door closed ebhind Marcus, Diane clicked the deadbolt into place and made her way to the shower. A brief pause along the way allowed her to take in the scene before her: spent contraceptives and crumpled heaps of clothing littered the apartment. She deposited the condoms in a wastebasket, tossed her clothes into a hamper, and turned on the shower to allow the water to warm up for her. The warm water caressed her body as she entered the flow, warm rivulets running into any crevasse found. She gave herself over to sensation for a while, allowing her nerves to relay genuine pleasure to her brain, which released dopamines in reply - giving rise to a temporary, semi-euphoric state. She admitted a transient moment of release, giving Marcus' pawing to the runnels of water tracing patterns on her body an relinquishing her volition to a time of pacific oblivion.

Diane shut off the shower, watching almost mournfully as the last few drops of water fell to be consumed by the hungry drain. She wrapped herself in a soft, cotton towel and stepped into the chill air of the bathroom. After towelling off and dressing herself, she checked a small clock she kept by the sink. Two hours remained before Michael would arrive to take her to lunch. He had mentioned wanting to speak with her about "something important". Her mind spun with possibilities; he may have changed his mind about abstinence, he may have discovered her quest for a surrogate to him, or a million other possible reasons. After two years with Michael, she had learned never to guess, but to wait.

The light on her answering machine pulsed a steady beat, running at nearly one hundred and forty beats per minute. She pressed the "retrieve" button and listened. She smiled conspiratorially at the knowledge that her ringer being turned off had saved a metamorphosis of her various liaisons into sundry arguments. Karl had called (trying to get back into her bed, no doubt) and left a brief message. David's voice betrayed his anxiety (he desperately wanted to just touch her . . . poor man). Jake spoke easily, belying the fact that his performance had gotten no ovation (the very notion of a standing ovation almost laughable considerign how short a time he had been erect). Michael left a short, verbal embrace; giving an exact time he would arrive. Her smile tightened, her face washing pink at the endearing amount of naive sweetness in his message.

Diane scribbled down the necessary information from each message and and strolled back into the bedroom. She lit a candle to clear the air of the scents from the previous evening and earlier that morning. She completed the job of straightening up: making the bed, setting various parts of the place in order, and generally tidying up.

The faint scent of lavender from the burning candle began to fill the apartment and diance's senses finally relaxed into their normal rhythms. She put a CD into the player and let the gentle notes and melodies work their audio magic on her person.

She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, settled into a behemoth armchair, and read through on of her myriad scientific journals. Michael had impulsively ordered her a subscription to a couple of these, prompted by a passing remark of interest from Diane. The others were her own doing, biological quaterlies and medical journals to help keep her apace of what transpired in her field of specialty. the article she opened to this time dealt with the ocean, viz the varying layers, or "zones", which comprise it. She let her mind relax and wander, which sent it immediately back to the dream which had wakened her so violently. Most of the article was filtered through a haze of semi-consciousness, but loaded words like "zone" and "penetration" found their way into her conscious mind. The CD's abrupt change of track and tempo snapped her back into awareness, her body immediately alerting hr to the fact that her breathing had shortened considerably and become ragged. She exerted her will and brought herself back into a somewhat tranquil state, tossing the magazine aside and switching on the morning news instead.

A mixture of relief and disgust inundated her awareness. The news, as usual, decreed that mankind was crude, unsympathetic to their fellows, unthinking, unfeeling, unjust, and barbaric. This outlook sickened Diane, but the certitude comforted her. Some things would never change.

Diane began to mull Michael's cryptic request around in her mind. He had said nothing to lead her ruminations, leaving her to attempt a navigation of his motivations solo. A foolhardy notion under his guidance, now a worse idea yet.

The doorbell brought her back from her reverie. she rose, crossed the living room, and allowed Michael entrance.

Michael kissed Diane's cheek tenderly. The contact gave rise to rippling electric waves which reverberated throughout Diane's frame.

"Ready to go, love?" he queried. "Or should I have a seat while you finish up?"

"Just let me kill the tube." she replied, crossing the room to turn off the television.

The two walked out of the apartment together and then down the stairs, entering the streets arm-in-arm. Diane's mind continued to swim with theories about why Michael had asked to take her to lunch. Especially during the restrictive time of his lunch break from work. His conversation regarding quotidien matters held no draw on her attention save the sound of his voice. Her thoughts spun in a solution formed primarily of Michael's voice and the resonance of it in her breast caused a measure of relaxation to settle upon her.

Their destination, previously unknown and not a concern to Diane, turned out to be her favorite restaurant. She marvelled at this and her thoughts began to spin again, trying to find a center upon which to fix themselves. But none was to be found.

Niceties were exchanged with the server, drinks and food ordered immediately, and the pair was left alone at last.

"I suppose you'll come out with it eventually anyway," Diane said, piercing the din of the place, "but what did you want to talk about that was so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow night?"

Michael's face smiled, but his eyes reflected a troubled spirit within him. "Where are we going?" he asked. "Not tomorrow night, or even next week or the week after that, but in the end - where do we plan to end up?"

Diane had not been prepared for this directness and so paused until the silence became unbearable. "Where would you like us to go?"

This time Michael paused. Diane's patience waned and finally faded in the seemingly interminable silence. She waited anxiously for Michael to speak, but watched irritably as their lunch interrupted the conversation.