Things were not always so bleak for Nikolai. A few weeks ago, on the same day of the week as the day the war finally reached and touched their village, a Saturday, Nikolai was asleep beside Julie and was having a dream, right before dawn: he was standing on the edge of a lake, water rippling slowly to the breeze that blew across it so gently, as if the air was whispering something in the lake’s ear. He chugged a small rock at the lake, trying to get it to skid along the water’s surface as many times as he could, which it did a few times before it disappeared under the blueness. He wasn’t satisfied. He started looking for another rock that was more suitably shaped. He found a dark grey one, its surface was smooth, somehow pleasing to the touch, its shape almost completely round as a disk.
In the dream, he held it in his hand for a while then skipped a few steps forward and flung it. As he let go of the stone, suddenly as if compelled by some force outside of him, he decided to close his eyes, and as soon as his eyes were closed … he was the stone. He felt the air rushing along its smooth surface as it approached the glassy ripples of water below, there was a joyous excitement in the anticipation of contact with the water which was getting closer, closer and closer till suddenly there was a moment’s touch, a wetness that pleasantly tickled his underbelly followed by his almost involuntary reaction to push himself back up ... and he was airborne again, on another arc, rising to fall once more. He felt like he could keep going for as long as he wanted to, He could even cross the lake, and there was something deeply, physically and mentally, enjoyable about this dream-sport.
But after a while something started to pull him away and out of the dream, a wetness … a wetness of a different nature. Something, somewhere outside of the dream was pulling, and it kept on until he finally surfaced into waking consciousness, the remnants of the pleasant dream still lingering in the air.
It was Julie and the wetness of her lips on his nape which she was gently kissing that had waked him up. That had indeed awoken him from a pleasant dream into another, more enjoyable one.
Ahhh … one almost has to give out a wistful sigh when thinking of the joy of the touch of a woman’s lips on a man’s nape, the soft touch of her hand sliding over his back and on his chest, the soft sound of her breathing the only sound he can hear in the predawn darkness of a room with thick velvet curtains … the sweet joy of the presence of this woman that he loves and whose breasts spread and flatten out against his back as she pulls herself closer, her body so familiar, at moments like this almost like an extension of his own, or his of hers, pressing itself against his, warm, wanting, wonderful.
Indeed not. Things were not always so bleak for Nikolai.
to be continued ...
No comments:
Post a Comment