I had a dream, and I feel horribly guilty about it. Yes, its silly being guilt y about a dream. Its just a dream afterall, all in your head. But among those cursed to never taste the waters of forgetfulness on their way out of Morpheus' den, there's an understanding that the things we do in our dreams mean considerably less than the way we feel about them upon waking. That's the only thing you can take away from your dreams: the emotion that you carry in you. The way it makes you feel. The dream itself might be an illusion, but how you feel...thats the real deal.
I was in my office. It was my office, of course. Why else would I be working late there. Why else would would it be scattered with papers that I was reading, working on, sifting through. it felt like my office, and by rule dreams that was enough to make it my own office. And in she comes through the office doors, smilling her smile and swishing and swaying her walk. Even in jeans and a simple blouse she looked elegant somehow. I think that's become my type. Elegant. Womanly. But this person was...just a friend. She had that feel of 'just a friend', whatever her name was. And this was in spite of the attraction or sexual tension. That's part and parcel of having attractive female friends. That's something I'm used to.
The details now are hazy. I can't remember our conversation but I remember her. We spoke as friends do, she reminded me about a party, and she left behind the Chinese takeout she brought me before leaving. Walking away without a glance back. I know because I watched her go, wary of her turning back and catching me in the act.
Do your dreams move along like movies as well? Ignoring the elements like getting in the elevator, of getting dressed, of the actual content of the small talk? Is that just me? Anyway, I took the drink in my hand. Scotch of course. Which meant I didn't drink it straight away. I usually just let the smell of it waft its way up into my brain. Its a lot more pleasurable than having it burn its way down my throat anyway. I was with what's her name and whats his face, two inconsequential extras playing the part of background chatter to her big entrance. Which in actuality was as simple as a tingling touch on the shoulder, the neck, the cheek. 'Happy New Year' she said and then, without warning she brought her glossy lips to meet mine. We kissed, in the sense that she initiated, but i followed through. Those few moments were so surreal. Her lips wer warm, and climsily placed. This wasn't something we were used to doing. This was a first kiss, and just sloppy enough to be real. But it set my mind on fire. At once I felt her arms held fast in my hand. I felt my palms sliding across her thighes. I felt the weight of her, th pressure of our bodies. I was lost in her hair. I was dazzled by the smell of her. The taste of her. I felt the millions of lurid possibilities between us. A moderately long and successful career as lovers.
But that wasn't where my guilt was.
She smiled, satisfied, and I realized that she'd taken a risk and been rewarded in the simple fact that she was not rejected. It had her loopy. She said she was going to get a drink and while she excused herself i turned back dazed to Whats her name and What's his face, who were staring at me with eyebrows raised in equal parts amusement and amazement.
I took a large sip of my Scotch.
The scene changed to a much more crowded room, the party in full swing. We'd had our first kiss only moments ago and already we were like old lovers. While we rubbed elbows and chatted with other friends, we found each other across the room every too minutes, looking up at the exact same moment and finding one another's eyes, then smiling. Has that ever happened to you? It feels good doesn't it? Do you know why though? I'll tell you: Reciprocation. We take that risk of looking desperate, of admitting that this person is on our mind nearly constantly. Finding them looking back means that we are on their minds as well. That's the good feeling that you can't quite identify. That's what we look for all through our young early love lives. Just a little reciprocation.
But this had gone on long enough. Any longer and it would cement itself. Or perhaps, I would cement myself, burried and founded deeply enough to make us real lovers. Or to come to that point where we might literally become lovers. I read somewhere, that a measure of a man's strength is in knowledge of his own weakness. I didn't know for sure, but i wasn't sure id be strong enough to stop myself once the partiers were all gone and we were alone in a room together. So, I sought her out. My hands found her wrist through the crowd. I'm ashamed to say i held it a bit too tenderly than I ought to have. "Can we talk?" I said, breathlessly nervous, and nodded my head toward the balcony.
She was beautiful out there. Her hair was fixed in a tight bun that the wind couldn't undo, and so it played with the silk scarf around her neck instead. Her brown skin glowed warmly in the moonlight, and her dark eyes twinkled with the playful lights of the city. Most beautiful, though, was her smile. It shone clear and white. Young. Expectant. Happy. Pleased with her evening so far and with the way she thought it might end.
This would hurt us both a little. But she wouldn't care what it would do to her.
"I have a girlfriend." I said. Blurting it out seemed the right thing to do. I had kicked around a few preambles in my head, including the ever inappropriate 'I'm not quite sure how to say this.' But they all only seemed to cruelly prolong the tension and expectation. And I was right. It did hurt. Even more upon seeing the damage I'd done to her smile. It died slowly, and the corpse of it rotted into a frown. A look of disappointed confusion.
I felt myself thinking of my girlfriend. Of Merri. Of what she might have been doing at that moment. And I felt my left brain, my logical mind, slowly rousing. And that's where the guilt came in. I was lucid, aware that this was only a dream. More than that, it was my dream. I had control here. And I was exerting that control, I realized, when she said the clearly logical 'Oh'. I made her say that. I could make her say anything. I could make her say 'Oh. Okay. I'm sorry, i didn't know.' or 'Oh. But...why didn't you tell me sooner.' Or even 'Oh. Well, that's okay. I don't mind.' And the truth was, any one of these would have been acceptable. Yes, even the latter, I'm afraid. My logical mind was at work, reasoning and explaining away reprecussions of it all. I could have fallen in love with this girl. Or at least in lust. And I would have been okay with it, given enough of a logical argument. And i would have enjoyed it.
And that's what's left me feeling so guilty.
I was in my office. It was my office, of course. Why else would I be working late there. Why else would would it be scattered with papers that I was reading, working on, sifting through. it felt like my office, and by rule dreams that was enough to make it my own office. And in she comes through the office doors, smilling her smile and swishing and swaying her walk. Even in jeans and a simple blouse she looked elegant somehow. I think that's become my type. Elegant. Womanly. But this person was...just a friend. She had that feel of 'just a friend', whatever her name was. And this was in spite of the attraction or sexual tension. That's part and parcel of having attractive female friends. That's something I'm used to.
The details now are hazy. I can't remember our conversation but I remember her. We spoke as friends do, she reminded me about a party, and she left behind the Chinese takeout she brought me before leaving. Walking away without a glance back. I know because I watched her go, wary of her turning back and catching me in the act.
Do your dreams move along like movies as well? Ignoring the elements like getting in the elevator, of getting dressed, of the actual content of the small talk? Is that just me? Anyway, I took the drink in my hand. Scotch of course. Which meant I didn't drink it straight away. I usually just let the smell of it waft its way up into my brain. Its a lot more pleasurable than having it burn its way down my throat anyway. I was with what's her name and whats his face, two inconsequential extras playing the part of background chatter to her big entrance. Which in actuality was as simple as a tingling touch on the shoulder, the neck, the cheek. 'Happy New Year' she said and then, without warning she brought her glossy lips to meet mine. We kissed, in the sense that she initiated, but i followed through. Those few moments were so surreal. Her lips wer warm, and climsily placed. This wasn't something we were used to doing. This was a first kiss, and just sloppy enough to be real. But it set my mind on fire. At once I felt her arms held fast in my hand. I felt my palms sliding across her thighes. I felt the weight of her, th pressure of our bodies. I was lost in her hair. I was dazzled by the smell of her. The taste of her. I felt the millions of lurid possibilities between us. A moderately long and successful career as lovers.
But that wasn't where my guilt was.
She smiled, satisfied, and I realized that she'd taken a risk and been rewarded in the simple fact that she was not rejected. It had her loopy. She said she was going to get a drink and while she excused herself i turned back dazed to Whats her name and What's his face, who were staring at me with eyebrows raised in equal parts amusement and amazement.
I took a large sip of my Scotch.
The scene changed to a much more crowded room, the party in full swing. We'd had our first kiss only moments ago and already we were like old lovers. While we rubbed elbows and chatted with other friends, we found each other across the room every too minutes, looking up at the exact same moment and finding one another's eyes, then smiling. Has that ever happened to you? It feels good doesn't it? Do you know why though? I'll tell you: Reciprocation. We take that risk of looking desperate, of admitting that this person is on our mind nearly constantly. Finding them looking back means that we are on their minds as well. That's the good feeling that you can't quite identify. That's what we look for all through our young early love lives. Just a little reciprocation.
But this had gone on long enough. Any longer and it would cement itself. Or perhaps, I would cement myself, burried and founded deeply enough to make us real lovers. Or to come to that point where we might literally become lovers. I read somewhere, that a measure of a man's strength is in knowledge of his own weakness. I didn't know for sure, but i wasn't sure id be strong enough to stop myself once the partiers were all gone and we were alone in a room together. So, I sought her out. My hands found her wrist through the crowd. I'm ashamed to say i held it a bit too tenderly than I ought to have. "Can we talk?" I said, breathlessly nervous, and nodded my head toward the balcony.
She was beautiful out there. Her hair was fixed in a tight bun that the wind couldn't undo, and so it played with the silk scarf around her neck instead. Her brown skin glowed warmly in the moonlight, and her dark eyes twinkled with the playful lights of the city. Most beautiful, though, was her smile. It shone clear and white. Young. Expectant. Happy. Pleased with her evening so far and with the way she thought it might end.
This would hurt us both a little. But she wouldn't care what it would do to her.
"I have a girlfriend." I said. Blurting it out seemed the right thing to do. I had kicked around a few preambles in my head, including the ever inappropriate 'I'm not quite sure how to say this.' But they all only seemed to cruelly prolong the tension and expectation. And I was right. It did hurt. Even more upon seeing the damage I'd done to her smile. It died slowly, and the corpse of it rotted into a frown. A look of disappointed confusion.
I felt myself thinking of my girlfriend. Of Merri. Of what she might have been doing at that moment. And I felt my left brain, my logical mind, slowly rousing. And that's where the guilt came in. I was lucid, aware that this was only a dream. More than that, it was my dream. I had control here. And I was exerting that control, I realized, when she said the clearly logical 'Oh'. I made her say that. I could make her say anything. I could make her say 'Oh. Okay. I'm sorry, i didn't know.' or 'Oh. But...why didn't you tell me sooner.' Or even 'Oh. Well, that's okay. I don't mind.' And the truth was, any one of these would have been acceptable. Yes, even the latter, I'm afraid. My logical mind was at work, reasoning and explaining away reprecussions of it all. I could have fallen in love with this girl. Or at least in lust. And I would have been okay with it, given enough of a logical argument. And i would have enjoyed it.
And that's what's left me feeling so guilty.
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