There is an interstitial space between sleeping and waking, it’s full of tiny gaps which can be filled with fragments of fantasy and wild imaginings. The hypnopomic state. the early window of waking when we start to experience mental imagery, the creative sweet spot, one foot in dreams, one in the world. Here, in this liminal landscape, random thoughts, and visual imagery blend into a surreal narratives. “You” can take control of at least part of the dreaming which can be full of highly sexualised and erotic images, spontaneous orgasms and powerful memories. That is where she goes to find him.
In the half light, mind drifting, she sees, no, feels the heat of another body. Not the one that should be there, but another one. The scent of him, rushes up from the depths of the tangled, half on half off her duvet. Beer, fags, stale sweat and curry flavoured breath. The hill of a shoulder, the black thicket of greasy hair. She is trying not to breathe and disturb the chimera. It feels so real. She puts a hand out and touches the chest hair. A memory overlays the moment. A hotel bed, waking, facing him, knowing that touching will stir him and he’ll reach out a hand. The change in the rhythm of her breathing in anticipation of what that hand will do, rouses him and she feels his prick disturbing the heat around him. She wants to grab it and rub it against her inner lips, brushing the opening with wetness to make it slide in. And then pull him in until he’s drowning in her. And she feels him, the very specific stroke of him inside her, little orgasms with each move….
A door bangs somewhere in the house, the moment is stolen, can’t be retrieved. Frustration and absence are ghostly presences for the rest of the day.
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