...tyger...
...this is just... wow. it's like one of my dreams made into video.




and then there's this:

Tiramatzah.
This looks yummy.
(courtesy of evilmadscientist laboratories... which is not really all run together like that, but I like *saying* it like that in my head)

---

Also yummy, is the vision of another evil mad (ok, not really but) scientist (all the same) that has been running about in my head via dream-land these days...
See, there's this dark that is like a watercolor wash of grey across my features. And I move through it, in much the same way as water. I feel soft and slow and mostly safe. & he is there and I hesitate because I want to say He--there is that as well... which is to say, the roles have switched--even in my dreaming because mostly, it is not like this. Usually it would be Me. But that is not this... And so... it's very much a Pirate theme and so there are the clothes. & it is all very tactile & I enjoy touching him a great deal, because the cloth of him feels very good beneath my fingers and he lets me and so this is nice. And it's this slowed down *thing* that is also nice because I spend a great deal of time just touching him. I don't look at him, except in quick glances through the hair that hides my face, my eyes. I mean, I don't look at him as in I don't look at his face... because I do... LOOK at him. I look at him as I touch him. I run my fingers across him, his arms, his back. I move around him and he stands and he lets me. I press myself against his back and my face fits just right between his shoulder blades and I feel this, his body fully against my own. He is warm beneath my hands.
This is interrupted by a different dream, which has to do with more real life things and it feels very intrusive... I am *here*, pressed against his body like this and then there is light and loud talking and it's awful. And I close this part of my dream-mind off but it's a very difficult thing to do... but then I am back, and it feels as though I have slid through a crack and shut a door and then there is rope. It's very nice rope. It's soft against my skin and he trails it that way for a long time... it feels like hair, only it's thick. It's strong. He trails it across my body, winding it loosely around my wrists and pulling it off... brushing the insides of my thighs, across my nipples again and again until I want to cry because it just keeps going like this... this light brushing until the softness itself becomes almost painful for the part of me that hungers for more...
...only...
and then he stops. He stops with the soft brushing and the quiet is heavy... it presses against my skin with a weight of its own. The water color wash of grey becomes black and the real life stuff barges in yet again and I slip there, slip away... it's beginning to aggravate me, really and it seems like it is my Mom, peeking her head into the doorway and she can't see anything you know, because there's all this fucking LIGHT and it hurts my eyes and I slam the fucking door. I twist the lock... I'm laying on my back... my arms are stretched above my head. My wrists and then my ankles are bound with that soft like hair but oh so strong rope and he speaks, soft in my ear his voice moves against me and he is saying something about experimenting, about seeing how far we can go and my mouth is open only slightly and I sigh and I nod. ...and I am being stretched and then his hands are on my skin and the clothes that cover it and this is like the rope... it's soft like that... it's an exploration and I can't move so I am oh so still but inside I am pushing myself in the direction of his touch, I am pushing my body into his hands, I am trying to think his fingers to the parts of my skin that scream for attention
...and he is just touching me, thumbs brush my lips, my chin, fingers and palms down my neck, linger on my breasts... his face is close, I can feel his breath, hot on my skin and then his mouth, and the inside of his mouth is hotter yet and as he rests the weight of his body against mine... it pulls me slightly more and I watch him... this time, I do look at him because I am watching him look at me. I am watching his eyes follow his fingers and he is looking at me as he pulls away the clothes that cover my skin and finds me underneath... he is looking at me in such a way that I feel devoured even before he puts his mouth on me.

And the thing is...
The THING is...
I wake up. I wake up right fucking THERE and I think a whole bunch of things all at once. I play at bondage, I'm not at all serious when I go there. I know nothing of 'racks' & shit like that but there I was and the whole of it was such that I think, where the fuck does THIS come from? ...outside of me?? ...of course then on the heels of that, 'well, I have been thinking lately, that I could really USE a visit to the chiropractor' & he stretches me like this...
well not like THIS but...
stretches me so maybe that's part of it and also oh.my.god. but I am really full of all sorts of tightly bound, heated energy in my core and it's that kind of build up that comes right before orgasm and so then I think. Great. Five more minutes in dream land and I could have woken up in a whole fucking lot better way than just you know...
waking up.
Unfair. (right, I know.)
And I also think about how easy it would be to reach down and unwind that tightly bound energy in my core. I can tell by how close it is to the surface that it wouldn't take long at all. In fact, I think if I sit and just think about it for a minute, it'll unwind all by itself. But I don't. I don't reach down, I don't think about it... well, I do think for a minute about one slow entrance and an arch and then I stop. I stop myself and I hold onto this for days. Seriously. Days and days pass and this energy sits, all bound up inside me and the longer I hold onto it, the tighter it winds and it's really fucking delicious. In the end, I mean. When I finally can't stand it any longer and I close my eyes and straddle my dreams, across my bed I stretch myself and there it is, in the back of my mind, that watercolor wash of black and grey and the quiet and peering through my hair. Pressing myself against his back and the way his hands feel against my skin, the way his mouth feels on my breast. The way he looks at me. ...and the way I draw it all out, with a brush here and a brush there and I slip away, slide into it and I wet my lips and I feel the way this dream him opens me up, pushes himself right up inside me and inside me and inside me...
...and it unwinds.
It unfurls and unravels and I come undone.
And I lay, eyes closed against the light, body stretched out, collapsed on top of the stroke of my hand and the watercolor wash... the grey & black quiet of my dream.
(and for the first time in a long time, I want a cigarette for very simple reasons)