How I gpt into my wife's dream
slavian Georgiev Yorgakiev (sav11)Раздел: Проза на чужд език Цикъл:
HOW I GOT INTO MY WIFE'S DREAM
'I love your hands, gliding slowly over my skin...The thrill that overwhelms me, is inexplicable ... and I fly, fall ..., venerate ....'
I woke up, sweating all over. It was quiet, dark and placid. My wife was sleeping next to me and in a few seconds, after I calmed down, I noticed her smiling lightly in her dream. I saw her face illuminated by the bright moonlight, penetrating through the half-open window. She betrayed satisfaction and felicity.
'What's the matter with me, for Christ sake? What are these dreams?', I asked myself.
I felt somehow oddly, like a woman, who instinctively follows orders and is ready for lust. I frankly went mad. I have never had any strange aptitude. In fact, I didn't see anything so shocking in my dream. I just felt, heard and saw the desires of a woman. Yet they were in my dream, in my brain. But the voice, the voice sounded familiar to me. I looked at my gently sleeping wife. Well, yes. It was her voice. It was coming from the bottom of her dream revealing the deep and long cherished desires of hers.
I started getting confused. My nerves squirmed like a torn lizard's tail. I got up slowly, trying not to wake her up and went into the kitchen. It was warm and stiffing there, like always in the middle of July. I took a cold beer from the fridge, opened it and sat on the chair by the window. The few gulps cooled me a bit, but the pressure that obsessed me, was still there. I looked at the clock silently tick-tacking on the big round table. It was twenty-five past two. I started thinking about the strange dream again. In a while, when my beer was over, I told myself it might have been the heats or maybe the problems I've had lately in the office with signing a contract with foreign partners. My subordinates gossiped the foreign representative looked at me in a queer way. Yet the signing of this deal was very important to us.
"For fear I might have subconsciously thought we should get on intimate terms with him ..., to agree with our conditions?", a thought slinked into my mind. "No! No! It is absurd."
"ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!", I screamed out to my sub conscience and headed for the bedroom. I dropped in the kids' room on my way. They were sleeping peacefully. I closed the door gently and went back to my wife. I looked at the phosphor hands clock on the bedside table. It was already quarter past three. I sneaked slowly under the coverings. My wife moaned out, but did not wake up. I watched her for a while in the dusk, then calmed down and fell asleep.
"You are so maddening tender and gentle ..."
I was back in the dream again, yet it was not mine. I was in a different dream, looking through the eyes of the sleeper. I saw a young man about twenty-five. He was stubby, with big brown eyes and unusually long eyelashes. His hair was paralyzed and as if slightly wet. There was some kind of juvenile decisiveness and brightness in his eyes. He was in love with me?! I looked at myself. Oh dear, I know these legs. These, these... These are my wife's legs. No, it's not true?! I lifted my eyes further up with fear - nice flat abdomen, tight feminine breast. Sure, it's her. I am she. No, it is not me. This is the body of my wife, her dream and my conscience having got in there. I looked through the eyes of her dream ...
I cried out and woke up. I sat in the bed with the hands on my face and felt the sweat rushing from every pore of my body like Icelandic geysers. My wife woke up and lit the reading lamp on her side.
'What's wrong, darling?!', she asked like saying a remark in a movie. 'You are shivering all over', she stated with some strange touch of weariness and annoyance. I didn't feel she worried about me. For all that she asked was:
'Ain't you sick?'
I stole a glance at the clock. It was ten past four. My thoughts went galloping simultaneously in many directions, looking for an answer to what was going with me. My head started aching, but finally an idea dawned on me. I had somehow got into my wife's dreams. I don't know how, but my dream and consciousness or rather my sub consciousness had entered her dream.
This was a non-real thought. My very being was throwing such a mystery away and yet I had no other explanation. Come to that, I don't know. What if I'm going mad? What if something in my sub consciousness was based on feminine grounds? Or a feminine ghost had probably obsessed me. Nonsense! It is impossible.
I stood up and went to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. It was me - six feet tall, forty-five pounds. Strong arms, well-developed breast. Man all over. I looked down at my belly. There was a strong weapon, which women liked. When I thought of it, it twitched and swelled. So everything is just fine. What the hell is going on then? I turned instinctively to the door, aware of being watched. Ann stood by the half-closed door of the bathroom, staring at me with the mixed appearance of amazement, astonishment and slight fear. All this was in her look.
'She thinks I'm going mad', was the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw her. I didn't pay attention. Let her think what she wants. For a few months on our relations have been going from bad to worse. We've been getting indifferent to each other and have stayed together only for the sake of the children. She put up with me because of the marriage settlement we had signed, too. She was not going to take anything of me in case she decided to get divorced. Funny, she did not decline when I asked to make love with her. This, yet neither proved, nor rejected anything. Perhaps she had learned to pretend. How should I know? I've read or heard somewhere, that women can easily overact orgasm. Be that as it may. The thing that matters is what's going up with me. Then suddenly that small bright lamp in my consciousness started to flicker and flashed. My wife had a lover. Yes, it was what it was. I didn't get angry. Most of the women had. It was the jealousy that obsessed me. I couldn't afford to let it go. If a woman is running away to another man, it means she's missing something. I wondered what it was. Love-making - no! Money - no. Gifts - no. Respect - no. Care - no. Or maybe yes. I was too busy with my business the last couple of years. There were times when I was away for weeks. Then, frankly speaking, I had my deviations, too. Yet, I've never been unfaithful to my wife spiritually, just in the physical sense.
These thoughts upset me. The dreams themselves came to give me the hint that my wife betrayed me both ways, and it was a problem. I sent her to bed and she left me obediently. I was sitting in the chaise-lounge by the swimming pool, smoking a cigarette.
'For all that, it's only nightmares', I said to myself finally. 'I'm surely wrong to think of Ann having a lover. It must be the pressure of that contract with the foreigners. Forget it, there's no fear."
I finished smoking and went to bed. There were no more dreams that night.