I had a perfect dream this morning.
It was perfect because it was so smooth, every moment was seamless.
It didn’t feel like reality. I knew I was dreaming, but it felt realistic. If it was ever to happen, it would happen exactly the way I dreamt it.
I knew it was a dream though, because your face didn’t look quite right. And you were giving a lecture in what looked like my laundry room.
I didn’t care. I knew I was dreaming, but I figured this would be the only chance I would ever get.
You were wearing a light blue linen shirt with white buttons, the collar was left open. Over it you wore a sand colored sweater zipped up half way. You wore tan slacks and deep brown leather loafers.
Your hair was longer, like it was in the beginning of the semester. Curly at the ends and hanging in your eyes. You kept jerking your neck to sweep your bangs back.
Your smile was so wide and bright it almost hurt to look at.
There was a crowd of students around you asking you questions you had already answered in class. I stayed in my seat, arranging the books in my bag. I placed my response on the table and checked it one last time for any possible mistakes.
They filed out, chattering like teeth. I made my way over to you, my eyes glued to my paper. You had your head in your brief case, shuffling papers into folders.
You look up and brush your hair back.
“Hello, Emma.”
“Here Professor,” I hand you my paper. Our thumbs touch and I can see the silver spark of contact.
I move a little closer and explain how I would like to go about my presenting my project. I am making motions through the air with my arms. They make wide round gestures. I can’t hear what I am saying. My dream has stopped having sound, my words turn into humming. I am blurring out the background. I am focusing on your eyes. Your mocha suede eyes. With your fringe brushing your eyelashes.
The sound starts to sharpen at the edges. You knit your brows, you’re digesting my idea, inching closer to me, trying to find the words to elaborate your response.
I can hear what you are saying, but I’m not really listening. I am traveling down your face and closing in on your lips. Watching them purse and flatten with the mixture of vowels and consonants.
I can feel them pulling me towards them. Like a tractor beam.
They begin to pulse soft seashell pink and warm gold.
I try to draw myself back, because some one decided this was wrong long before I entered your class.
But I’m not really trying, because this is a dream. And it is the only chance I will ever get.
My shoulder is now a centimeter away from yours and you have my paper in one hand and I am still staring at your lips and I can feel your eyes roaming my lips and your other hand is moving toward my cheek and blush hot before your fingertips even touch me.
You close your eyes and I keep mine open because this isn’t really happening.
Then I feel the warm seashell gold pink flesh pushing so lightly against mine and my top eye lid melts into the bottom lid and even though I want them to stay open so I can remember exactly what this looks like, but my dream self is saying, “Just let it happen. This is the only chance you get.”
I can feel you start to pull away. I can smell your apprehension. My eyes flicker open to see yours are still closed. Your mouth quivers and whispers out, oooh.
Fuck it.
I grab the back of your head with one hand and your sweater collar in the other. My belly presses against yours and my tits are squished against your chest.
My lips are hysterical. My hands are frantic. This is so wrong. Is it really?
But your mouth is so delicious and I am starving.
I have been hungry every Friday morning since this semester started.
And this is the only chance I will get to know what you taste like.
In one swift motion I am on my back on your desk.
My skirt is above my knees and your hands are on my goose bumping thighs.
I am gripping your curls between my fingers while I grab the hard flesh of your side with my free hand.
Both your hands fumble with the tiny buttons of my shirt.
Your lips are ravenous but gentle against my neck, nibbling a trail toward the valley between my breasts.
You are silent, but I can feel your hot breath as your tongue traces a circles.
I am panting heavily, escalating into hushed murmurs.
You bring your lips back to mine. I suck at your bottom lip tugging you closer to me as you pull me upright.
I disregard the care you gave to my shirt and tear yours open.
Your bare chest is smooth and tempting.
I cannot help myself. I am starving. I am salivating.
Starting midway down your toned stomach I lick up to your ear lobe.
I am simultaneously caressing your neck with my mouth and trying to remember how to take off a belt.
Your hands are shaking but serious as you slide them up my skirt and over the band of my underwear tugging them off slowly.
“Look at me.”
I pull my head back and meet your eyes.
“I want to savor this.”
This time I let go. I close my eyes and take a breath.
I let go and again you cup my face in your hands.
I remove myself from your zipper and place my hands on your hips.
I feel your hands on the small of my back bringing me to the edge of the desk. Then I can feel you pulling at your own waistband.
Our lips are still joined. Pressing soft, hard, quick, slow. We both refuse to unglue from each other.
Then I feel the familiar pressure.
But this time its different.
You’re not some dumb kid thrusting without thinking.
You are slow and rhythmic.
You pull my top off my shoulders and push me closer to your chest.
Your breath is heavy and slow. I try to breath at the same pace but find myself becoming light headed.
I press my thighs hard against your hips and encircle my arms around your neck.
I can sense the glow growing in my body, wrapping me in ribbons of tingling heat.
You can feel it too and wordlessly grip tighter and thrust eagerly deeper.
My mouth is wide open although silent save for the fervent exhale and inhale of breathing.
You’re making short grunts with every thrust no longer soft but precise and demanding. Both of us know the rush is insight. We dig our nails into each other’s skin as if holding hands.
Simultaneously the spark ignites and we lose ourselves melting into audible groans of release.
My mouth hunts for yours. Our lips smash together sloppily.
We pull away and catch our breath.
My brain is trying to remember how to form words while my hands relearn how to button my blouse.
You pull yourself together quickly. Pushing your bangs out of your face.
I am post sex sluggish and cannot come to.
I stare wordlessly with my mouth agape.
You chuckle and help me finish buttoning up and help find my panties.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
After we straighten up and gather our things I open the classroom door that apparently leads onto the street.
I put my head into my purse and pull out my metro card and head towards the underground.
I feel you grabbing my arm and pulling me back towards you.
The background begins to fade out again.
You lean in to kiss me. We are centimeters apart.
I whisper your name under my breath to try to bring you to your senses.
You grin and I can barely hear you say,
“But this is the only chance I’ll get…”
