Feeler in Dreams
A friend recently revealed that she writes some pretty risqué prose that she would rather not be revealed as the author of. (So we shall just call her ‘Emm‘)
She has allowed me to post one of the more sober pieces that she wrote (which is still pretty racy and may cause some dryness of the mouth in anyone who reads it)
It also reminded of the equally hot song above. This is Use Me by Bill Withers. Fiona Apple did a cover of it that was perhaps even better than the original here but more on that some other time.
Get the MP3 for the song here. Hat-tip to ‘Emm‘, your talents never cease to surprise..
Feeler in Dreams.
There was life and it grew though the mold in the carpet.
The air in the tiny one room apartment hung heavy, reeking of musk and stale cigarette smoke that gathered around the cobwebs forming clouds. Tiny beams of sunlight that fluttered through thick, light retrenching curtains were a stage for dust particles to do their shimmy.
In spite of the revelry of gloom, she slept open-eyed, staring at the ceiling that was peeling away like her mind.
The bathrobe was worn so much it became her skin. Stripping it away meant peeling away her skin. Eventually, it meant death. She was a figure of doom that was rife and waiting to burst. The bed was her stagnant pond, she the algae. Floating silently, not wanting to reach shore, instead exist lifelessly through just breathing. She licked her dry lips like a serpent and swallowed her saliva and lit cigarettes.
She existed but only in space.
She waited for sleep, where the clown visited her with his cherub like face, painted in colours myriad. He changed his costumes to suit her fantasies and sometimes his soft elbows were cased in silk shirts like concierges. The services he offered to her were those of amusement, shock, anger and bitterness.
The choice was unlimited, like the colours on his face.
As sleep cajoled her today, he came to visit with boots and cape. He told her he liked how she smelled. Maybe it was vanilla, a flavour of ice cream she loved as a child. He then asked if he could hold her. Today the passion was not there, as it was occupied by surprise. She allowed, was weary and fell asleep. He then slowly started to pleasure her. He touched her boy chest and felt the ribs that knocked on the skin so sharp. He trailed his soft chubby hands over to her crab shell rib cage, which beckoned to rude hips. Then he felt her moist insides and touched them very gently. She woke up and didn’t want him to play the feeler in dreams today.
She protested, her struggle was soft against him, almost whimpering. He rocked her like a baby and let her wake up.
