I had a dream about you last night as I slept naked in silky red sheets. We’ve never met, but I knew your face nonetheless, and in the dim surreal land where dreams live, I saw it. As is often the case with dreams, the rules of reality bent and twisted in the strange world of my sleep’s weaving, leaving you the only anchor that tethered me. When I woke, a fine film of sweat covering my body, I felt the heat of desire and a sense of comfort from how near I had come to you. 

~

I enter the dream on a wintery New York Street in a gothic looking neighborhood. Snow is falling around me, large cotton balls swirling out of the sky. I’m standing under the glow of a street lamp shivering in a silky white negligee. The cold invades my senses with an icy shock, provoking shivers throughout my lean frame. 

This place is dark, the world a dim dreamscape save for the light of the street lamps that sparkles on the snow. The houses seem to be not houses at all but merely shadows of houses. Despite the deserted look of the buildings, the sidewalk is not empty. I watch as stoic faces pass by, none of them stopping or acknowledging the strangeness of myself in this place dressed like this.

As the snow lands on me, it melts, sucking my heat and making the silky fabric over my skin wet. I wrap my arms around my torso like a python and start walking. A foreboding sense of despair grips me as I weave my way through the unfeeling forms. What is this place? My mind repeats on a loop as it searches for an explanation. Tears rise to the edges of my vision. It’s too cold. I can’t be here. I want to crumple down into myself, but the sidewalk, wet and scattered with snow, is a terrible choice. Another person bumps me from behind and I close my eyes, letting the salty water of my tears flow in trails that turn from warm to frigid almost instantly. 

The man tilts his head up, and my breath catches as your face comes into focus. Everything else blurs as I rush toward you, my eyes locked with yours. You smile, a smile that feels warm to me in this unfamiliar world. Sobs of relief wrench themselves from me, echoing out into the night.  

I’m standing in front of you now,  shivering and crying tears of relief. Your hands reach up,  one to each of my tightly crossed elbows.  Your touch is gentle, yet pure fire on my skin. My body greedily drinks up your heat. Wrapping your hands around my back, you pull me to your chest.  I lean in, resting my forehead on you, still crying. 

“There, there baby girl” you say.  “You’re safe now.”

“I’m so cold,” is all I manage through these excessive tears and shivers that won’t stop. Your arms hold me tight, letting some of your warmth into my body.  Tipping my head up, I look into your deep eyes. 

“It’s you,” I say. You respond with another smile.  You lower your mouth and kiss my forehead, and I close my eyes as your kiss washes across my senses.  Your lips are a brand on my iced skin; the steam of your breath singes me with longing for you.  My sense of despair abates and my tears dissipate. The world around falls off leaving your lips and the warmth of your chest the only thing left. 

You step back, and I open my eyes. We’re no longer outside.  I look around at the ornate walls of a large room. Vaulted ceilings and carved wooden furniture with red cushions greet my eyes.

“How I’ve wanted you here in this place for so long, Lila” you say, your face a mixture of concern for the way I’m still shivering and primal desire apparent in the way your eyes wash across me. 

“Your wet gown is keeping you cold” you say as you bring your hands up to slide the straps off my shoulders. Inch by inch, you lower the silky fabric to the floor around my bare feet. The water on my skin catches the firelight.  My nipples are at full attention from the cold and from the sensations of pleasure your hands made as they slid down my sides.  

“Stand by the fire while I draw you a bath,” your strong voice whispers into my ear, and I know that you’re going to take care of me. For the first time since entering this nightmarish dream, heat starts to rise up in my body. Waves of warmth dance out from the fire, evaporating the remaining moisture from my skin. I’m still cold, but the shivering is lessening. I can hear the sound of water running while my eyes wander up from the flames to the mantel where a pair of leather gloves and a flogger are carefully laid out.