Constance paused and thought about her dream man, her astral soul mate. Even disheveled and bleeding, he was the most intense and mesmerizing man she knew. He had a lean face, rugged and solid with a warm smile. His beautiful dark hair was rarely combed and fell this way and that over his forehead. And those blue eyes! They always sparkled with looks of love for her, bright as a beacon.
Then there was his tattoo, prominent on his broad, muscular chest. Winged and scaly, the dragon had a sparkling blue eye, the same as his. Its fiery breath shot directly over his heart, and the flames actually glowed when they made love.
Constance pulled out another folder from the vanity drawer. It had sketches of the dragon tattoo. Over the years, that dragon had become as much her friend as its owner. In the long months between their visits, she often doodled drawings of it. She leafed through the sketches then returned to her diary.
As we hug, I know I'm dreaming. I have to be if I'm with him. I'm filled with a sense of urgency-every second is precious. I hug him tighter, submerging myself in the place I love the most, dreaming or waking.
We lean back and stare at each other. His blue eyes flare with delight. Then we are kissing; our bodies swirling together and inseparable, as if we're both ghosts, flowing together in the ether. The ground beneath us is gone, and our energies are merged in the air, a single creature with one breath and one heartbeat. Each moment in his arms feels like a priceless gift.
We float down to a bed, landing in a flurry of sheets and pillows. Our clothes are gone and we're making love, slow and intense. His sleek, muscular body ripples as he glides over me and through me, as exquisite as ever, powerful and secure. I can feel my orgasm approach.
But she didn't have that orgasm because she woke up. Sex with her dream man was better than any sex she'd ever had while awake, but unfortunately it wasn't guaranteed to last until the end. Then again, at age thirty-three, Constance knew that real men weren't guaranteed to last until the end, either.
At the back of the diary was an index of her astral dalliances-just the date and a few words about each dream. She filled in tonight's summary: "long hall, unshaven and bleeding, ghost embrace, solid love." Anyway, it had seemed solid just minutes before.
How am I going to get back to sleep after this? Definitely not tired, Constance flipped to the beginning of the diary and started to read. As of this month, it had been ten years since she'd started dreaming of him. She reread dozens of previous visits she had recorded, reliving every moment.