My eyes feel heavy. Like tiny little weights are over powering my eyelids forcing them closed. It’s the lavender. It always does this to me – makes me unbearable sleepy. I climb up from the floor and onto my bed. The white cotton comforter that was soft to the touch. It engulfs me as I lay back onto the bed. I barely have the energy to kick off my dirty sneakers. I incoherently hear them clunk to the floor. I roll over, shoving my face into my pillow. I can still smell the lavender – strong and soothing – as it eases me to sleep.
My breathing is heavy – deep in my chest – as he yanks his lips from mine. I pull him back in for more, my fingers almost violently ripping his shirt from his body. I drag my nails down his back, almost rough – rough enough to leave eight red lines from the trail of my manicured nails. I pull him towards me fiercely. “Alley.” He murmurs my name, his voice so intoxicating that I tilt my head back. I feel my eyes shut as he buries his face in my neck. I feel his lips and tongue doing a tender yet rough dance over each inch. I groan digging my fingers into his scalp, tugging playfully at his dark – almost black – hair. He lifts me up, sitting me on top of an old oak table. I moan again as he pushes me to my back wasting no time to push my skirt up above my thighs. I groan again as his hands tear at my red lacy panties. I fight to get his lips attached to mine as he makes his way on top of me. I catch a whiff of him. He smells good – musky, strong – like one of those pricey department store cologne. I bury my lips on his neck – kissing, nibbling, and licking myself into further ecstasy. His hands roam through my hair and down my back. “Alley.” He murmurs my name again – it’s almost heavenly, dreamy. He nudges my head back on the table. I groan as he hovers over me – as though I’m disappointed he’s so far away from me.
“Alley!” Someone shouts.
I sit straight up in bed – my face and palms sweaty – I run a hand through my black hair. I’ve been having the same dreams for the past two weeks. I wipe my hands dry on the comforter, and then wipe the sweat from my brow. I flop back onto my bed – the comforter and the pillows both make a poof sound. I try to recollect the man from this dream. Rather embarrassing. Having sex with a man who you can’t see his face – just his short jet black hair and tanned, toned body. I feel my face flush.
“Alley!” I hear my mom once more.
So much for remembering new details of the latest and greatest dream; its worse when you have no idea who you’re dreaming about and you’re always caught in the same compromising position.
“I’m coming!” I say, yanking myself reluctantly from my bed.
Before I can turn my crystal door knob – it opens for me. River is standing on the other side. River and I had been dating for 3 long years – when you’re 17, three years is eons – he and I had known each other since preschool. I guess it wasn’t too much of a surprise when he asked me out. We were barely 14. I was possibly the most nervous I had ever been in my life. I’d never been on a date before – then again, neither had River.
Can you imagine the site of two silent, awkward 14 year olds being chauffeured by a father? I was actually quite relieved by Ronnie’s (River’s father) vigilance in the rear view mirror. I was terrified of, as my mother put it, “he’d put his tongue in my mouth.” When you’re 14 that’s the grossest, most disturbing thing a guy could possibly do to you. What surprised me even more that night was when River walked me to my front door. Contrary to what my mother told me, he didn’t put his tongue in my mouth. (I now realize this was a complete joke, possibly to strike fear in me to never date.) Instead he gave me a light kiss on the lips and waited until I was safe and sound inside my house. The rest is quite history – River and I are inseparable; though due to my dreams the past few weeks there’s been a little more tension between us. Completely my fault, but it’s difficult when you’re dreaming of having sex with some man you don’t know and it’s not something you tell your boyfriend exactly.
And – here he is – as promised, chemistry and calculus books in hand. He gives his think, black framed glasses a push down his nose to look at me. I smile. I used to always think the glasses were just a tad too nerdy – in a strange, sexy way. With his dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes I see they almost make him look like Rivers, the lead singer of the band Weezer. This is honestly quite fitting with his “Buddy Holly” style – right down to the dark jeans and spotless white tee shirts.