short story

THE MAN OF MY DREAMS.......

The night is dark and stormy, the wind whistling around the house and the rain battering against the windows carried on gusts of the gale. I lie half-drowsing in the warmth of the bed, a soft glow inside. When I turn and reach out, the other side of the bed is empty, with a slight dent in the pillow the only evidence of another occupant. I sit up, listening. Outside I can hear voices and faint scraping and bumping noises. Barefoot I go silently to the front door, looking carefully out so as not to be noticed.

I can see a large van with a car alongside it, and through the rain, I see men loading heavy objects into the back of the van and, slightly apart, another man's figure standing in the rain watching them. He is a man with collar length hair darkened by the rain, a body that speaks of hidden strength and yet he’s not over-developed or too heavily muscular. He pushes his wet hair back with one hand and I step out into the rain, still barefoot and wearing a long cream coloured nightdress. The rain streams down over me but I don't care.... I need to see this man's face, to look into his eyes.

As I draw near, walking unheard barefoot in the rain, another man over by the van notices me and calls out .. "Richie, behind you...."
He turns, looking at me with eyes that burn my skin as if they were lasers. He walks towards me quickly and I stand still, waiting....

"Baby, I thought you were asleep..." he says. He pulls me into his arms and holds me against his heart. I run my hands up his arms to his shoulders, his skin feels like wet silk, cool on the surface but warmth radiating from within. He bends his head towards mine and his lips brush my neck like a butterfly's kiss.

"You were leaving without saying goodbye to me...." I try to look up into his face while the rain pours down on to mine. No tears, just rain. "No, I wouldn't do that to you, darlin’" His voice is gentle and I hold him so close that it feels as though we were one again.....as if I will never let him go. His mouth comes down on mine, warmth and sweetness, and I close my eyes...

DING DONG, DING DONG, DING DONG!!

The doorbell breaks the dream, it’s another grey Saturday and I stagger downstairs to pay the milkman. The empty space in my double bed only tells me my husband has gone to work while I’m still asleep. I get back into the warm patch of the bed, close my eyes tight and try to get back into the dream. No chance! I have to get up, make breakfast, run the children to their Saturday morning occupations and then settle to cleaning and ironing and so on.

Isn't it funny how you can never recapture a dream once it's gone, especially the best ones. After all, kissing Richie Sambora in the rain whilst wearing only a nightie is not likely to happen in real life! Real life is routine, humdrum, boring even. In my dreams I can do anything, be with anyone and I am how I used to be, slimmer, fitter, younger, and less worn out. Ah well, back to reality.....

The man of my dreams. Something to chatter about with the girls, to discuss who we would choose as the man of our dreams but it isn't always that easy. Sometimes the most unexpected people turn up in your dreams. Last week one of the girls claimed to have dreamed about being married to Tony Blair and you can't get much worse than that!

The day wears on, I sit in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, feeling vaguely dissatisfied and watching the hamster run endlessly on his little wheel. I know only too well how he feels, running endlessly and getting nowhere. Get the meal, feed the family, wash up, put away. Go shopping for more food to get more meals and wash up after those. Empty the laundry basket, do the washing, dry and iron it, put it away. Find the laundry basket mysteriously full again, rather like one of those trick glasses that refills by itself.

You have to have dreams to survive. It's not that I don't have a good life, but a dream world is somewhere to escape, to be what I want to be. I daresay if Richie Sambora did turn up on the doorstep with a bottle of champagne and a seductive smile, he’d turn out to be like the rest and drop his clothes on the floor, leave the bathroom in a mess and never put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. The best thing about the man of my dreams is just that, he is only in my dreams and I can make him do or say whatever I want, be how I want him to be. Romantic, attentive, dominant or gently loving, sometimes my dream man takes on a personality that I didn't even know I wanted, but I suppose my subconscious mind knows.

I put the dinner on to cook, my husband comes in with a headache so I run him a bath to relax. I put on a video for the children so they can have their tea in front of the TV as a treat. My turn for a treat will come later on.

I lie in the dark, close my eyes tight and concentrate. Who will it be tonight? Last night Richie Sambora, tonight who knows what my dreams will bring? I drift slowly towards sleep and the man of my dreams.