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dream.

    “Hey,” I replied, looking at the face just inches from mine. She seemed excited. Her breath smelled of chips.

    “It’s morning. And I still like you,” she said, smiling sleepily.

    “You do?” I asked, almost in disbelief. Her face moved toward me in slow motion and, before I knew what was happening, her lips were on mine. They were soft and delicious. I responded in kind, and ran my hand over the small of her back. I tried to visualize what I felt, then realized what I was doing and brought my attention back to those lips. She pulled away and stood up. With her help, I joined her. She leaned against me and removed her socks. Her fingers dug into my chest.

    The pressure lessened, and she moved away, pulling me along backwards with both hands. She paused to kiss me again in front of the window. Holding her hips, I urged her on. She turned around and grasped my left hand with hers. She pulled me toward the bedroom.

    There she tore at my shirt buttons, unfastening them frantically. I grasped the bottom edge of her long sleeved t-shirt and helped it over her head, exposing pale skin to the sun’s scrutiny. I felt as though my heart had stopped, so I brought her close to me to catch my breath. Looking at so much of her was hell on the senses.

    She reached down and unbuttoned my pants; I reached down and unbuttoned hers. We shimmied out of our restraints and stood there, inches away from one another, her in her black bra and matching underwear, me in my striped boxer briefs.

    She pushed me backwards gently, but forcefully. I fell down on the bed. She crawled over me. I watched as she approached, her skin folding and stretching in delicate creases. I put my hand on her rib cage and slid it down to her stomach, my wrist at an awkward angle. She kissed me hard, and I felt her teeth behind her lips. I put my hand on her hip and traced the line between her underwear and her skin.

    “What’s that?” She kissed me again; I squeezed her thigh, digging my fingers into her fleshy posterior.

    “What?” I breathed in her breath. She licked my lips like they were Popsicles.

    “That.” She pointed.

    “Oh, that’s my egg.” I grasped the back of her head with my free hand, letting my fingers tangle in her hair.

    “Your what?” She flattened herself across my body. So much of her was pressed against so much of me.

    “My egg.” I threw my weight to one side and flipped us over.

    “Oh.” She hooked her thumbs around the waistband of my underwear.

~Chapter 7~

    In which the narrator experiences true happiness for a brief time, then finds his egg smashed on the floor.

    My eyelids were heavy when I awoke. They didn’t want to move. Of course, there was no reason for them to; I was content to be exactly where I was. But I wanted to see where I was again. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t asleep on the couch by myself, my arm only numb because of the awkward way I was lying.

    Opening my eyes, I saw what I wanted to see. It was beginning to darken as the late afternoon sun started to leave the room, perched nonchalantly on the edge of the window like an overfed cat. I felt Ashley’s chest swell and fall with each easy breath, the soft skin sliding underneath my arm. I couldn’t help but squeeze her tighter to my chest.

    The added pressure to her body roused her. I was far from disappointed, as the sound of her voice would be quite welcome. I felt an active need to have her eyes on me, just to be the focal point of her moment. Every second I spent with her was a second she could never take back.

    “Hey,” she said, snuggling into my chest. I ran my hand over her smooth stomach, allowing it to rest there.

    “Hey,” I said. “You’re still here.” Her face was turned away from me, but I could tell she was smiling.

    “I am,” she said. “How do you feel about that?”

    “I’m pretty fucking thrilled, to tell the truth,” I replied. Her laugh warmed the room even more than the lazy sunlight.