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Message-ID: <29278asstr$983927402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Forever Grim" <forevergrim@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Perchance to Dream (MF rom real dream no sex)
Date: Tue,  6 Mar 2001 20:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

(Every word of this is literally true; it happened to me)

    I wake up crying.

    Dreams can seem real, even when you're aware it's a dream,
and I can deal with that.  But this one . . .

    I don't have to travel much on business, for which my wife
is as grateful as I am, but it's five in the morning and I'm
several hundred miles away from home.  It's a nice hotel, but
that doesn't matter at all because of I've dreamed about you.

    I've always wanted you, even though it would never happen.
And we both married, and we're both as happy as we have any
right to expect --- marriages aren't the bright perky lifelong
good times that are portrayed for us as we grow up.  We quickly
learn about the Money arguments and the Sex adjustments and
(eventually) the Children-Should-Be-Raised-My-Way debates.
And we certainly learn about spouses who cling so tightly that
they threaten to choke the very person they love.  None of it
is new; they've all been done so many times throughout history,
and now they're happening to us.  C'est la vie.

    And I'm still friends with you and your husband.  We still
get together with other friends for fun and talk.  And I still
want you as much as I've ever wanted anyone, and I still know
that it will never happen:  we both know that our lives would
change only for the worse if either of us tried to act on our
feelings, so we're careful to bury them deeply and only laugh
and talk with each other the same as we do the others.

    My dreams are usually complex and dynamic, and this one
is no different.  A crowd of people, apparently a party, not
really able to focus on who is here or what exactly everyone
is doing . . . until I see you.  Everything is normal, it's
just a party, except that I put my arm around you, with my
hand high up on your back, for no reason.  I'm not doing
anything inappropriate, but you turn to look at me, and as
our eyes meet, we're suddenly in bed, lying next to each other,
still looking into each other's eyes.  And the blinding
overwhelming sensation rushes through me that we understand
each other pefectly.  Utterly and impossibly perfectly.
I *know* you, everything about you, the good in you and the
faults, and all of it is completely right and clean.  I am
with you, and part of you, and inside you, and nothing you
do can hurt me.  I can never be insecure about you, I know
without thinking that mistakes I make will never shake your
faith in me.  We belong together, and the feeling is as pure
and relaxing as a mortal creature can ever experience, as we
gaze at each other, thoroughly at peace with ourselves.

    And I wake up, crying because the feeling is gone.

    I'm lying in bed, in a hotel room far away from you,
straining to remember how it felt to be so perfectly in touch
with another person.  The memory has faded but it's still there,
faintly, if I concentrate and think of you lying next to me;
I don't ever want to lose what little is left of this.

    I daydream.  I fly back home, happy to see my wife and kids,
and resume my usual routine of existence.  Eventually I hear
that you are going on a business trip yourself.  I casually
find out without anyone noticing (it's my daydream, I can be
James Bond himself if I want) when and where you'll be.  The
next week I carefully build a cover story of having to fly out
on business again, but instead tell my office I'm taking a day
or two of vacation and buy a round-trip ticket to the city
your company is sending you to.

    Two nights later, you're in the hotel bar with some
co-workers, unwinding after a hard day of convincing the
client not to do stupid things.  I'm sitting far away with
a newspaper, keeping to myself and apparently watching the
television, but of course I'm waiting for you.  At one point
you excuse yourself to go to the ladies' room, and as you
pass by my seat I lower the paper enough that you see my face.
You're in good control of yourself, you barely pause as you
continue to the ladies' room.  I simply wait, and eventually
you walk by me on your way back to your table; you don't speak
or look at me, but a folded piece of paper falls silently into
my lap.  You resume joking and recounting the day's activities
with your friends, and after a few minutes I get up and leave,
headed back to the lobby.  Only in the elevator do I inspect
what you dropped:  a plastic card with many dots cut out,
wrapped inside a torn piece of paper with "541" scrawled on it.
The card obediently pops open the door to the fifth-floor room,
and I carefully ensure that there's only enough luggage here
for one person.  There's nothing for me to do, so I stand at
the door looking out, watching for the woman who gave me her
only key to her room.

    About ten minutes pass before I see you striding down the
hall; I open it for you and close it behind you as you walk in.
We simply look at each other for several moments, then slowly,
silently, wrap ourselves in a close embrace.  For unmeasured
minutes we remain standing like that, doing nothing else.
There is no kissing, no fondling, no attempts at sexual
excitement at all by either of us; your breathing, rapid when
you arrived at the room, quickly calmed down and is now slow
and deep.  We both want to make love, but we want even more
to live our lives in peace, and we know that we would shatter
everyone's lives involved if we go too far --- and even a
single kiss would be too far.  The lights are already low as
we oh so carefully undress each other without touching, always
moving slowly, slowly, trying to draw out the moments and make
them last forever.  We crawl under the blankets and sheets of
the bed, lying next to each other, staring so unbearably deeply
into each other's eyes.  Our foreheads rub, our hands touch
each other's backs, but that's all the contact there is.
I brush your hair from my face as we lie together, at peace.

    I wake up while you're still asleep; sometime during the
night you turned over and we spooned, with my arm on top of
your side and hand extended up to your shoulder.  Gradually
you awaken as I massage your legs, back, shoulders and neck,
always careful not to let my fingers drift too far.  I enjoy
massaging purely for the physical pleasure it gives you, but
our time runs out; you have to be at the client's office
soon and I have to fly back.  I pick you up, both of us naked,
and hug you almost as tightly as you're hugging me.  I dress
quickly to leave.  We understand each other so well; we will
remain as we are, remain true to our spouses, and never try to
spark our friendship into the special relationship that we
know could happen.  We understand that we would only cause
misery to those closest to us, and that we were fortunate to
have this one night to remember.  We share one last embrace,
the last we'll ever have, as our love is locked forever in
our eyes, the only place it will ever exist anymore.  The kiss
I wish beyond wishing I could give you is buried and gone,
and I smile at you as I leave the room, leave the hotel,
leave the city and the woman I will always want but never ask.

    Neither of us spoke a single word at all.

    That is the end of my daydream.  It was enough to get me up
and moving that day, and it stays with me.  I need it, because
as much as I love my wife and my family and would never do
anything to strain my marriage, I will never stop wanting you,
so I keep this daydream with me.
_________________________________________________________________
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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