DREAM 1: DREAMLIKE DESIRE

As we went to bed, snow began to fall outside, a soft whisper of frozen rain against the windows, but December was still young. It was very peaceful and Carol pressed herself to me, relishing in the warm comfort we were feeling. Darkness and cold ruled outside, but in here, the warmth of the room, and Carol's warm presence, made me sleepy but also very aware of things, my senses on the alert. Carol seemed content, for now, just to lie there and rest.

I don't know why, but the television set was turned on and I jumped from channel to channel, not finding much of value. Suddenly an intimate scene between two black men and a blonde woman was in full swing. Slightly embarrassed I raised the remote to change channel, but Carol stopped me, and said. “no, let's watch.” Her heated acceptance of the aggressive passion took me by surprise, as she was usually rather shy around erotic imagery. But Carol was clearly aroused by what she saw. “Isn't it beautiful?” she whispered, her nostrils flaring hotly, as always when she was emotionally engaged in something. I bent over and kissed her with open mouth, replying, “yes, very,” and she responded by pressing her bosom against my chest.

The two black men were dominating the white woman, and it clearly aroused Carol. Maybe it spoke to some deeply hidden desires she had been hiding from me. We looked at each other, and as the on-screen sexual furor continued onward to its inevitable conclusion, we made love with intense focus on both it and on ourselves, and when we reached climax, simultaneously with the on-screen spectacle, our ecstasy aimed for Heaven, and achieved its goal. Totally spent we collapsed, out of breath and profoundly satisfied, having made love to the visual music of a waking dream, captured in the cold light of a television set, the perfect marriage of technology and human passion.

Outside the snowing increased, and time moved on towards Christmas.s.

*

DREAM 2: THE WOMEN 

She stole into my room, like dawn across the land, as mesmerising as the colours of Alhambra, the hills of Lebanon, and the taste of dew-wet grapes. Her garments left upon the golden tiles, like memories of long, departed dreams, she came with stealth, movements like a panther, eyes ablaze, nostrils flaring like the wings of birds, and skin as soft as peaches on a baby's lips. She touched my breasts and said, as to a wind, "bring me now your hurricane, My Queen." And I took her then and there, lost to everything, hidden in crevasses of our passion. And when the guards, scimitars all ready, came into my chamber, alerted by our cries, they found nothing, and left, bewildered. But we continued making love, hidden away in the crevasses of our passion.

*

DREAM 3: THE DEMON AND THE MAIDEN

One day, as Hell seemed overcrowded, a demon came to Earth for rest and relaxation, and saw, hidden between birch and oak, a maiden, young and fair, with limbs like branches ready to erupt in spring. Her heart was filled with fire, yet to be unleashed, and in her face, so rich in sensuality, lived something yet to be fulfilled. The demon saw a chance to taste what no one of his kind had known before, and turned into a man, young but not so young as not to know the wine of lust. And he took her there and then, ripped her garments off, and she gave herself to him, most willingly, hungry for experience. She bent and twisted, like a storm-tossed tree, her youthful skin soon glistening with rivulets of sweat. This made the demon blind with lust, and almost breaking her in two, they came together in a fire almost hot as that in Hell, yet filled with ecstacy, not pain.

And he decided to abandon Hell, with all its pain, and stay behind on Earth, giving joy to women everywhere.

And from that day he took the name of Eros.

*

DREAM 4: MATADOR, AN EPISODE

He came to Spain to see the bullfights, unprepared for that which came to be. A woman half his age, which now was 52, with hair like raven's wings, performed before the crowd, bold and strong, her cape and sword a wild extension of her sexuality. He knew he had to have her, and reached out to her, but she remained evasive and aloof, hard to reach and harder still to know.

But late one night, a woman's voice said, "come", from a doorway hidden between shadows within shadows. And there she was, her nostrils flaring, eyes aglow, limbs of softest youthfulness, ready to make love.

She took him to a courtyard, crossed it to an old, bewitching house, led him to the topmost floor, left her clothes upon the tiles, and willingly displayed her body, bathed in soft, revealing light. She pointed to a bed, told him to undress, and then and there laid down upon the bed, ready to explore and taste his art.

She drank his vast experience, as if it was the finest wine, and he devoured all she offered, revelling in her aggressive femininity, remembering her movements in the ring, triumphantly establishing the rule of Man, and then, aroused, they reached erotic commonality, howling at the moon.

They were like spice to one another, she had made him younger with her youthful limbs, he had seen her love-making mature, and in the years to come, between the many bullfights, their love would blossom like a full-grown rose, and after both were gone, a legend said a bush of fiery roses always bloomed within the courtyard where they first had met.


*


DREAM 5: THE PASSION OF THE FEMALE MATADOR

She comes to me in dreams, a female matador, a woman in her 40s, slim yet strong, features like an amazon, always naked as she proudly steps into the ring, filled with sexuality, killing gracefully, and I wake up aroused and hard, in need of quick release.

The whole thing is a mystery, having been ambivalent towards corridas for a long, long time, finding them both gross and filled with sensuality, but now, like visions, lucid and erotic, dreams make up my nights, as if they fill a void in me. Each waking day I long for sleep, because I long for her, slim yet strong, her hair both dark and long, skin of bronze, features vaguely African, tailor made for love and carnal things, and my respect is deeply felt, like ocean waves upon a hot and sandy beach, stretching endlessly both east and west.

I study the corrida, ambivalence pronounced, yet can't escape eroticism at its core. I know that I must go to Spain, to see, to hear, and to experience. Arriving there I come upon a female matador, a living version of the woman in my dreams, down to every line and curve. Alana is her name, her features vaguely African, and I want her very much. Her movements in the ring are charged with sexuality, her beauty much increased by the workings of her cape and sword. And every time she kills, it is as if she search for me, to meet my eyes, knowing my desire, and I can only hope she feels the same.

And then one night, the last before returning home, there is a knock upon my door, and there she stand, eyes on fire, hair set free, asking for my heart's desire. We embark upon a journey bold and fierce; as we make love she tells me stories of corridas she had lived, her feelings of arousal just as strong as mine, equally in dreams.

Our passion knows no bounds, I need to tame her rage, penetrating her much like she spear the bulls, yet we are gilded through and through with ecstacy.

She is beauty,
I am fire,
and in our raw desire
humanity triumphs.

And with that poem fresh in mind, I always wake up in my own bed, still at home, never having been to Spain at all.

So begins another quest for Spain, to meet the woman of my dreams, but will she ever come to me for real? I do not know, and do not care, as long as I can have her in my arms at night, dream or not, to know her sexuality, and hear her tales about the passion of the female matador.


*


DREAM 6: BY A SHADED BROOK

The old man stumbled deep into the forest, with Death at his heels, he could feel the icy breath upon his neck. But by the shaded brook was haven once again, his much beloved haven. Ever since boyhood, whenever he had been beset by the evils of the world, he had found sanctuary there.

He sat down, leaning against a much beloved tree, whose branches caressed the silvery surface of the brook, and felt at peace. But he knew that once he left the forest, Death would be victorious, as the years wore heavily upon his soul.

The silence was total, except for the softest of breezes, and the murmuring brook, the source of which was still a mystery to the town where he was born and raised; where did it come from, where did it go? It came out from an impenetrable pile of rocks high among the eastern hills, and disappeared underground, miles and miles from here, towards the west, close by the sea.

The stories about the brook were manifold, filled with myth and legend. Odd fish were sometimes seen, and on occasion, things for which there were no words, swimming in its icy depths.

A splash near by. A fish? A bird? Another splash, now to his left. A woman rose up from the cool and swirling waters, naked as a newborn fawn. She was the loveliest of things, young limbs like ivory, shaped to the perfection of the gods, a face so sweet and feminine it could compare to nothing else. And he felt far removed from fear, even knowing she was not of human stock.

”What do you most desire, son of man?” she whispered, nostrils flaring like the wings of butterflies, and long forgotten feelings stirred within his withered frame.

”You,” he whispered in reply, and she took him to her, loved him with a fierce abandon, strong and agile, the very antidote to He Who Waited In The Shadows, with the white and bony face.

Her body was both rain and sun, storm and calm, the rage of mating lions and the purring's of a cat; she rode him as the mountains ride the land, and that which came were feelings unlike any he had felt before.

Then, at dusk, she left him, spent and drained, disappearing down into the shaded brook, and he rose up, once more a young and vibrant man, and when he left the forest, Death was gone, left for dead, and the winds sang Hallelujah 'neath the summer stars.


*


DREAM 7: CARLA AND THE CANYON

She was known as Carla the adventurous, Carla with the big blue eyes, known for willfulness, a desire to antagonize, ridicule and break the rules. But all she ever wanted was her freedom. She was expected to marry a man much older than herself, she was expected to bear many children and chain herself to a domestic life. She hated it, would never succumb to the desires of society, and wanted to roam the wilds, make love to many men (and maybe women, too), travel far and wide to see and hear and learn.

Now, having just turned twenty-one, she was descending down a gorge, deep into a very narrow canyon, where a frisky stream splashed and roared across the rocks. and was as free as she wished to be. She was going there to meditate, hidden by the cliffs that almost never saw the sun. She found a spot, beneath a gnarly tree, probably a thousand years of age (how could it grow? It seemed to sprout from solid rock), and looked across the stream that came and went, caring not for anything, and imagined lovers coming down the cliff, anonymous and young, but not as young as her, she wanted someone with experience.

But no one came and she delt drowsy, leaned against the bark, and maybe fell asleep.. for suddenly a man appeared, forty years or more, handsome, of a darker hue, courteous and most mature; he took her hand and led her up towards the sunny glade, asked what he could do for her. She asked if he could show the soul of Spain, and suddenly, as in a dream (which this must be) they were inside a bullfight ring, and there she saw the soul of Spain, and was aroused; then she asked to see the soul of Egypt, and suddenly there was a pyramid, and all the tales of Scheherazade, but Carla wanted more of Spain, so once again corridas touched her heart, she wanted to make love, and suddenly they were inside a room, a huge and mighty bed awaiting them, her guide proclaiming that he was a matador, so for hours they made love, she a target for his vast experience, and more than ever did she know her future path, the path of guiding her own destiny.

And as the last and final orgasm made her arch her back and scream, she awoke against the tree, inside the gorge, by the stream, moist and breathless, faint from ecstacy, dreamt or not. She slowly rose, unsure of what to think, had all this been a dream or something else, a vision from her future self, saying to her younger self, ”be as wind and rain, and never bow to anyone, live and love, claim your womanhood, and never turn your back on life.”

And knowing now her future path, she left the canyon, head held high, proud and strong, richer in experience, and maybe she HAD met a matador in the forest depths, and maybe not, but something free had touched her soul that day.


*


DREAM 8: DAYBREAK

She woke beside her mistress, sleeping still after a night of fiery passion, seldom had she seen her woman so aggressive, like it was their final time as lovers, and they would never meet again.

Their husbands, bless their boring souls, were good and honest men, but knew not properly to touch and to caress, not like a woman do. Who knows better how women should be touched, than another woman?

They met one summer night, beneath the harvest moon, close upon the land of Faery, and maybe some of its inherent magic rubbed off upon their souls, for they were smitten with each other, and began to meet in secret, savoring their much forbidden love, laughing at a world believing love can ever be forbidden.

Her mistress touched her now, eyes still closed, caressed her breast, squeezing nipples gently, yet with hints of cruelty, which made both of them aroused, for the pleasures of the flesh often carry with it hints of wickedness. That's why they loved to watch young men within their village killing bulls at autumn festivals, it stirred their passions, and made their touch so piercing.

So they were naked once again, exploring that which only women knew. The mountains echoed with their cries, as they made love within a temple, hidden by some cherry trees, their bodies eager to explore the breath of Aphrodite and of Zeus, and bending backwards in desire turning into arches made of female flesh. And as the fates would have it, their passionate embraces coincided with unlawful killings of two bulls deep within the village, out of season, secretly, almost as if someone knew, and made a sacrifice in honor of the women.

Afterward, their bodies drenched in sweat, they kissed and eagerly began to touch anew, and as dawn gave way to day, they promised both to sacrifice a bull, each to the other, and then make love again, and yet again, in honor of both Aphrodite and Zeus.

And of themselves.


*


DREAM 8: DEEP WOODS AT MIDNIGHT

One summer night, when she had tasted bitterness, she disappeared into the woods, unafraid of wolves and trolls. The moon was full and everything was covered by a mystic light. She roamed the glens and brooks, and stopped beside a roaring stream, cursing everything that she had done, most of all her marriage vows, as he who now was legally attached to her was dumb and vain, and knew not how to love. But he was rich, as these things go, and she had fallen for his words and married him, only to be forced to drink the poison of regret. She was young and beautiful, and could have had her pick among the men who wanted her, but here she was, married to a bore, so she cast off her clothes and went into the stream, its chilly waters cooling down her wrath.

When she looked up, a stranger stood upon a rock, a man mature in years, yet with a youthful gleam within his eyes. She was not scared, she asked him to come down to her, the waters still held warmth, and he obeyed, and then the strangest thing occurred, for every step he took, a year was want to stay behind, and when he was upon her, he looked a man no older than herself, but with experience upon his face. And among the splashing mists he penetrated her, took her like a matador his bull, but without the death or pain, and she let go a scream of joy, and thought, “here is a man who knows a woman, so unlike the dud who calls himself my mate,” and the stranger took possession of her body and for what seemed like hours gave her pleasure unlike any she had had before.

Afterwards she rested still on softest moss; he stood away from her, once more looking older, and she knew he was no man, but did not care, he had given her what she desired, and she would never be content with her boorish husband from this night onward.

Suddenly the scene around her changed, as seen through fairy mists, the image of the man not fully clear, but she could see his lower body was no longer human, but much more like a horse, his torso still a man's. And then he waved to her and smiled, and in true form the centaur left her, naked, satisfied and dried by soft nocturnal winds, feeling like a woman should, and the moonlight penetrated deep into the woods.


*


DREAM 9: MY NAME IS ECSTACY

He came upon her by the cliffs of Anador, the lake of mystery, a strange young woman with fire in her eyes, lovely as a summer morn, and they struck up a conversation then and there, but she was not content with that, but left her clothes among the rocks, invited him unto a patch of moss, and there commanded him to love her, “like the eagles love the wind,” and she was wild and fierce and unlike any woman he had loved before. She asked of him to take her strongly, hard and without mercy, to dominate her like the Moon the tides, and the pleasures which they had sent echoes up among the cliffs, and it became the most intense of times that he had ever known, and afterwards he asked her for her name, and she replied, “my name is Ecstacy, and I belong to no one,” and disappeared into the shadows.


*


DREAM 10: PRINCESS PARIZADE BRINGING HOME THE SINGING TREE

She surveyed her stately garden, found it wanting, asked advisors what was wrong, and one of them, a man of bronzed and foreign skin, replied, ”it is a tree you lack, a tree there in the northern corner, and I know what type, a singing tree, one that entertains you with its stories, sung in vibrant tones. It sings of love and lust and war and anything you may request.”

”Are there such trees?” the Princess asked, preparing to behead him then and there, if his reply was not one she desired, but he replied in the affirmative, he could, if she desired, turn himself into a tree, because his family were sorcerers from ancient times.

The Princess Parizade laughed at such stupidity, ordered forth a scimitar, with which to sever head from neck, and she was much aroused by this, as she was cruel in heart and soul, and often killed both men and women which she took into her bed, but suddenly a magic tree sprung up from deep within the northern patch, a tree that sang in such sweet tones, that it made soft the Princess' heart.

And from that day it entertained her day and night, sometimes with lovers by her side, sometimes not, none of which were ever killed again. and from the bronzed and foreign man, once advisor, said to be from magic stock, nothing was ever seen or heard again.


*


DREAM 11: THREE WOMEN

It was a warm spring evening, the moon sailed serenely amongst feather clouds, and the Queen ordered her two young slaves to join her by the pool in the marble courtyard, there to take off their clothes. Each of them took pleasure from the other, as they always did, or their Queen would whip them harshly, and they could not stand the sight of that, as they truly loved each other.

The Queen loved no one but herself, and took great pleasure, not only in the sensuality of women, but in their obedience. She craved respect and got it, deriving joy and satisfaction in seeing others fear her, and obey.

”Now engage in carnal pleasures,” she hissed. The young women did what she commanded them to do, and began their exploration. The Queen began again to fantasize about what she would like to do to them, their splendid forms and soft, moist flesh, acts of bondage, watching bodies bending in voluptuous agony, but something held her back, as if a little voice of conscience told her, no, that is a field of pleasure better left alone.

This angered her, her royal mind beset with images of sweet, delicious pain, and bodies bent in agony, she was a Queen, deciding then and there to finally fulfill her darkest dreams.

Then something unexpected happened: an eclipse, unpredicted and severe, came upon the land and lasted for an hour; the palace grounds were bathed in a mystic light, shadows deepening, and slaves almost becoming one with the impenetrable gloom. The Queen, who missed the sight of women taking pleasure from each other, found herself alone in sudden darkness. Silence equally descended, as did the fear of death that in that hour touched the Queen's most steely, icy heart

When moonlight finally once more ruled the lands, a change hade come upon the Queen, as the two young women noticed, visible again, making love anew; she looked upon them with a different gaze, her royal eyes aglow with tender love, and she tore off her clothes and joined them there, touched their limbs and kissed their lips, rejoicing in the warmth she felt for all her subjects.

And they were Queen and slaves no more, only women making love by a pool surrounded by a marble palace, shimmering with water, kissed by moonlight. And all was well.


*


DREAM 12: ENCHANTMENT

It was the most enchanted night!

She descended marble stairs leading to the yard, accompanied by a multitude of stars. There should not be that many stars, cause it was midsummer, but the heavens swarmed with them, like some celestial blizzard praising this enchanted night. And it was warm, the wind blew strongly from the sea, and she had visited a midnight cellar, fetching her a rare and vintage wine, hidden now beneath her dress, a pale green envelope, hiding her voluptuous frame, youthful, slim and eager for a lover's hands.

And they were waiting for her by the woods, not too far, she could walk the miles, and would, and quickly now she ran across the meadows, eager to cast off her dress, drink and celebrate this most enchanted night.

There he was, a shadow among shadows, and she lost her dress, produced the wine, and eagerly they drank the first of many toasts, and now they both were nude, finally, and he was glorious to her, older, wiser, strong and much experienced in love. He took her on a journey no one had before, and the fox and deer and many birds were startled by the woman's screams, but they were screams of joy, as ancient feelings shook her to the core, connecting her to things of yore, mystic rituals of certain cruelty, the thoughts of which aroused her even more, their cruelty an aphrodisiac, much like the bullfights she attended.

This was a splendid birthday gift, she was finally of age, and would refuse her suitors. Her lover was to be her husband, damn the throne, her sister would be welcome to its pressures and responsibilities. ”I only want my freedom and to love a man of such experience,” she thought, and he was kind and good and owner of a stately farm, and thinking this she rode him, gladly eagerly, much like a boat a stormy sea, and he was deep inside her, hands across her ample bosom, and then she screamed again, as fires burned once more inside her frame, before unconsciousness took hold of her.

When she woke up a single rose between her breasts was there to signal that he would be back, and take her home, and soon, quite soon. Her body tingled still, she felt so drained, but oh, so satisfied, wine and passion lingering, much like the morning star. As she began the short trek home, she said onto the fields, ”there can be nothing like the meeting between lovers, for surely no throne, no crown, no sceptre can bring forth what hands and lips can bring.”

Finally, as dawn began to rise, she slid between her sheets, remembering, remembering, her memories most lingering, this most enchanted night. And hands between her legs, gently touching, she fell into a dreamless sleep.


*

DREAM 13: RED PASSION IN BLACK AND WHITE

”Come play with us,” the dark-skinned woman said, her face a mask of darkest majesty.

”Yes, play with us,” another dark-skinned woman said, her nostrils flaring proudly, like the wings of eagles, ”and know the joy of showing us respect.”

And the younger woman, fair in skin and golden hair, stepped naked out into the ring of seven women, dark and powerful and rich in life's experience, ready to obey and show respect.

And so they took command of her, showing her the art of dominance, and fiery was their desire, as they explored the fair and golden beauty of the younger woman, now immersed in deepest ecstacy.

And the moon rose up above the hills, showing little interest in the human passion on display, but the shadows, where the women were, were pulsating with deep respect and dark obediance.