Rainy Sunday
I could not sleep that Sunday. The rain rattled against my window, the droplets of water smashing and merging into the stream that washed down the glass. Many droplets became one body of water, and I watched them for a while, still uneasy, still missing that something that would allow me to find rest.
Getting up, I decided to go outside and feel the rain. Cold as it might be, it had been a long time since I had thrown my cares to the wind and felt the biting rain on my skin. Perhaps I simply needed to feel something in order to fall asleep.
Outside the rain formed small rivers flowing down the roads that made up the city. I let myself just wander; roaming amongst the skyscrapers that made up the landscape. I saw people running for shelter, but I cared not that I had wet feet and was cold. It was liberating just to feel something in a lifeless world. There are so many people, but sometimes it is so hard to reach out to them; to connect with others. I’ve spent almost my entire life in solitude, and have grown to like my own space, yet sometimes I feel a deep yearning for companionship; to have somebody at my side who understands my cares and needs.
I stopped suddenly, a woman catching my eye. She stood out against the dreary crowds at the bus stop because she looked like a princess trapped in an ordinary world. She wore a long dress with elegance and grace, yet seemed not to be worried about the rain. I wondered if she was on her way home from a dance or a wedding. Long, black hair flowed down her back, adorned with flowers. I could not help but be captivated by her, and lamented the fact that the others around me, hurrying with their heads to the ground, were missing out on seeing Beauty itself.
I realized I had stopped and was letting the rain soak me as I stared. Feeling self-conscious, I wondered what I should do. I could not stand and stare at a stranger, it was rude, not to mention creepy. But I could not just let her pass away into the rain, never to be seen again.
As if answering my silent prayer, she looked up and our eyes met. A wordless connection seemed to hang tentatively in thin air and I found myself stepping forward. I’m usually such a shy person, but I felt reassured by her eyes. They were warm and brown, inviting me to come closer.
Then the bus came. I felt panic rise up in me as I realized she was probably going to get on and disappear forever. She saw the bus and acknowledged it as all the other faceless people shuffled aboard, then turned her head away from it and back to me. It pulled away without her on board, and I exhaled slowly.
It was clear now that I should introduce myself; she had obviously made her move and so I stepped forward to stand next to her under the shelter. Yet I felt so awkward and ugly, and I could not help but hate myself for looking at her exposed skin with lust. How long it had been since I had felt another’s warm skin against mine!
“I’m Emily,” she said, smiling. Pulling my mind from the gutter, I swallowed hard.
“Anna,” I said, feeling my name to by ugly against hers. I wanted to say something, to apologize for staring at her, but she put her finger to my lips to silence me and all words were lost at this slight contact.
“Would you like to come with me?” An invitation I couldn’t refuse. Was I taking that the wrong way? Was my mind sinking into lowly depths once again, or did she truly have a twinkle in her eye as she said it?
She took my hand and I felt electricity running through me, “Yes,” I said breathlessly.
We headed out into the rain. I did not ask where she was taking me, but still holding onto my hand, she broke into a run. I found myself running through the city streets with her, feeling the surreal nature of being dragged through this urban landscape by a woman who clearly did not belong in this harsh, dirty world.
It was almost as if the world changed around me; I found myself in a back street with her, behind an old English pub. It was quiet, and I was glad to thrust away the world and have just the two of us. She was standing against the wall, her chest heaving from the run and rain dripping down her face. I was lost, and gently pushing her to the wall, I grasped her body in my arms and kissed her passionately.
My desire having gotten the best of me, I expected her to push me away, to turn on me and tell me I was a disgusting creature, but no admonition came; in fact, she returned the kiss with equal fervor, her ample breasts pushing up against mine. Our breathing grew heavier, and I knew for the first time I was about to have sex in a back street. But then she pulled away. I groped after her, but she went to the back door of the pub and unlocked it. Somehow I understood that this was her home - it only seemed fitting that she was the innkeeper’s daughter in this strange fantasy. As if in keeping with the scene, I picked her up and carried her over the threshold, hurrying up the stairs with her.
“That room,” she said, pointing. I carried her in and stood her back up. Her back to me, I slowly drew down the zipper that kept her dress fastened and let it fall. She turned to me and the sight took my breath away. There was no turning back for me then, I had to have her. Yet she stopped me again, and I knew she wanted me to strip. I hated my body, but somehow she wanted me and I could not hide away if I was to be able to touch her.
Naked, I massaged her breasts, easing her to the bed and laying her down, kissing her passionately as I let my hand slip between her thighs and feel the wetness there. Spreading her legs, I moved in to devour her, letting my tongue explore her private areas as she cried out in pleasure. She came and turned me over, taking control. My princess was now a queen, strong and demanding but generous as well. I felt sated to the very core as we slipped into the cozy embrace of lovers.
I found myself searching for words to express the way I felt when I felt myself slipping away. No, not sleep, not now! Not with so much left unsaid...
A thunderclap awoke me and I woke, burning up with heat, in my bed, not hers. I felt filled with love, rage and desire as I realized it had just been a dream. The rain was beating down against my window and I was alone on another rainy Sunday...
But it felt real, and I felt love, though it has now faded into memory. Does it matter that it was just a dream, if my soul experienced it as though it were real? She was alive, if only for the briefest of seconds inside my mind...
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