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Every time she lies down to sleep with the gold Dragons of the bed-head coiled to spring, and the room sensual with the smell of lilies, it begins to happen. The air starts to buzz around her with small almost imperceptible harmonics of white noise like the humming of insects on a summer’s day or the voices she might expect to hear sea creatures talking in. At least these are the only ways that she can begin to describe it to herself, although she knows that it doesn’t explain anything. Going to sleep has never been such a pleasure before and often during the busy days when she is trying to get the house straight and sorted after the move, she glances at the bed and longs to just lie down and let this world wash away from her.
This evening she is thinking of the man she met on the beach her mouth curved into the slightest of smiles as she remembers his smell as he leant over her. Exotic strong, musk and the faintest hint of incense .Outside the window the night curves on and she can glimpse the wide expanse of water beyond the rooftops. The moon hangs in the sky above the roofs like a large lamp spreading a pathway of silver light on the sea beneath. Part of her wants to go down to the sea shore and feel the wind in her hair again but the dull ache in her side prevents her and she knows that she needs rest.
Her pillow is covered in the palest of damask silk and the bedspread is white antique lace with a vibrant scarf in deepest pink thrown over the top of it, bought hungrily from her travels in the Grenadine Islands last year. The pattern is of angel fish merging into one another and she had bought it from a woman in a beach hut on Paradise beach in Carriacao. She remembers as she folds it on the end of the bed how she bought it because she wanted to bring home with her some of the blinding white heat and burning sunshine of the island to this pale grey shore of a country that she is stuck in.
Sleep when it comes is firstly deep and unconscious and then somewhere around midnight when the moon blinks over the chimney pots shining a pale silver streak across the room and onto her sleeping face she begins the dream. It has been the same every night, at least it starts the same way but every night it seems to progress a little further. First of all the room seems to vibrate and shift, all the angles becoming smooth and the air expectant. Then slowly languorously she has the faintest perception of a presence in the room with her and she struggles to open her eyes but she can’t. He seems to emanate from the walls like water or damp wetness coalescing into the shape of a figure, tall undefined but definitely male. She can’t see his face even when he comes to stand at the end of the bed and stretches out an arm towards her. She has the impression that the fingers of his hands seem to elongate and move over the bed towards her stroking pulling back the covers so that he can look at her lying there. Although she wants to she’s unable to move, and all she can hear is the sound of her breath rising and falling and the murmur of his voice where he is telling her that he wants her in a language that she doesn’t understand.
She can feel her body begin to ache with wanting him to touch her more and she opens her mouth to speak to him but her throat is dry and she can say nothing. His fingertips are on her lips drawing the contours of her mouth and he pushes her lips open and inserts the very tip of his finger. It slides in and down her throat and it is cold and cool like mountain spring water but it leaves a fire within her that spreads down her throat to her heart which seems to swell in her chest and her body arches up towards the shadow of him which is immobile above her. This pulsing heat continues down through her belly button down to the nub of her sex. ………..