Dream (Henry C., Part 1)

Alyce woke up on Saturday morning and told Henry C. she’d had a strange dream.

This in itself was nothing unusual. Since the two of them had moved in together, Henry C. had had to get used to Alyce’s dreams. They were vivid things — real “divine possession” material, or maybe not so divine if you take my meaning. And she would writhe and twist on the bed, muttering (in Latin, of course, even though she didn’t know a word of Latin), and sometimes her eyes would even come open, rolled back so only the whites were visible.

On such nights, Henry C. would opt to sleep on the couch.

They didn’t come very often, these dreams, but when they did they tended to be (much as I hate to use the word) disruptive.

So after waking up on the couch on Saturday morning, Henry C. wasn’t all that surprised to hear Alyce tell him, “I had another one of my dreams last night.”

Friday night had been one of their rare lovemaking sessions. Rare on account of Henry C.’s preoccupation with internet pornography, which was so much more convenient and variable (not to mention far less moody) than Alyce herself.

The physical act of sex really didn’t interest Henry C. that much, and let me tell you it would be a few years before he finally figured out why — but figure it out he did, rest assured. It wasn’t that Alyce wasn’t an attractive girl, don’t think that for a minute. She had a pretty (if somewhat round) face, long wavy hair, lovely pale skin, a fine body, and a really gorgeous pair of C-cups that would have been perfectly satisfactory if she didn’t have the nasty self-deprecating habit of complaining they were too small.

But the highlight of her physique had to be that ass. Now, Henry C. wasn’t much of an ass man, but he could recognize a good thing when he found it. Alyce had the habit of wearing heels wherever she went — and we’re not talking little baby heels, either, we’re talking three and a half inches minimum. And best of all (or rather, second best, because you have to count just how seriously magnificent her ass was on account of all that time spent in heels), she never complained about her feet hurting as a result of wearing heels.

(And as an authorial aside, I just have to say that alone is almost enough to make a woman marriage material. Women severely underestimate the degree to which complaints about totally-preventable sore feet trigger the masculine desire to strangle. I’d even go so far as to say that the real reason OJ murdered his wife was because she more than likely complained about her damned heels…)

Sex with Alyce was always enjoyable enough, but…

A big part of their lovemaking sessions — and Friday night was no exception — consisted of Henry C. eating Alyce’s pussy. Which he was happy to do, possibly even a little too happy to do, because he sincerely enjoyed how much pleasure he was able to give her with his tongue. Even if it did make things kind of predictable, even if he didn’t really enjoy the taste all that much, even if — and this was a big one — Alyce had never once in the whole time they’d been together sucked Henry C.’s cock. Which — and he hated to insist and wouldn’t have dreamed of mentioning such a thing to Alyce — was something he really, really, really wanted and on a very real and very deep level resented not getting even every once in a while.

And then there was the ass thing. Like I said, Alyce had a really fantastic ass, round and full and just the perfect shape, and as soon as the two of them were ever naked together Henry C. wanted to smack that ass hard till it turned red and raw and Alyce had to let out little gasps and whimpers or maybe even cry and beg him to stop a little.

But the most he could ever let himself do was a little halfhearted tap with the flat of his hand, which only made Alyce giggle at how soft it was.

You can probably already see what the real problem was, at least in part, but it took Henry C. a good long while to figure it out. And things would get worse for him before he figured it out — much worse.

(Oh yeah, this is a long story. Definitely not gonna get through it today!)

Anyway, Henry C. had a superstitious respect for Alyce’s dreams, which at times could seem downright oracular. Vivid images — snakes, tornadoes, occupied homes with rotted-out floors, memories of her father who had died when she was seven, and of course family drama, because Alyce had a family history that made Henry C.’s own checkered past seem Edenic by comparison.

So when I begin this rather lengthy story with Alyce telling Henry C. about her dream, you have to bear in mind that both of them took her dreams rather seriously.

“So I had a dream you were a cult leader,” Alyce said that morning.

Henry C., who sat reading The Trial on the couch and just happened to be reading the famous passage known as “Before the Law,” glanced up at her with an eyebrow raised. “Oh, you did?”

“Yeah, it was crazy too, like Charles Manson shit. You had this whole house set up and all these followers, and there were cult members in your house taking acid all the time.”

Henry C. set the book down and leaned forward. He stared at her with intent eyes and quivering lips. You could almost see the drool forming in thick strands at the corners of his mouth. “Are you serious?”

Alyce nodded. “Yeah, and that wasn’t the craziest part. In one part of the dream there was like this, this orgy in your living room, tons of naked people having sex. And you were sitting in a big armchair at the end of the living room, and you were naked too. And there was a naked girl on her knees in front of you, and you were the cult leader, remember, and she was sucking on your dick while you watched the orgy happening.”

Henry C. laughed. “Wow, what a weird dream!”

Alyce laughed too. “Yeah, I know, right?”

The rest of the day passed by normally, the two of them enjoying their weekend off from classes in their shared one-bedroom apartment. But in the quiet of his own mind, Henry C. kept thinking about that dream, and thinking hard.

In his heart of hearts, he liked the sound of that dream.

In his heart of hearts, he liked the sound of that dream a lot.

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