Dreams of Innocence and Desire

One of the vendor’s account execs reminded me of James.

Something in the reserved manner, something in the shape of his face, something about his mouth (Wait, no, did I ever really notice James’s mouth when we worked together?  I don’t remember even daring to really look at him let alone notice his mouth)… And then there was something else in the way his eyes went dark when he looked at me at the casino event.

For a man who otherwise reminded me of James to slip so, to look at me in that way that stepped outside professional distance and said that for a moment he was seeing me in another light — though I could sense that at the same time, for just that moment, he had forgotten himself, had not simply failed to see me as a professional person in favor of seeing me as a woman, but was perhaps not seeing ME at all, just my body, all curves and heat — No, I have never seen James look at me that way; I doubt I ever would.

The look was there and then gone again, as the vendor rep remembered himself.  Even so, I needed to walk away.  The resemblance was too strong; at that moment he was suddenly too much James as James has become to me in this last year.  It was throwing me off balance; I no longer trusted my reactions.

I would not want James to look at me in quite that way, stripped of personhood.  And yet, and yet… to be looked at with something like it but more human, with heat and desire…

I suppose that feeling influenced/triggered the dream.  A half-dream, a morning dream in California.  California dreaming:

I am in James’s home.  Unseen to me (I must be losing the details of James again), in his room sleeping, he rises, leaves the bed open behind him.  Though I don’t see him, I know that he has gone away, likely into the bathroom to shower, brush his teeth, whatever.

[Later, when I’m awake, I realize, perhaps to shave, and this is a strange thought for me; I have never seen James unshaven, and yet there must be those mornings when his face is rough; I can’t picture this at all and yet I can almost hear the rusp of a razor on whiskers or the whine of an electric (though somehow I imagine him to be more the razor sort) to remove the sandpapery sharpness of new stubble. Strange, unsettling, out of place, to think of these intimate details about him.]

But I digress.

He is no sooner gone from the bed and the room than I come tumbling from my bed in what must be a guest room straight into his, into the waiting nest of sheets he’s abandoned, into a delicious world that’s still warm from his body and infused with his scent.  I am enveloped in a world of James.

Within the dream, I curl up happily in that world, totally at peace, there is no place else I would want to be.  And yet within the dream I also wonder how he will react when he finds me there.  I wonder if he will be angry — he should be angry, I am intruding uninvited on his personal space in a very intimate way.  I wonder if he will be amused, perhaps touched, will he understand my simple wish to feel close to him?  I wonder if he will think I have intended something else… and how could he not think, on finding me in his bed, that I was intending it as an offer, an invitation?

And though that has not been the intention, now alerted I realize I’m dreaming, and so the dream shifts with me… perhaps it has not been my intention but should he misunderstand me in this way, the idea isn’t exactly unwelcome.  To me, anyway.  I would not initiate anything, but I would probably respond to him if he did.  The dream shifts; though I have still come there in innocence, somehow now I am ready for something less innocent than sleep; showered, teeth brushed, not in soft sleepy pajamas but in something more welcoming, more tempting — something of sheer gauzy white or burgundy silk or lavender lace…

But my dreaming mind cannot fill in details built from nothing, maybe doesn’t want to, and the dream ends just as it begins to turn down this path.

Looking at the dream, I ignore (for the most part) the end.  Once I start directing the dream it becomes just wish fulfillment, nothing I don’t already know is there.

I have dreamed, this time, of being incredibly close to James without being close to him at all.  I have dreamed of intimacy and remoteness blended together.

There is, perhaps, a bit of wishing that I could have such warmth from him without the complexity, without the confusion, without the tension and danger and heartbreak that would come with a physical relationship.  I do want everything, don’t I?

Still, I go to his bed, all apparent innocence in the gesture. Perhaps even in my dreams, I want him without being able to admit that want.

But I think, ultimately, that it’s a picture of the truth of where we stand.

  • I do feel this closeness to James… which I know to be an illusion, based on nothing… a connection which is in stark contrast to the reality of distance (both literal and figurative) between us… and is totally one-sided.
  • It is me wanting to be still closer to him, in a more real sense… to know him better.  Intimately, in a way, but not primarily physical although with an increasingly willing acceptance of that possibility were it offered.  But much more… to know his mind, his heart, to know the man that he is.
  • I am wrapped up in him, so to speak – am apparently choosing to be so – without any encouragement, without any indication that he knows or cares, without any reason to believe that he’d return the feeling.
  • And I am pushing into his space, uninvited and possibly (even likely) unwelcome, to try to achieve that connection, when in reality it can’t be pushed.

On the one hand, it was a nice dream, and I would have liked to have stayed in it longer. On the other hand, it’s so obvious in real life that my feelings are not welcome. I really need to get over him. Quickly.

How does one do that?

 

10/18/2006

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~ by lorakceel on May 19, 2012.

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