THE HUNGRY DREAMS

What do you feel like? And what do you want to do?

She wanted it all to herself. The cake, the pie, the ice-cream. Hot buttery crust, golden puff paste, and an enticing smell. Bakery aromas, sensuous fragrances. And she knew now where it could be found.
She was determined to explore it in private, behind closed doors, on a day when she would not be disturbed. A secret thrill and delicious depravity.
And no one should ever know. She'd hide it from them.
This wasn't something to admit in public.

Why do you hesitate?

It was what she had wanted to do for a long time. Experience it, finally. She hadn't mentioned this to anyone, not her best friend, not even the pussycat that slept on the couch whenever she lay there reading in the evening. The cat just dozed, ignoring the occasional crunch of cookies as she sampled sweetness in between chapters. She would have gotten up to get some milk, but she did not want to wake the beast. Still, it would be quite understandable if she did.
The feline lay there, contently dreaming of cream.
A throbbing presence near her knees

Calmly, quietly, feasting on a surfeit of fresh egg tarts.
An enormous box of heavenly hot pastries.
All hers. No one else's!

In her imagination crumbs and custard sloppily went everywhere, rimming her mouth and dribbling down her front. Wickedly she licked her lips, the pink tip of her tongue flicking in and out. She herself would fall asleep after being sated. That's what Saturdays were all about. Yielding to a private pleasure, with a furry beast between your thighs. Purring. Sleeping.
The faint frisson of claws curling, or the thumping flick of a tail.

Tails are immense fun.
Yowling pussy.

Then an early dinner. An entire afternoon of indolence and drowsing might naturally make one ravenous, and vigorous appetites lend alertness. It's fun to discover something new and delicious, perhaps a restaurant with candles near a park.

Appropriately for a city by the water, there will be fish. Fresh live fish. It's not the only thing that wriggles, sometimes pleasure makes one squirm. Fleshy food: warm, wet, and velvety on the tongue.

Or maybe even more pastries, eaten hurriedly on a bench in a quiet alley, near the sound of crows. Faintly, distant, the sound of running water.
A fountain underneath redwood trees. The city is silent, so silent.
It's deceptive; there is tension in pockets and around corners.
Exciting things to uncover, glowing candy.
And zephyrs of eddying warmth.
Black birds, beaks, eyes.
New sweetness.

She was enchanted by the prospect of many such afternoons as Spring became an indolent Summer. More Saturdays. Long evenings.
She would really want it to last forever.
Something never felt before.
Lazy anticipation.
Delight.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================