by Lauren Schone (11/29/00)

The dream replays with each call. I'm on a platform with the tightrope before me. Everything else is a chasm around me, except the platform beneath me and the rope pathway stretching away from me. It seems solid and safe, almost luminous and inviting. I don't fear the rope at all, only the chasm.

"There, now all that credit card stuff is behind us. Let's talk about what turns us on, John. Can I call you John?"

"Ah, thank you, John. Say, I'll bet you're a cowboy. Am I right, or am I right?"

I take a step onto the rope, and then another. The scent of freshly baked bread surrounds me and sunshine streams in the windows as a much younger me balances along the red stripe in the linoleum of the bakery floor. Step, step, giggle.

"Oh, I just knew it. I can smell the old west on a man, even through the phone."

"Of course, John, I know. I've been preparing myself all day for you, combing my long, blond hair and picking out my best gingham dress, touching myself as I think of you taking it right off of me."

The chasm returns, but the rope remains solid under my feet, and the platform reassuringly close behind. Step and step. The clean smell of puddles after the rain -- I step carefully along the reflections of the power lines in the water puddled down the center of the alley. Plop and plop, heedless of my shoes.

"Ooh, that's just what I'm thinking, John. You come forcefully through that door, the smell of the outdoors still clinging to you, hungry for me. You are hungry for me, aren't you, John?"

"I know you are, because you're so forceful, John. Pounding shut that door and sweeping me up against you, turning my head up to kiss you fully, while your hands take a walk all over my arching back."

I'm still further along, no longer close to the platform, but the rope is solid and there for me, and the passage is mine. I breath in liniment and steam heat; this is the balance beam in the school gym. Step, step, cartwheel, step. This is my road, I'm triumphant here.

"Can't hide that from a virile fellow like you, can I, John? No, I've been a very naughty cowgirl, I'm wearing no underwear at all. I knew I couldn't wait that long with your trail smell driving me mad."

"My dress buttons down the front, John. Oh, but you know. I'm just shivering all over with cowgirl goose bumps. And I love the sure way your calloused hands unfasten all those delicate buttons."

Far from the platform now, the rope shivers slightly as a withered dwarf appears in front of me, headed from the far side toward me. His face seems familiar, but I can't say why. He leers at me as though saying he'll be back, then steps across into the chasm and disappears.

"You slip my dress off onto the floor, John. I'm a little shy, even in the firelight, as I see that hunger in your eyes. That is hunger I see, isn't it, John?"

"I just had to know, 'cause I'm embarrassed how ready I am for you. My nipples go rock hard when you brush them, and my whole body shivers when you feel my boobs. I'm wet halfway down my legs, John, I'm so ready for you."

I pause, too far along to go back, afraid to go forward. Reluctantly I step, and the smell of fall leaves surrounds me as I crunch them along the edge of the sidewalk after dusk. Step, and step, and regret.

"What's that?"

"You are? My, that's a lot for a cowgirl to ride, John, even as wet as I am. But if you'll be gentle just like you're breaking a new colt, John, I'll grow to love you. I want you so much."

The chasm seems hostile now, the rope thin and insecure. I step hesitantly as the smell of antiseptic and harsh fluorescent lighting surround my steps along the line in the white vinyl tile. For evidence, they say.

"Bend over the couch and spread my legs, John? Oh my, I love a forceful man who knows what he wants. Be gentle with -- oh my god, you're tearing me apart, John."

"Oh god, no, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop. I'm so full of you, so under your will. I'm seeing lights, John. My pussy is in flames, John. Oh John, John, John."

The chasm is noisy now, almost visible as it surrounds me, the rope path fuzzy and unclear. I step, and step, along the line of the board floor, through scents of old dust, and mildew, and chemical smells from furtive attempts to polish courtroom B. The withered dwarf is there, his face now familiar, his leer unchanged. Swear the witness, they say.

"Oh my lord, yes I came. Won't be able to walk straight for a week, lover. No, it's never like this. I'm too distracted to work. Call again soon now, please cowboy?"

I'm on a platform with the tightrope before me. Everything else is a chasm around me, except the platform beneath me and the rope pathway stretching away from me. It seems solid and safe, almost luminous and inviting. I don't fear the rope at all, only the chasm.

"There, now all that credit card stuff is behind us. Let's talk about what turns us on, Bob. Can I call you Bob?"

"Ah, thank you, Bob. Say, I'll bet you're a fireman. Am I right, or am I right?"