by Veram Stone
(08/07/02)
I had a dream last night.
We were all in my house: my son, my husband, my lover, and me.
We were surrounded by smoke.
At first I thought it would be easy to clear. I opened a window and was relieved as the smoke rushed from my house and into the brisk spring air outside where it quickly dissipated. But it wasn't long before I noticed even more had arrived to take its place. I opened another window, and another, each with the same result. No matter how much smoke was released, more would appear. After several such attempts we decided to ignore it and to simply move rooms when they became uninhabitable.
We adults continued our conversation. My son, resigned to this annoyance, carried his Game Boy with him as we occupied, then abandoned, one room after the other. We would close a door on the polluted space behind us only to discover, minutes later, smoke curling up from the gap beneath it and from around its wooden frame. Smoke drifted up from the vents, down through the light fixtures and even trickled from electrical outlets: thin wisps at first, then darker, ever more invasive clouds. Once again we'd move on to yet another room thinking that maybe this time we would escape it for good.
But we could not.
I am walking barefoot on the roof. My house is as tall as a skyscraper, as long as a cruise ship. A hundred ladders hug the edge. Firemen race everywhere, prying off gutters and shakes, pumping an ocean of water into our attic. But I can't see that it's working.
Nothing is working.
I don't know if I trip or if I simply stop trying to remain upright, but I'm falling, slowly, looking upwards at the sun, my arms stretched wide in a gesture of surrender.
I land gently. I find myself lying crosswise on the soft, white sheets on my bed. My head drapes comfortably off the edge. I raise my chin higher and look up to see the taut balls of my lover and I know this will be the softest skin I will ever touch. Just beyond that his rigid, perfectly proportioned cock awaits. It is made for me: the perfect size to slide effortless past my teeth but still overwhelm me when that is what I want. When I have it there, deeply planted, secure, I never want to let go. I strain backwards now, taking him fully into my mouth while my arms reach back, encircling his thighs and pulling him even closer. I can feel the expanding head tickle my throat and taste the first sweet drops of pre-come.
As I do, I feel the familiar large hands of my first love, my husband, cupping my ass and drawing my hips forward to better reach my sex. His mouth takes me like a starving man at a banquet. He devours me greedily, impatiently. He is the wizard of my cunt. He knows its every wish and fulfills each one. He would pleasure me like this forever if he could. I understand. I dream of it, too: no work, no chores, nothing else but the sensation of his lips and tongue against my thrusting mound. We have loved and made love for three decades and I am not weary yet.
I want it to go on forever.
For this hour or two, as we fuck together, the three of us, there is no smoke, no alarm, or anxiety -- only peace.
This is their gift to me.
In this moment -- my son in bed down the hall, our door locked, my lover welcomed into our bed -- there is the illusion of resolution.
In this moment there is no territory, no boundaries, no rivalries -- only the love that is common to all of us.
In this moment I am completely content.
If only for a moment, I will take it.
