I woke up in the dark. It was two or three in the morning. I’d been having a dream, with preternaturally bright autumn leaves, yellow and black and pale and hectic red, gliding in unnaturally orderly formation over a glowing green lawn. It meant nothing. It was beautiful and faintly sinister. I was floating over them, so I was happy. The leaves were weird, but I like dreams with flying.
There’d been a woman walking through the grass. Naked, arms folded under her breasts. She was dark, although she wasn’t Sa’afia. Or Ana. her body was more mature than theirs; she was probably over thirty. At that time in my life I’d never had sex with a woman of that age. I’d had the odd flirtation, but uncertainty and cowardice had stopped me from making the move. Ah well.
She’d lain down on her front, idly drumming the fronts of her feet on the ground. Her bottom bobbed with the rhythm. I lost interest in the leaves while I watched her buttocks and thighs. So this was a flying and sex dream. Those are the best of all.
She’d become aware of me floating above her, looking down, and she slowly turned over onto her back. She sat up, saw me, tilted her head, and smiled. She had her right knee up, her left leg relaxed on the ground. Then she lay back, knees apart. She had made her invitation, and she had no doubt it would be taken.
Dreams sometimes do treacherous things. I was still gliding. I couldn’t control my flight. I couldn’t get down.