Sitting at her kitchen table, she closed her eyes for a moment and had a flashback to a moment from her dream from the night before. There on the backs of her eyelids, a frozen frame of her body entwined with his. She could feel his fingers pressing into her shoulders, feel the tension coiled within her. Slick contact. The feeling of contact between them, of connection. The moment in which they are alone, the world around them existing no further than the strange spotlight that her dream used to illuminate the two of them.
Slowly she sucked in a breath, then let it out. The sensory recall faded although hints of the image lingered. A shoulder pale against dark sheets, his lips parted moments before a kiss.
Opening her eyes, her cereal suddenly looked quite a bit less interesting. It was, of course, only a dream.
A dream about having very vivid sex with her coworker. He was a man she had never thought of in any way like that before. Her eyes found her boyfriend as he stumbled to the table, blearily pouring himself a bowl of cereal. She smiled, and shook her head mentally. Nope, she was content.
So why had she suddenly dreamed about the guy from work as staring in her very own nightly pornographic dream?
It was a question she asked herself as she got ready for work, dressed and said good-bye to the man she shared her life with. She considered it as she made her way to the office, as she took off her coat. For a moment she remembered the feel of his fingers on her skin and it made her feel just a touch wicked. Not so much in a way that was about wanting to experience the sensation for real, but in the way that she had a secret none of them knew, suddenly knew more than any of the others.
She could not help but seek him out with her gaze. Standing there, across the office, his shirt buttoned, jeans fastened. His hair was not mussed and he was not whispering explicit things to her. He was not even looking at her. It gave her a few moments to look at him, to consider the man her dreams had constructed and the man who was there before her.
There were slight differences, although the details of the dream were misty now, blurring as they always did as conscious thought took over. She wondered whether he would match her imagination beneath his clothing, but it was an idle thought, no different from considering a piece of art or even a vehicle. She appreciated, and she was willing to offer an honest critique, but she felt no lingering desire for the actual man.
As he approached her, she forced her face to smoothness, wiping away any odd look that might lurk on her face. It was, however, odd to meet his eyes. To see none of the passion that had been there in her dream. To see him looking at her the same way he always did. At least, she thought it was the same. Was it? Could he see on her face that she knew him now, that she had been naked under him?
As he started talking to her the way he always did, she wanted to laugh. Maybe even shake him. Things were not the same. They were different. Her mind kept repeating a single thought, over and over, a single phrase she wanted to blurt out to him: "You were inside me."
Not the sort of thing one should say to a co-worker, especially one you had no interest in getting to know in a sexual way. After all, she had already done that. Seeing him did not make her want to touch him, to glide her tongue along his skin. Actually, it made her glad she had not dreamed with scents; his aftershave was a little too much.
Still, she felt rather like she had the upper hand now, even if it was a secret one. She had seen him naked. Maybe only in her dreams, but she had seen him naked, and there was nothing he could do about it.