I just haven't met you yet

I was sitting at my grandmother’s dining room table, relaxed and laughing. The little house was jam-packed full of family, ringing with the sounds of a dozen different conversations.

“We need to go out and do something together, all of us,” I said to my stepmom.

She smiled and showed me a sheaf of tickets, waved them out like a fan. “We’ve got plans for this afternoon. It’s a dance class.” What she meant, she further explained, was that it was a pole dancing class and we would each have our own room and our own instructor.

But before I really had a chance to process that, you called. You called and everything changed. We were going out instead.

I raced to the back bedroom to get ready, but there really wasn’t much to do. I was already dressed, already painted and straightened. I smiled at myself in the mirror a lot, lost in thoughts I no longer remember well.

Time must have sped up because my sister was suddenly at the door, saying you were already there, waiting on the living room couch. That’s when the nerves finally showed up, mixing with the excitement, and I could hear my heartbeat pulsing loudly over the din of my family, still everywhere, still talking. I had to force myself to walk slowly and, rather than turn right and go straight to the living room through the side entrance, go around the long way. I wanted to look at you straight on; I wanted you to see me coming toward you. I just wanted.

They were everywhere – spilling out of the kitchen and into the dining room, taking up so much space. Of course it would make sense that they would be in the living room too, scattered in the armchairs and sitting on the couch, bothering you and asking questions because that’s what they do. But when I turned the corner, I didn’t see anyone but you.

You sat in the exact middle of my grandmother’s faded old yellow couch. The tiny, many colored flowers dotting its cushions looked vivid against your jeans. There was a jacket covering your head and it made me grin and laugh. You were hiding, being funny, and I knew that underneath the folds, you were smiling too. I walked toward you and gently lifted it from your head, tossed it to the side.

Looking at you smiling at me, the nerves left as quickly as they’d come. You didn’t say a word, just held out your arms. It didn’t for a moment bother me that you hadn’t gotten up, that I’d have to climb onto your lap to get to those arms. I put one knee on either side of your body, straddling your lap, chest to chest, wrapping my arms around you at the same time you wrapped yours around me. And my god, it felt good.

For a long time we sat that way – my head nestled in the crook of your shoulder and your face buried in my neck. I could have stayed that way all afternoon, but you finally pulled away. I was a little surprised when you pressed your lips to mine. I wanted it, but I hadn’t expected it. The kiss was long and slow and soft, your facial hair tickling my skin.

When we drew apart again, the sounds of the house finally started to register. “I’ll just go get my coat”, I said, climbing from your lap and hurrying out of the room.

Everything seemed to speed up and everyone suddenly wanted to talk to me. I kept racing from room to room looking for things – my purse, my jacket, my lipstick. It was irritating, but typical. It’s what always happens when I’m trying to go somewhere; I’m unorganized.

Each time I hurried past, in search of one thing or another, I could see you standing impatiently by the door. I wanted to go to you, but I just had to do one more thing, and one more thing, and one more thing.

“Alyson”, you finally said, “let’s go already.”

“I can’t believe you’re skipping our family outing”, my stepmom said from behind me.

I was flustered, but I finally managed to take your hand and walk outside. We made it halfway to the car and I pulled you to a stop. “I forgot my jacket!”

You sighed and gave an exasperated little laugh while the dog jumped around our legs and faces peered out from windows. “Go start the car”, I said, “I’ll be right back.” I watched you get into a red car that looked vaguely like a station wagon before running back inside.

When I returned, you were parking some sort of recreational vehicle with a trailer attached to it down the street. I smiled as I watched you walk back up the sidewalk, getting closer. And then…

I came to, face down in a pile of pillows. Disoriented, it took me a moment to realize what was going on. It was all just a dream.

But somehow I could still feel the imprint of your arms around me and the press of your lips.

I smiled and turned over on my side, rubbing my eyes. I replayed all of the weird elements, of course: my stepfamily being in my grandmother’s house, the pole dancing class, the trailer, the crush of people and the impromptu moment of intimacy in front of them all. But what I kept coming back to, the part that was somehow, against all odds, more vivid than everything…was you. Your lips, your face, your arms, your presence. You were the most unlikely piece of the puzzle – “one of these things is not like the other” – yet you were the part that felt exactly right.

I looked at my bedside clock. It read 7:02am. I would normally never get out of the bed so early on a Saturday, but I was already pushing off the covers and throwing my legs over the side of the bed. I wanted to write it all down before I forgot, before even the silliest details became too fuzzy to remember. I wanted to write it all down so I would remember what it felt like to be wanted, to be with you. And in my head, I’d already picked out the title.

Coitus Interruptus (Err...me.)

I’m sitting on the hood of a car. It’s boxy, like a Cadillac. My hair is loose and wavy around my shoulders and I’m wearing a light blue, calf length dress that buttons all the way down the front. It’s made of a thin material that billows in the slight breeze and the top few buttons are undone, the material gapped to expose the lacy edges of my bra. I’m leaning back on my elbows, bare feet propped on the grill and legs slightly open so that the dress pools in a V between my thighs.

He walks toward me across the full parking lot, smiling in anticipation. I smile back. We both know what happens next.

Stopping in front of me he slides his hands over my knees and up my thighs. The dress rides up his wrists, stopping with his hands at my hips. He pulls hard and we’re suddenly against each other. Lips brush my ear, my neck, my collarbone. One hand grabs my hair and pulls while the other gathers the back of my dress in a tight fist. He bites the top of one breast and I grab him and pull his lips to mine.

As we kiss his hands fumble with the button on his pants. I pull away and lean back to allow him time. We stare at each other while he pulls down the zipper. He smiles, opens his mouth and says,

“MAMA! I WANT COFFEE!”

I tilt my head in confusion, hearing but not really understanding. “Hmmm”, I say.

He opens his mouth again and says, “MAMAAAAAA! I. SAID. MAKE. ME. SOME.COFFEE!”

His form wavers in front of my eyes before completely dissipating into darkness. I hear an insistent tap, tap, tapping near my head. Light starts to seep around the black edges as my eyes flutter open. I squint, my dry contacts rejecting any attempt to open my lids further.

The kid is standing by my bed in her pale green Tinkerbell pajamas. Her hair is stuck to one side of her face and she’s peering at me in irritation. “Mom! I need you to turn on the TV and make my coffee.” She taps the bedside table with her plastic Tinkerbell wand, emphasizing each word. She presses a button on the handle and it makes a “brrrrrriiiiing” noise, giving off a feeble flicker of light in its clear, star shaped tip. The batteries are almost dead, thank gawd. So much for getting laid, I think as I force myself up and out of the bed. Interrupted.

*******

Alone time is not something I take for granted. Alone time means sex – whether it’s with myself, just a dream, or, miracle of miracles, with another person.

As most of you know, I moved back in with my family when I had my daughter almost five years ago. That means that at any given time there are four other people, two cats, and a dog always encroaching on “me time”. When I was seeing the fireman, and by seeing I mean banging, it wasn’t really an issue. For about four years I would stay over at his place, have marathon sex, then go home and bask in a few days of post coital bliss. Rinse and repeat.

However, now that I’m not seeing anyone, and by seeing I mean banging, things are a bit more stressful. And when things are stressful and there are no sexy time opportunities on the horizon, my hand and/or ‘piece de resistance’ and I become infinitely more acquainted.

There was a time when I would never admit that to anyone, stranger or best of friends. Masturbation was a dirty, dirty word and if people knew you were doing it they would make an “ew” face and act like they’d never once tried it themselves. Liars! Hypocrites! Baptists!

Anyway, so now that I’m on a penis sabbatical I’m all about the (whisper) masturbation, dirty dreams that won’t fucking quit, and sometimes the phone sex. This is fine. It doesn’t really bother me. Except for one thing...

Bitches are always interrupting my groove!

Take the intro to this post as the first example. If I had a nickel for every time in the past few months that someone (mainly the kid) has interrupted my dreaming at an inopportune time, I could pay a hit man to put me out of my misery.

My family doesn’t understand the meaning of the word “privacy”. If my door is shut, they bang on it and fire questions like missiles, or worse, just walk right in. If I’m in the shower, they pry the locked door open and sit down to chat. If I’m on the phone, there’s another onslaught of questions: “Who is that, what are you talking about, are you going to be on the phone all night, are you sleeping with him, what’s his name, is it a girl, are you a lesbian, how much motherfucking wood could a woodchuck chuck before you went ape shit and stabbed us to death? Huh, Al? Huh, huh?!”

It’s like they’re all conspiring against me, plotting to keep me and myself apart.

The other week I stayed home sick. Alone on the couch, I decided to pop in one of my favorite movies: Unfaithful. Diane Lane getting raunchy with Oliver Martinez never fails to make me hot.

When my favorite sex scene came on I was sitting cross legged on the couch, leaning forward and clutching my pillow, ready for it. I bit my lip and happily watched while he nailed her in the public bathroom stall, glad that I didn’t have to look like I wasn’t very interested. Had anyone else been home, I would have smoothed my face into one of relaxed disinterest.

I clutched the pillow harder, wiggling with excitement. Suddenly there was a loud TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP by my head. I whipped around to see my little cousin standing in the window right behind the couch. He gave me a big thumbs up and pointed to the door, signaling me to let him in.

And come in he did...and he stayed for two hours, yapping my ear off about stupid teenage girls. By that time my sister had made it home with the kid. Sigh. No getting off that afternoon. Interrupted.

The most recent incident was just last night.

After work I had a few errands to run on the opposite side of town so mom agreed to pick up the kid. I got home around 5, settled on the couch and started watching a movie.

Around 6:45 or so, I realized I hadn’t heard from anyone. I called my sister and it turns out all of them decided to go out to dinner and they were just sitting down to eat. I was ecstatic. Having the house to myself is a luxury.

I happened to be texting my friend when I found out about their delayed arrival. When he asked what I planned to do, I invited him to join me for the phone sex. The first time that late night whispering wasn’t necessary.

It took a bit of time and playful banter before we got down to the business at hand. Sometimes he can be a bit shy.

I’d guess maybe 10 minutes had gone by and things were at that point. You know, eyes rolling back in the head, legs jerking kind of point. By request I was in a...precarious position, when three sets of car lights flashed across my darkened bedroom window. FLASH FLASH FLASH.

“Oh gawd!”

He made a noise of agreement.

“Shit!” I tried to get off the bed, but somehow ended up tangled in a sheet and toppling to the floor. The phone went across the room and I jumped up, trying to pull on my pajama pants. Car doors slammed and I panicked, trying to stick both feet in the same pant leg and falling over again in the process. I managed to flick my light on and yank my pants into place right as the front door opened and my mom’s boyfriend walked in. (My bedroom door is right by the front door.) Interrupted.

He looked at me, the expression on his face clearly saying, “What the hell are you up to?”

My shirt and pants were twisted, my ponytail halfway falling down, and my eyes squinty due to going from semi-darkness to bright ass interrogation lights. I immediately looked down at my phone to avoid confrontation and went directly to the bathroom.

After dumping contact solution in my eyes and straightening myself, I walked back out. The rest of them were coming in the door when my phone rang. I answered, told him to hold on, and said hello to everyone. Then I went outside to explain.

Lighting a cigarette, I told him what happened, unable to keep from laughing. “Did you get off”, he asked.

“Yes”, I said, but I tried to explain that it hadn’t exactly been ideal because at the moment of euphoria, I was toppling off a 5 ft. high bed, terrified that my mom’s boyfriend would find me with my bare ass in the air. He laughed at my relayed antics, but I still detected a note of bitterness there because I finished and he didn’t. Poor thing.

“Maybe I can do it while you talk normally...about the weather or something”, he said.

I laughed. “Yeah. I could talk about big, fluffy, sexy, white clouds.”

He laughed too, thank goodness, and I promised to call him back later.

When I walked back in the house mom was standing at the kitchen counter in her short, hot pink nightgown with big black stars all over it, glaring. “What are you doing”, she asked.

I gave her my practiced look of relaxed disinterest. “Nothing”, I said innocently.

Her eyes narrowed further. “Humph”, she said as I walked away. Always suspicious, she’s the Masturbatory Gestapo. I can picture her in a suit made of bubble wrap, clutching a bottle of disinfectant and muttering, “Pants on the ground, pants on the ground, I’ma catch a bitch with her pants on the ground...”

So...I’ve been looking for my own place for a few weeks now. I’m working hard so I can (hopefully) move out by the fall. Fingers crossed. Because this shit has got to stop.

Dream Interpretation

I’ll go weeks or months without having a single dream and then all of a sudden I’ll be bombarded with them. It’s like my brain is trying to make up for lost time by cramming two or three in each night. I haven’t been able to figure out the trigger, though I’m sure there is one. There has to be.

I usually don’t remember dreams unless they’re reoccurring. They don’t last past the first fluttering of my eyelids and the thought, “Well that was strange”. I always said I’d make a dream journal, write them down the minute I wake. Unfortunately other things always take precedence: prying my eyes open with contact solution, pushing the kid off my head, shooting from the bed like a fired missile because I’m late again. Then, inevitably, when I have a moment of calm, I realize that I’ve missed the opportunity yet again and all I remember is that there was a dream and it was bizarre in some way.

Friday night I stayed home and turned in pretty early. I had three dreams that night and for once I was able to write them down. The first was an old, reoccurring dream, easy to remember:

I’m young, probably around five or six. I’m lying on the bed in my childhood room, white blonde hair spilling out across the pillow. I’m wearing an old, short sleeved nightgown with a ribbon at the neck. I’m half asleep, toying with the ribbon, when I hear a noise. I get up; my eyes are half closed slits.

In the middle of the dark room sits my red, white, and blue round plastic table and chairs. A small sliver of light appears in the middle of the table and I stare at the checked surface. I start to reach across the table and as I do, it seems to extend itself. I watch my arm pass over the top, fascinated. Then all of a sudden a snake appears on the other side, moving toward my hand with its mouth open. All I can see anymore is my arm, fist closed against the inevitable onslaught, the snake, and an endless expanse of red, white, and blue. It looks like a scene from Alice in Wonderland, surreal and slightly distorted.

I can’t seem to draw back my hand and the snake moves in quickly, snapping its jaws down on my small, closed fist. I feel no pain, only terror. Then I wake up.

Now comes the age old question: What does it mean?

I don’t know how accurate dream interpretation books and/or websites are, but this online dictionary pretty much confirms what I think the dream means:

I’m afraid of intimacy, commitment, and snakes. But I like sex. Orgasms complete me. I have an enormous ego that’s constantly attacked (bitches). Loosely translated, of course. I might have exaggerated on the ego bit.

I didn’t like this next dream at all, mostly because I come off a bit psycho:

I’m in a bridesmaids dress and I’m stumbling through a hotel hallway with a dark haired girl. We’re laughing, but even as I laugh and cling to her arm I know something is about to happen.

We burst through a door and it appears to be an enormous living room. People are sitting on couches and chairs, the room is full. We stumble into the center and there is talking, though I can’t remember what it’s about.

That’s when I notice him sitting in the corner of a couch to my right, on the edge of the activity. He’s an old fling. Everyone is talking at once, but I don’t listen. He and I, we’re staring each other down. His face is cold and mocking, mine is defiant. I feel reckless and giddy. The girl is still holding my arm and I sling her away from me. She smacks into a wall.

The scene changes and I’m talking to him alone. I’m wearing a different dress and I’m bragging about how rich men want me. He’s not impressed.

That’s all I remember. I know there’s a bit missing, but that’s what I’ve got. It’s probably got something to do with ego and temper. Maybe it means that I’m an angry, closet lesbian that dresses well.

This last one is the most bizarre:

There’s a really fat blonde woman standing in front of a small brown house. Everything seems to be in shades of brown except for her. She’s wearing a black t-shirt with some band on it and shiny, neon green spandex Capri pants with fake pockets on the back. Her ass is the only flat thing about her and her hair is bleached and teased 80’s style.

As she’s standing there six punk rock guys come walking across the lawn. They are all wearing a lot of black and have Mohawks, etc. Some of them disappear inside the house and some stand around outside. One of them tells the woman that their car broke down. While he’s explaining the situation, another one shouts from the open front door, “We need to call The General now for a ride!” Then they all chime in and say in the TV commercial voice, “Call 1-800-General now!”

The blonde offers them a ride. One of the guys hugs her, wrapping his arms around her big body, attempting to slide his hands into her fake back pockets. They just keep slipping and he keeps trying for a ridiculous amount of time.

Then they all pile on to her MOTORCYCLE and drive off down the highway. They’re all piled around her like The Muppets. Except for the one she’s sitting on.

I can’t even begin to analyze that one.

So, what do you guys think? Let's have your opinion on some of these.