Tag Archives: daydreaming

The haunted elevator

13 Dec

So once again I’m out of work.  Let’s not go into the details because they are ridiculous.  The only reason I mention it is because, now that I’m at home during the day, I’ve been kinda restless, stuff happens in my head, and I need to write  it as a form of exorcism:

Dear Pilot Guy,

Today I was doing some housecleaning.  The thought of you crossed my mind two or three times.  It wasn’t until I got to my balcony that I was really hit by a memory of you.  I found a cigarette butt.  Your cigarette butt.  I was transported to those oh-so-happy days when I had you here.  I saw you sitting out there, cigarette in hand, watching the news.  You looked up from your iPad when I came to the door.  You smiled, that crooked smile that I’m sure no one craves more than me.

I guess that memory, along with the others, will start to fade soon.  I don’t want them to, though.  I want to keep the memory of you looking at me when I woke up next to you on my bed.  Your arm reaching out to me and pulling me closer so we could spoon for a little while.  If I have to be honest, I want most of all to keep the memory of your body pressed against mine, of us having sex, of you moaning in pleasure, of our bodies spent after so much desire.

Then I think of you.  I wonder if you review your memories of me.  I’m sure you do.  There’s a particular one that I really hope torments you daily.  There’s a certain elevator where we shared our first crazy, passionate kiss.  It’s there, at the airport where you land every day.  The one you take off from every day too.  I imagine you, in your pilot’s uniform, the mandatory sunglasses, coming out of your gate.  I imagine that you walk around the airport thinking of whatever thing it is you think.

Absentmindedly, you walk up to the elevator, push the button and wait.  The doors open.  You look in.  Start to walk towards it, but a flash stops you dead in your tracks.  You see us inside.  Me against the wall.  You pushing me in.  Kissing with desperation.  You see me pushing you  away to the opposite wall.  Here your imagination takes over.  I walk towards you on the other side of the elevator.  I kiss you again.  You try to put your hands around me to pull me in, but I take hold of your hands and push them away.  I start playing with your belt, and you get alarmed.  After all, this is just a two story building.  Someone is bound to come in the elevator any moment now.

I don’t care.  That actually makes it more exciting.  You smile, loving how I can be such a naughty girl wrapped in these very respectable looking skin tight white jeans and flirty navy blue shirt.  My hand starts making its way down your pants and you just let go.  I own you now.

People push past you.  They wake you up from your reverie, looking at you as if they thought you were scared of going in the elevator.  You shake the image from your head.  Once again, you decide not to go in.  Maybe some day the memory will fade, the fantasies will subside, and you will ride the elevator again.

You turn around and decide to get a coffee and wait your time out until your next flight.  You walk into the coffee shop.  Can’t help but look at the table where we sat and shared a chocolate chip cookie.  You see me licking the melted chocolate off your fingers.  You reach in for my mouth and lick the chocolate from my lips.  We kiss as passionately as our first kiss back in the elevator.

An airport for everybody, a “funhouse” for you.


Soñar no cuesta nada

3 Aug

This is a saying in Spanish that loosely translated means:  dreaming is for free.  The connotation is that you can dream of anything, even if it’s impossible in reality.  People tell you that when what you are thinking is considered as impossible.  Lately I’ve been thinking about this saying and asking myself if there will be a price to pay for all the dreaming that I’m doing, and I mean daydreaming.

You see, the thing is that there is a recurring dream that doesn’t want to go away.  I’m daydreaming of a guy that I thought was long gone from my mind (and heart if I dare to say it).  We dated even before Smoker Guy.  He ended it way before I was ready to let go, but I honestly thought I was over whatever that was.  It turns out I might not be.

I met French Guy and was not overly excited about him at first.  I liked him, enjoyed his company, and had a lot of fun, but at the end of the first date, I thought we would end up as good friends.  The second date changed it all, though.  You don’t get to meet a lot of French guys in my little corner of the Caribbean, and a French guy who will let you take him on a road trip to your favorite place while translating French songs for you in the car will do weird things to a girl’s heart.

Everything after the second date was a fast, passionate, sexy, incredibly crazy whirlwind.  He became my teacher, and me an avid learner.  He taught me about wine while pouring a fruity peachy sparkling one down my neck and meeting the tingly stream with his mouth in between my breasts.  He taught me about food by smearing truffle oil on his lips and sensually kissing my lips, my neck, my chest…

I became a primal, sexy bitch eager to learn and explore all my sexual possibilities.  I had sex with a man only thinking of my own personal satisfaction for the first time in my life.  It felt awesome!  It was liberating.  I was not self conscious in the least.  I couldn’t believe that I had been keeping myself from this experience for such a long time.  At one time I even felt a nostalgic sadness for the boy that married, and divorced, me cause he never knew this other woman.

Unfortunately, I’m also learning that nothing lasts forever, and this experience lasted only too little.  He ended it with an excuse that I don’t really care to go into right now.  Aside from all the crazy satisfying sex, I also learned not to leave anything for later.  That sexy dress that he would have ripped from my body, and I left for wearing later, he will never get to see.  I don’t really care if he sees it or not, but I really wanted to have it ripped away from me.  So from now on, I will give no second thought to what I want, relationship-wise.  I don’t want to feel like I missed on anything anymore.

Evidently, I am still unable to let go of that dream.  I don’t admit it to anyone, but I constantly remember the time I had with him.  I secretly wish to bump into him, and I go over the conversation we would have: (insert French accent here) “Chérie! How are you?  I’ve missed you so much!  Life has been dull and uninspiring without you.  I painfully regret breaking up with you.  All this time without you has made me realize that my purpose in life is to be your sex slave for ever and ever.  Will you consider giving me the tinniest chance of making it up to you?”  This will all be said in frantic desperation, and I will need to say not a word.

The problem with that dream is that I realize that I haven’t learned yet that when someone doesn’t look for you, they don’t miss you, and when they don’t miss you, they really don’t love you.  So why am I still dreaming of this man when it was his sorry ass the one that didn’t want to have this sexy ass every which way he could have wanted?  I know that daydreaming about him is stopping me from moving on.  I know I have nothing else to look for with him.  Intellectually I know that he doesn’t even deserve my thoughts, but emotionally I still kind of wish for that encounter to happen.  I guess that now I know that this daydreaming business is really not for free.

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