I turned this dream into a story, because it was so bizarre. here goes:
It started with the party, with the bunkbed room. She knew he'd be there, staring at the air mattress in the center of the floor. She looked forward to seeing his big bluegrey eyes, the angle of his shoulderblades under an impossibly thin tshirt. His pants. Hanging low. And his wonderfully punk rudeboy shoes.
She walked into the room, said hi to the novice hostess, dropped her coat by the front door. The robed figures swirled, handed her a drink. The blow-up mattress was in the center just where she knew it would be. The dolls were there too... but something was different. There was a line! She had gotten there in time for the choosing! She was mainly interested in the four bunkbeds on the sides of the room, right in their proper places.
And there he was. Up and to the left. Only in dreams. Everything was going perfectly to plan.
"Hey."
She leaned up against the bed, grinning wildly. The fire was in her eyes, and he knew.
"Hey, how are ya?"
He grabbed her hand in one smooth, sudden motion.
She hauled herself up, almost stepping on two lesbians fingerfucking on the bed below his.
The constant din of noise wasnt exactly going away. It drowned her thoughts as she sank into the quicksand of liquor, the sweat in the air, and the smell of him.
She lost her footing then, in the noise and enticing smells, and dangled for a moment before he pulled her up the rest of the way. She flopped onto the bed like a dead fish, right on top of him. She laughed, a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, then said quietly, "It's funny."
"What?"
She just laughed again. Then the sleep came, with the sounds and smells of sex, the stench of sweat, and the feeling of his heart beating beneath her head.
She woke up feeling dizzy and delirious. She was still laying on his chest. He was stroking her hair and talking in his incredibly smooth, low voice. For a minute or two she simply lay there, not knowing if he knew she was awake. He murmured something she couldnt understand. Then she heard the telltale groans from the center of the room, and knew it was about to happen. She tilted her head slowly towards the floor, and saw. It was the annual spectacle, the taping of a virgin and a blow up doll. This year, there were two blow up dolls left at the appointed hour. They were taking turns. The virgin was on her stomach, waiting for the sticky touch of plastic.
Up on the bed with him, she turned away.
"I hate this part." Like it was a ritual.
"So do I. And everyone's forced to watch."
"Pretty sick that people pay to see this shit."
"Then why did you come?"
She faded away again.
Her vision was fuzzy, and all she saw was his face in front of her. His tears dripped out of his eyes, ran down his face slowly. She felt the bluegrey of his eyes piercing hers. He was mumbling and sobbing quietly, almost silently, yet simultaneusly, unable to control his emotion. She was astonished, she'd never seen this before.. he didnt cry. He just didn't. But then he said, almost whispered, amazingly audible over the din of the taping, "I'm sorry for treating you the way i did before now. I was such a jackass.." She wrapped her arms around him and began crying too. When she looked down at the mattress, it wasnt there anymore.
"C'mon. The city's burning. We gotta get outta here."
