Hey baby Jane, remember, I used to call you that sometimes, it came up in a dream last night, you were still at college, like that night, do you remember it, I was in some sort of situation at work, feeling frazzled and attenuated, phoned you, you said, just come up and I’ll hold you close.
Holding me close, your naked body’s heat suffusing into mine, my body relaxing, letting go, asleep in seconds. Waking later, finding us curled together, your back against my chest, your bottom pressed against my pelvis. A soul-deep sense of peace and vertiginous collapse back into sleep.
Waking again later, finding my head between your thighs, eating you, don’t know how I got there, but it must have been me that started it, your head was still on the pillow. You telling me later, I was voracious, as if scooping fruit with both hands into a mouth starved of moisture and nutrients after months in the desert.
And all last night, dreaming, that’s how it was, baby Jane, your beautiful coppery taste and coppery smell and the nearby sense of your crinkly pink sphincter. Sensations as absolute and soul-necessary as any can be for a man, or at least for me.
Turning round, head on pillow, you stroking my cheek, smiling at me. Falling asleep again. Waking with a start, you swishing the curtains open, sunlight and blue sky blazing into the room. You, already showered and dressed, jeans and knitted sweater, sitting on the bed, kissing me, taking my hand, putting it on your breast, saying, c’mon baby, we can play later, first we need to get some food into you.
Hey Jane, I have a confession, I regularly dream about you, maybe once, twice a year, every time I get up the next morning, it feels like sunshine in the room, I still feel the dried coppery residue of your juices on my mouth and face, I still have that promise that we can play later, and I just love it. As I do you, darling Jane. R xxx
