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Behind the Screens
Dreamed 1984/2/12 by Chris Wayan
I keep the animal-girl inside
a ring of Japanese screens. No
one knows her, hid amid
the dance of cranes. Docile, she
never tries to leave, though she
could easily; I leave a lad-
der to climb in and out of her
She looks near-human, but her mind
cares little for ape-speech--
what she loves is touch. And
a kind voice. Sex. A song.
When I turn on
the radio to bouncy sixties rock
she's so excited! Squirms & little cries.
Then I climb down to her. I've dressed
her in a flannel vest, ballet leg
warmers and a pleated little skirt. I
don't flirt. Grab those naked thighs,
pull her to me.
She snuggles to belly, wriggles under.
Pulse-rush makes my ears thunder.
Thrust into her like a cat, rear-mount
her hard and quick. Our cries
are hidden under the boom
box beat. Both come
fierce and soon.
And then. I pull away, climb the stile
naked slick and slack. Turn off
the magic music, dress, and breeze
through day as if no thing occurred!
Leave her dreamy relaxed, to curl
up and purr to sleep--pet girl--
housepet. Won't leave her pen.
Not even waking till I'm hot
to use her again.
NOTE IN THE MORNING
NOTES 33 YEARS LATER
- Sickness, neglect: I was chronically ill through the 1980s and early 90s--bouts of gut pain like endlessly recurring flu. I eventually deduced it was an undiagnosed infection causing severe gluten intolerance. Only close observation on my part--the exact opposite of the neglect displayed here--eventually led to a diagnosis and healing. And by "eventually" I mean decades, when it could have taken only months... had I focused.
It wasn't all me--in the 1980s, food intolerances were neglected. Doctors generally dismissed all hard-to-diagnose cases like mine as 'hereditary' or 'stress'--catch-alls letting them evade responsibility for diagnosis or cure. "Do your parents bug you?" Oh, is that a common cause of pelvic inflammation? "Could work be stressing you out? Could you cut back?" I was a half-time librarian; about the lowest-stress job on earth (lowest paid, too). "Have you tried mood elevators?" Sure, and they did nothing: pain and inflammation aren't moods.
Only when I quit believing the doctors and took the time to test EVERYTHING in my life, did I cure myself.
- Why post this embarrassing sex dream? To show that even a sex dream that feels good (and this did) and is consensual (and it was; she could easily have left; it's just that neither of us knew any better) can still mean trouble--and that trouble may not be sexual. It's obvious that nightmares of frustration, humiliation, stalkers or rape are warnings of real trouble. But it's also true of non-nightmares like this, where exciting sex distracts from deep neglect.
Fond of her though I was, hot as our trysts were, I knew in the morning: this one's a warning.
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