Instead of the uncanny-valley voice of my speaker, the voice of Charlie Brown greets me. “I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It’s not bad at all, really. Maybe it just needs a little love.”
Excuse me? I didn’t need to be gut-punched by a fictional ten-year-old first thing in the morning. I don’t have much time to think of myself as the “not such a bad little tree” that “needs a little love,” because the lights in my room turn green instead of warm white, and “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” starts playing.
What the fuck is happening?
I lie in bed, eyes searching the ceiling as I try to remember if I changed some of my settings. Burl Ives croons in the holiday season while I try not to panic.
Anxiety creeps through me, digging its claws in deep, and I’ve never been very successful at banishing it. The lights and the song, the arousal still settled low in my belly, all swirl together into a cacophony of distorted confusion. I’m dizzy, like the room is spinning or like none of this iseven real. Like I’m still?—
That’sit!
I’m still dreaming.
I’ve got to be. I was dreaming about decorating for Christmas, so I must’ve just jumped right into the next dream. I tingle all over, which is a weird dream side effect that still feels like an oncoming panic attack, but it’s got to be a dream side effect. Well, if this is a dream, and I haverealizedit’s a dream, then I can control things. At least I’ve heard that I should be able to.
Change songs.I concentrate, willing the song to switch even though Burl is still going.
Hmmph.Maybe that is an urban legend. I’ve never felt like I could influence my dreams before, but I’ve also neverrealizedI was dreaming before. My breath is quick, and I don’t know if it’s from the tingly nerves that I can’t get rid of or the admittedly sexy-turned-horrifying dream.
My room, which often looks different in dreams, looks the same, except tinted green from the lights. I’m sure my dream brainmeantit to seem festive, but it makes my skin crawl. Last night I remembered to pull the curtains before getting into bed, so my blackout curtains have made it so theonlylight available is green. The shadows are darker than they should be, and my wall of dark-spined books seems like it belongs in a witch’s hut instead of on the pages of a Pottery Barn catalogue.
My heart speeds and my eyes dart around the room. In the green darkness, Burl’s voice and the scratches from the old recording sound less and less jolly and more and more like my imminent doom.
I want to sit up, but exposing my naked body to the room seems like the worst idea I’ve ever had. I’ve had this feeling in dreams before. I know it well.
It meanshe’snearby.
Any minute now, my dream will shift, and he’ll come for me. Whether it’s already scary or innocuous, the second Ihave this feeling, I know the shift is coming. After the dream I just left though… that doesn’t seem as scary.
Maybe…maybe I can’t shift big things, but little things might work…Little things like him continuing to kiss me instead of digging his fingers—nope. We’ll stop that train of thought right there, because if I’m going to shift the trajectory of this dream, I need to focus on where I wantit to go. What I want to happen.
Leaving my bed seems like a colossally bad idea, so I’ll stay here. He’ll find me in my bed, which isn’t so strange. I’ve often dreamed of him hovering over me here. When I close my eyes, I can see him there, his sharp teeth peeking through the opening in his mask, his lips curling into a snarl or smile before he attacks me.
Tonight though, tonight I’ll fight back. Now that I’ve felt those lips, I wantmore.
With slow inevitability, I slip my hand down the length of my body, traversing the terrain and savoring the expanse of myself as I might if I knew he was watching.
Because I’m not going to fight back the way I have in the past. I’m not going to run, I’m not going to beat uselessly at him, or try to scratch at his thick skin. It’s never worked.
No, I’m going to go on the offensive. When he comes in… because he will… he’ll find me writhing pleasurably in my bed, and I can’t wait to see what he’ll do.
Some wires in my brain must have crossed during my last dream, because for the first time, I’m not scared thinking about his mask. His kiss has changed everything. He’s a nightmare, he’s scary, but he’s… mine. Maybe it helps that he sounds exactly like every handsome prince or knight I’ve ever dreamed of, and now they are all smushed together. Regardless, now I see that mask in my mind and feel arousal coiling inside of me.
I sweep through my wetness and smear it around my clit, circling as I warm myself up. In my mind, he waits justbeyond sight, and I imagine his mask as it would look with the green lights reflected on it. It’ll shift and change as he turns his head, tilting as he tries to figure out if I’m actually doing what he thinks I am doing. Opening my mouth, I can’t help but moan at the thought of him realizing what I’m doing.
“Are you there, my nightmare?” I wish I had a better name for him. “Are you watching me from the shadows?”
My breath hitches, and I speed my rubbing, my body tightening as I anticipate his appearance. I won’t get to come—I never get to come in a dream—buthewill surely reveal himself.
And then… then I’ll see if I can turn this dream into a much more pleasant one. Breaths pant out of my lips, and my finger quivers against my clit, frantic. I could come any second, every inch of my skin sensitive where it rubs against my blanket cocoon. He’s got to come soon, because I’m going to come soon. The most pathetic whine sneaks out of me because I want to rush toward my releaseandI want to hold off for him.
Where is he? Why isn’t he coming?
And then, it all makes sense. He’s teasing me. Making me wait for him, and fuck if that doesn’t just align with everything he’s ever done.
“Please,” I call out. “I need you.”
Silence. My orgasm is building and building, but I can’t bring myself to slow my finger. Maybe he wants me to come first… maybe he’s waiting to catch me unawares in the afterglow.
