Dream Man
Keywords: Man, Dream,
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But it was night during the flight and just before dawn in Ireland. I felt him pull me into the dream with his own sleepy arousal. On the plane, I knew he was real. I just hoped to find him once there. I tried to keep awake, not wanting to do something embarrassing on the plane. But the quiet hum of the engines and the warm, comfortable chair as well as my mystery man"s dream pulled my eyes closed …
… We met at the lake again. I knew he was near. I shucked my clothes and slipped into the glassy lake. The ice-cold water shocked my system, but I knew once he arrived, I would be heated. I heard the brush rustle and saw it part to reveal him. He stood before me in jeans and nothing else. His breath was coming in fast pants, as if he were already aroused. Looking down his chest to the tent in his clothes, he obviously was. With each step he took toward me, his body became clearer. The tufts of hair on his chest and belly, the silky hair on his corded arms, and the strength of his legs encased in tight denim I was already familiar with. But as he came closer, I saw the bridge of his nose. Each step revealed more and more of his face. He had high cheekbones and curly hair. His eyebrows were thick and dark, his lips full and sensuous. But I couldn"t see his eyes, not yet. I trudged out of the water, intent on seeing his eyes. When I reached the shore, he joined me at the water"s edge. Then I glimpsed in his eyes for the first time. Blue, like the brightest, deepest sapphires; so different from my mossy green eyes. It was home, I saw straight into him and somehow I knew he was seeing all of me finally. He reached out and trailed a finger along my chest, chasing a bead of water through the hair down to my belly. I was so hard. He grasped my erection and started moving on me. I didn"t want him to do this. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him to me. I kissed him. When our mouths parted, he looked in my eyes and spoke to me. It was in a language I didn"t understand. I tried to tell him I didn"t know, but he just shook his head and kissed me again. I loved the feel of his tongue brushing against mine. Then his arms wrapped around me and drew me to him. My cold, wet chest nestled into the warm, dry curls of his. My loose erection rubbed against the soft ridges of his denim clad one. I moved my hands down to his jeans, but he stopped me. Then he pushed away from me and shook his head. I didn"t understand why he pushed me away. He looked down at me, at my aroused state and gulped hard before looking in my eyes again. I saw hunger and passion fire in the sparkling blue. But he didn"t move towards me. He shook his head and told me in English, thick with a rich brogue, that we needed to stop this foolish dreaming. He told me he was tired of dreams that stayed unfulfilled. I watched a tear roll down his cheek. I wanted to go to him, tell him I was coming, that I was looking for him. But I never got the chance …
… I felt someone shake my arm. I woke to see a flight attendant tell me it was time to land. I sat up and wiped a tear off my cheek. I was still aroused, but it was a good feeling. I knew that soon I would find him. Whoever he was. After the plane landed, I had a feeling I wouldn"t be going back to America. I went through customs and got a car. I drove towards Galway, to the South actually. I drove to a small inn in the town closest to the castle. On my drive, I watched the rolling, emerald hills, dotted with sheep or rock walls, a few crops and cottages as well as a couple of forested areas. The beauty transfixed me. It was foggy and rainy and I had never seen anything so wonderful. I checked into the little inn, set my stuff down and then walked into the pub connected to it for some lunch. I had a bookmaker"s sandwich. Grilled roast beef and tomatoes. It was delicious. I also had my first experience with an actual Guinness. I sat back and took in the wonders. There were a couple of elderly men playing chess and having a yarn about some game they had played when younger. There was a lively lass who served the food and drinks. When the people heard me talk, they pegged me for the Yank I was and started to talk to me. They asked what I was doing in Ireland and I explained about the castle up the road. There were a few disgusted comments and the people turned from me. The waitress leaned down and explained that Michael had been working on it and was hoping to get a grant to take care of the old castle. I felt really bad, but I understood why the government sold the land to me. I wasn"t looking for help; I could do all the renovations with my own money, pouring much needed cash into the local economy. I just hoped I could make peace with this Michael.
Sensing my welcome was waning; I left and went upstairs to my room. A few hours later, after calling the government contact I had and explained that I had arrived and was going over the property, I asked about this Michael and his claim on the land. Apparently he was a young man (it made me laugh, only being twenty-three myself) who had grown up in the area and had started to clear the land around the castle, wanting to renovate the castle grounds, restoring the gardens. The idea had merit; I had only thought of the building, I hadn"t thought about the grounds. I bought the surrounding land so I could have the lake. Maybe we could work something out.
The time difference with New York had me contemplating the bed when a knock called me to the door. The innkeeper was there. He told me that Michael had found out about my presence and was heading over to have words with me. He told me "the lad has a fine temper." Apparently his back was up and wanted to have it out with me. Fine, I would confront him, tell him that I owned the land and the castle and then propose a partnership with him. This was just the setback I didn"t need on my quest to find my mystery man.
Deciding it was best to meet him on neutral ground; I headed back down into the pub. But I didn"t make it past the front desk when the front door opened. A tall, big man walked in. He had a hat on his head to shield him from the rain. He turned and placed his raincoat and hat on a peg then turned to me. I couldn"t have been more surprised. It was my dream man. My breath left me. All I could do was stare. He looked in my eyes and he stopped too. He recognized me. I started to grin. Here he was. I was so happy to see him. Then someone from the bar called out and told Michael to leave the Yank alone. Oh God! His name was Michael; the same Michael who was pissed at me for buying the castle. Oh man!
His smile slowly disappeared as the realization dawned. His voice was thick with a delicious brogue. "You! You are the Yank who bought my castle?"
"Look, I did by the castle. But I need to talk to you about it."
"What, that you and your Yank money can come in and push me out?"
"Please, let me explain. Give me five minutes. Privately. Please?"
He nodded and we walked into the barman"s cozy behind the bar in the pub. I sat in a padded, faded, velvet chair and he in another. The pub owner came in with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He eyed us wearily and then left, shutting the door behind him. I looked at him, taking his measure, enjoying being within touching distance of him. I started to remember some of the delicious things we did to each other.
"Your five minutes is wasting."
I shook myself and I felt myself blush. "I"m sorry. My name is Patrick Jamison. I have to ask you a personal question."
He nodded at me. So I swallowed hard and spoke. "Do you have a scar, about three inches long over your left knee?"
I watched him swallow, shock taking over his features. But he did nod. "How did you know about the scar?"
"I"ve seen it. In my dreams."
I watched Michael swallow. Then he stood and paced the two or three steps he could in the small room. I sat back and watched him move. For such a large, bulky man, he moved with a sleek grace. I don"t think I could ever get tired of looking at him. His legs were bunching with muscle. He was so tense. He looked as if he could jump through the roof. He was the epitome of caged energy. Then he stopped and looked at me.
"So it was all real. You had the dreams too." It wasn"t a question but I nodded. "The lake, the woods, all of it real?"
"Yes."
"Did you dream this morning? I saw your eyes for the first time this morning?"
"Yes. I was on the plane. You said something to me I don"t understand." I repeated the phrase to him. He just blushed and looked away. "Michael, what did it mean?"
"It"s Gaelic. I was telling you that you are my heart, my love."
I stood and walked to him. I moved in to kiss him but he pulled back. I was confused. He looked in my eyes and for once the belligerence was gone. Instead he looked sad.
"Patrick, I"m engaged to be married."
Well that stopped me cold. I felt lost. I had given up my job and my home to come to him. I was at a loss as to what to do. I just looked at him for a minute. He looked truly miserable. I just walked past him and out the door. I headed up the stairs to my room and started to pack my bags. I had no reason to stay in Ireland now. I heard a knock on my door. It was Michael. I walked up and opened the door. He looked miserable and guilty. I felt bad for him, but not bad enough. He saw that I was packing. He stopped what he was about to say and looked me in the eyes. There were so many questions, but I couldn"t answer them. He told me that I should stay, at least for the night. I nodded, knowing I was too tired to drive back to Dublin that night. I shut the door to any more questions and moved my bag off the bed. I sat down and started to tug off my boots. I stood and shucked my jeans and sweater and shirt and crawled under the blankets. I turned off the lights and stared out the window at the moon, willing myself to sleep and this time not to dream.
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Keywords: Man, Dream,