The dream started out randomly enough. I was in a big downtown loft, sparsely furnished. As is custom in some dreams, I was naked. And there were other people in the room. Luckily, the other people in the room were also naked. I use the word "luckily" very loosely, as the other two people in the room were two guys, whose body types could only be described as "John-Goodman-circa-Roseanne". Legitimately luckily, I was on the living room floor, wrapped in a rug of some sort. Possibly bear-skin. I don't know. I'm just happy no porn music was playing and that the two portly gentleman were more interested in each other than in me.
Surreptitiously, I got to my feet and dashed off to the other room, bear-skin rug draped around me like that Versace dress Jennifer Lopez wore to the Grammys. In the other room were clothes; normal clothes, like jeans and a t-shirt. There were also six-inch platform heels, but I didn't think I needed to totter around at 6 feet 8 inches tall and risk breaking a foot, an ankle, a leg or my dignity.
As I walked back into the other room, I was thankful to see that the two naked men were gone, and were replaced by a few fully clothed people, sitting around a table and having a discussion about things that were not sex, obesity or my naked adventures on the hardwood floors. I walked toward the table and was not surprised to see Crush #1 sitting there, partaking in the discussion.
This makes me wonder what the pretense in my dream was, that I was expecting to see Crush #1.
What I was surprised to see was that Crush #1 was holding my cat, Velcro. In real life, Velcro resides with my parents, in a permanent state of calico bitchery, complete with claws on all four feet. She mostly keeps to herself (and, for some reason, loves my mom unconditonally) and doesn't really get angry unless you get all up in her grill.
She also doesn't purr in people's laps, so I was understandably taken aback to see Crush #1 (exactly as he is in real life) holding Velcro the Bitchy Calico (exactly as she is in real life) without having his skin julienned into shreds. Astonished, I walked toward him to get a closer look and ask him how he tamed the beast.
Said beast, upon seeing me approach, bolted. (And why wouldn't she? When we got her, in real life, I found it hilarious to chase her around the house. Yes, I was 15 and have no excuse but dammit, it was funny to see her skitter on the linoleum floors.) Crush #1, having never worked at a Cat Care Clinic like yours truly did for a brief five-month stint, did not know the Golden Rule for bolting cats: do not try to restrain them. Seriously, let them go. I have four scars from four feline incisors encircling my left wrist that prove why that rule is Golden. (Sidebar: I had to run errands that day, and I did so wearing my uniform (scrubs) with a big, white bandage covering up my wrist. The inside of my wrist. Where the arteries are. I kept getting the hairy eyeball from people undoubtedly wondering, "Is he safe to be out? Where's the nearest exit? If he freaks out, what's the number for 9-1-1?")
Anyway, Velcro bolted, Crush #1 tried to restrain her, and received a couple of swipes to the face, as she was trying to bolt over his shoulder. Crush #1 let go, as you would with a cat who just tried to get clawed traction from your eyeballs, and Velcro was gone. I was immediately apologetic as I should have known Velcro would do that. I raced to Crush #1's side and tried to assess the damage, but he got up and walked off to the other room. I followed, to administer first aid. Because I"m a caretaker.
In the other room, Crush #1 took a seat in a recliner that could only be described in comparison to a dentist's chair (the only surreal part in this otherwise realistic dream). Crush #1 reclined, and I sat on a stool at the head of the recliner and checked out his wounds, which were surprisingly minimal. In fact, there was only one slight, shallow scratch that could barely be seen unless you knew what you were looking for.
However, if you listened to Crush #1, you'd've thought somebody just tried to flay his face off, like Ken the Demon in that one episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. ("That one episode" my ass. It was "Anne", the opener for Season 3, and Ken was played by Carlos Jacott, who also played a different demon in a season one episode of Angel entitled "Bachelor Party". Yeah, I"m a good party trick.) Crush #1 was especially worried that his nose had been mutiliated. Holding his head in my hands so that I could get a good look at it, I just smiled a secret smile and shook my head. "Don't worry, you're adorable," I said.
Out loud. I said out loud. Not in my head, like I was thinking. I thought out loud. Right out loud.
As soon as I said it, my skin flushed and I hated myself a little bit. Crush #1 is off-limits. He's so off-limits that it takes a three-day boat ride and a mule train to get to him. I just sat there, feeling stupid that I said it, wishing I could take it back. But you can't unring a bell.
The three seconds between "don't worry, you're adorable" and Crush #1's response stretched on like an eternity. I felt myself turn 30, then 40, then 80, then die, then be reincarnated as something much, much smarter than myself in those three seconds. But then:
"Good Lord, you move at glacial pace."
I looked up to see that Crush #1 had sat up and turned to face me. His eyes were bright, his hair was like it was the first day I met him and his smile was mischievous.
"Hunh?" was my reply. Yes, I was slack-jawed. Yes, my left side of my mouth was hooked up into an ignorant sneer. Yes, my eyebrows raised up so high they shot off my face and hovered about a foot above my head. Crush #1 just smiled that smile.
"You know what I mean." And I did, just then. And even though he was still off-limits, Crush #1 was suddenly obtainable.
With my heart pounding, I leaned in to Crush #1. "I'm just...I'm going to do this, okay?" I cupped my hand around the back of Crush #1's head and pulled him to me and before I could hesitate or stop myself, pressed my lips against his. I don't think Crush #1 expected this. His breath hitched a little bit, a surprised "oh!" escaped his throat just before my lips found purchase. Seconds passed, gently, and I started to pull away. But Crush #1 had other thoughts and brought me back for Round 2. Nothing racy, nothing greedy, just more...fervent? Passionate. He was kissing me back. And in my dream, it was everything I thought and hoped it would be when I daydreamed about it in real life. Me kissing Crush #1, Crush #1 kissing me back.
A couple of sweet kisses (and I hate how gay that sounds, and that the phrase "sweet kisses" is a Jessica Simpson album, and that I'm gay enough to know that there's a Jessica Simpson album called "Sweet Kisses) was all my subconscious would give me, but it's all I wanted.
In real life, it's what I think about every time I see Crush #1. And boy, does that suck.
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