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"I want you to teach me about sex."
The lithe young thing was probably a third my age and somehow had wound up, pre-dawn, in my day bed with only her thin nightgown between us.
"My Aunt says it's OK as long as you agree. And my grandmother recommended you."
I didn't know this girl or her aunt. Or how she got into my bed.
I don't teach, I write mysteries.
And this was one for the books...
My eyes opened to the dark room of my tiny-home cabin. And I found that the reason for the dream I'd just woken from was someone sitting straddled on my thigh, a young female someone.
Almost at once, she went tense, shuddered, and then relaxed, falling next to me on that side – in a soft, long-legged heap. One of her thighs was still over mine, and her arm on that side was now laying across my chest, her head on my shoulder.
I could smell jasmine in her long hair, and the scent of soap. Her arm was sticky with sweat, as well as my thigh where she'd been sitting on it. Some apparent outcome from whatever she'd been doing that woke me up.
The movies I'd queued up had completed, and now the monitor screen just gave off a soft glow from the narrow desktop opposite this day-bed. A little dialog box showed my completed play-list.
It gave enough ambient light to see more of this young thing, who was still breathing heavy as she lay there. I could feel her heartbeat thorough her arm and thigh, where she was laying against and partly over the top of me.
This was no second dream. This was real.
I had to smile. The irony of this was rich.
I'd just finished outlining a steamy story that I knew I'd never write, but one of the characters needed to resolve her sexual hangups. So that muse was bothering me until I outlined it and wrote some scraps of dialog, as well as descriptions. Steamy descriptions. Not my usual style.
And somehow, this young mystery woman had appeared in the middle of my night to satisfy herself and my muse – all at my expense.
On that thought, the young thing stirred, brushed her blond hair out of her eyes, and smiled broadly. Then kissed my chin lightly.
"So, Karl, you're awake."
"Do I know you?"
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Also contains its prequel: "The Caretaker" by C. C. Brower
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