But not too far to be impervious to the probing tongue and fingers, which searched for the small islands of skin, and the nerve ends, which I needed to reach to be able to communicate the messages of warmth and electricity to the receptors in the brain, which in turn sent their own messages of pleasure, to great effect.
It was so very real, and every night I had to get up, go into the bottom bathroom and clean myself up.
Our lovemaking was so very intense and I can still see her today as she opened her legs so wide and welcoming to allow me to enter, her lips swollen, wet and slightly parted in anticipation.
Then as soon as I entered her, her arms and legs clamped around my body, imprisoning me inside her, and as she came, I’d put my ear against her mouth, so that I could hear those beautiful words as she told me, time and time again what a good son I was, and how much she loved me.
She still thought that I was Dad, but I knew who it was that I was making love to.
Things happen in dreams that cannot in real life, and one of them was that as I was making love to her, I would depart from my body and move down to between her legs, as the camera would have done so, as it sought out ‘the money shot.’
From there I would see as I thrust myself into her, until the moment that I fired streams of high voltage liquid electricity inside her.
Only to then move back into my body again, to be able to feel the effects as the sparks did their work, and were then sent back into me by her finger nails spearing deep into my flesh, as she did some mining of her own.
We made love in every position that I knew of, it was all so languid and sensual, there had never been a coupling like this since Anthony and Cleopatra.
Sometimes in the bathroom cleaning myself up, the feelings were so very real that I’d look at my back in the mirror expecting to see her nail tracks, and blood on me.
Sometimes at work I would think about her, and be able to still taste her in my mouth.
Often many hours after the dream, I could still feel her sharp nails digging into my flesh, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had said to me that I had blood on my shirt it was just so, so real.
The weeks passed and the dreams continued, so that they just became a part of my life, it was a routine. I would kiss her photograph, say “see you in a little while,” go to sleep, have my dream with her, go to the bathroom, clean myself up, go back to sleep, and sometimes dream again. It just became a part of my life, and after a while it seemed so normal.
I thought I was dealing with it a lot better, but four weeks later Mum came to me at night just as I’d got into bed. “Tim, something is still bothering you what is it? Please talk to me about it.”
I just burst into tears, I never cried, nothing got to me I hadn’t cried at Dad’s funeral, nor Grandma’s. But now I did, and like a baby. She just sat there, and after a while said “please tell me.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Please tell me, you’ll find it won’t be as bad as you think when we both talk it out.”