Dreams within dreams

Prelude
I recall a quote by the great late Edgar Allan Poe before, "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream".

Or is it?

In this seemingly long and realistic dream, I met a faceless stranger, and that chance meeting soon proved to be more than I dared ask for.  In the dream, this person was epitomised as the perfect being, the ideal that I have been searching for, for the longest time.

And trust that I have been searching for the longest time, indeed - oh well, maybe not before the Stone Ages or the Golden Ages, but certainly long enough. One may say that I have too high expectations, and that I would never be able to meet someone who could fit my requirements to a T.

Yet I fell in love with his utter perfection in my precognition dreams.

Plot
It was Daphne's birthday and we had planned to meet for a small celebratory dinner at her favorite restaurant. I went all out to dress up because the restaurant was frequented by the movers and shakers of our time, so it was the best place to see and be seen.

I spared no expenses when I bought the Valentino dress, and the Tiffany's charm necklace, and the pair of Chanel dangling earrings. It wasn't often that we got to dine there, mind you, so I decided to seize every minute I had to flirt with opportunities.

Anyway, Daphne brought along a friend, *M.

She had insisted over the phone that *M was not a date, that they were not romantically involved at all, and that *M was really merely a platonic friend. So I acquisced to this additional dinner companion, and hoped that he would be charming enough to impress.

The pair had already seated when I stepped into the elegant French-Italian restaurant, brought over to the table in the quiet corner by the snobbish Maitre'd.  Daphne introduced us, and I sat down across from her, sneaking sidelong glances over at *M meanwhile.

*M was very good-looking, in the way that I had imagined the perfect dream lover to look - all deep set eyes with that soulful, poignant expression in them; cheekbones that could cut glass easily and full Poet's lips. I could not help but dart my eyes over at *M throughout dinner, occasionally catching those amazing eyes holding my gaze with magnetic forces.

*M was a high flyer in the microbrewery industry, with a family name that reeked of old money. Even the way *M moved was calculated, elegant and graceful, with an air of confidence that *M worn like a second skin, easily.

Besides all the physical merits, this exotic creature had the quick wits of a journalist, able to quip back with playful but impressive rejoinders. *M's knowledge was extensive as well, and we managed to discuss everything from our favorite authors to politicians to the current fashion trends, injecting some sidetracked talks about our shared mutual interests (not limited to painting, shopping and diving).

Throughout the night, I could feel the sparks flying between us, like tidal waves of sensuality that were being swept close enough to our physical bodies, but never close enough to actually caress the flesh. This electrifying sensation was startling, to say the least, because I have not felt this way before, not since college days, I reckon.

Oh, have I also mentioned that *M's voice was a deep baritone, smooth and low in a soft flow of rich, upper crust accent, that when *M talked, it was like liquid silk draping over the skin, awaking every sense in the listener's body?

On top of that, *M was single, never divorced, had good business acumen, enjoyed my jokes, had the airs of a true gentleman and even converse in three different languages.

Was *M a dreamboat, sitting across from me singeing my nerves, challenging my own doubts that I would never meet someone who was everything and knew everything I wanted?

Oh, have I also mentioned that "M was incredibly fashionable as well,  decked out in clothes that were obviously tasteful in an expensive way, but worn so comfortably on *M's tall frame, like the clothes were merely painted on?

In between merry chatter, polishing off bottles of wine and chewing daintily on food meant for decoration more than actual ingestion, I came to understand a great deal about *M. Everything was fascinating, from start of dinner to the end.

When *M gave me one of those trademark intense stares with the jeweled onyx eyes, I felt the impact hitting the solar plexus and below. It was like I was being fondled by merely a look from this mysterious being, quivering ever so slightly with the want for more. I looked at those long pianist's fingers and my heart skipped a beat - would they ever dance across my body to create the rhythm that angels could weep upon hearing?

Pre-position
The evening had ended eventually, and the fire that had been burning in me that night was still fluttering away in my body's hearth.

*M did drop hints at meeting up (with me) again; I believe that this flawless creature wanted me as well.

Could it be, could it be that my dreams had come true, and that this Demigod has been a gift from the gods themselves? I don't know, because I have never had a dream come true.

Yes, *M was everything I had ever dreamed of - as though every single prayer and wish of mine has fallen into place and forming this creation meant to fulfill my wildest dreams.

The thought of a date with *M was dizzying; the mere discovery that *M had felt the same way was startling. Yes, startling, like a storm that hit rather suddenly, but spell-binding as the pieces slowly began to fall into place like raindrops from this storm.

There was one slight problem with the entire picture though.

The one problem that prevented my Picture Perfect.

Even though I seemed to have met The One.

Well, should I classify it as nightmare?

Or a sweet dream gone very wrong?

Because, well, you see, actually

*M is not a male, however perfect, however real or surreal.  *M is a very gorgeous lady with the most sensuous figure. *M stands for Madeleine -   I just didn't know if she was made (meant) for me ...

"Dreamers must dream on as long as the nightmares wake them up to greet them with a bucketful of reality" - Munia Khan, Author of "Beyond the Vernal Mind".


Copyright Ⓒ ArcticStar 2014. All Rights Reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any form without explicit and written permission from the author herein. All and any resemblences borne are purely coincidences.