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My Dream of mMy Celtic Lover (standard:romance, 488 words)
Author: VagabondAdded: Jun 02 2003Views/Reads: 2064/1Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Dreams, even the vague ones that we may not remember entirely from our youth, can come true!

I dreamt of a lady, coming forth out of the ocean, when I was very
young. She had red, wavy hair, brown or green eyes, a very lithe gait, 
as if the water parted for her as she came out to me, standing there on 
the beach. 

She kissed me, bosom to chest and our arms wrapped around each others
bodies. Nothing carnal from that dream, but I know it was there, 
someway, somehow. I remember that dream from when I was nine or ten 
years old. The gist of it never let me go. 

Thirty-something and divorced, my heart longed for the companionship of
another. Then, in words, in prose, I was able to evoke my best and then 
to touch my feelings. I welcomed her with this ferver  and passion I 
had found. 

She was like me, wanting to be Spartan in all she did. Wanting to give
more than recieve. The outdoors were our adult playground, if I may say 
it as such, and we did play. Canoeing to islands in my beautiful back 
bay, or settling on a beach ever so private, knowing love making would 
be sacred and undisturbed. We were beyond pornagraphy with it and knew 
it. Every act or non-act was never taboo. Consenting adults, and 
privately so where love making was concerned. 

This is not where our relationship dwelled, however. The real love
making came from waking up early, watching my lady sleep in a little 
longer, and simply enjoying the sight. A gentle peck on the cheek would 
wake her. Sometimes, roles would be reversed. 

Also, we made love by reading prose;both written by the greats and also
what we could do ourselves, our passions ever eminating in what we 
read. And there was definitely feeling, no matter what we read or who 
was reading to whom. We'd take turns being at each others knee. 

It was very special to us doing that every other evening or so. 

There was the walks outdoors. Walking around the block, along the
seashore or through a state park. It mattered not, really, as long as 
we were together, her hand in mine. 

We would discuss stories yet to write, stories and poems written and
getting together on a piece of prose that would be our epic, concrete 
evidence forever that we would last. 

Understanding, communication and admiration only grew stronger between
us. It was beautiful. Wonderful. And if we needed time apart, even 
within the home, never a problem. She could read or go online or sleep 
and I would occupy myself with music, writing or television. Or sitting 
on the back porch, wide open, overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. 

There was nothing this love could not do, in it's simplicity, in it's
understanding, in it's pure love blessed from above. 

My lady, I love you. Let's keep going from here. 

And may every child know that dreams do come true. 



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