Erotica, Series
The Leatherbound Diaries, Part 12
Cathy’s Dream: Cathy records a wet dream to remember it, but it’s not quite what she thought it to be.
I woke up around 4 am and immediately grabbed my phone because I wanted to record the dream that I’d just had. Closing my eyes, I could still see some of it, but it was fading quickly. Back in England, I had a friend, Caroline, who always recorded her dreams on her phone. Sometimes she made me listen to them, but I had to play along with her excitement about it because to me it was all gibberish.
So now — it’s evening and I’m sitting at my desk near the window with my diary in front of me and a Pilot G2 pen ready — I’m procrastinating to press play and hear my sleepy voice uttering nonsense instead of recounting the incredible adventure I think the dream was.
I still have a sense of it, a lingering image of the London subway and me being fingered by a stranger. On my way home tonight on the U-Bahn, I realised that my brain probably replayed the train scene from Shameless when Emmy Rossum’s character Fiona succumbs to Robbie on the L-Train with his hand up her crotch. I remember getting aroused by that scene as much as I did from that opening scene of Steve McQueen’s film Shame when Michael Fassbender makes a girl on the Tube wet as fuck by just looking at her.
Maybe I shouldn’t even listen to my dream version of these brilliant scenes. It will no doubt be as disappointing as Caroline’s gibberish.
Okay. I poured myself a glass of Grüner Veltliner, placed the bottle in a cooler sleeve and I’m back at my desk, pen in hand. So here goes, let’s hear what I mumbled into my phone last night.
I’m so wet. I’ve got a hand pressed between my legs to appease my demanding cunt, because I need to record this first. I had this dream, and the images were so vivid that I can still see them. I left a building that I thought was my home. The streets were empty, and I knew I was in Venice. That’s how it started. I was excited about something and hurried to meet someone. I think it was Alexander. The pavement was wet from the rain, which I felt because I was barefoot. I thought it strange and wondered why I hadn’t put on any shoes. But then I realised I was completely naked. The streets were full of people all of a sudden, but no one noticed my nudity. As always, it felt great to be nude and even greater that I could walk around with no one being bothered by it. I was happy and frolicked through the Venetian streets to meet Alexander. But I couldn’t find him or the place where we were supposed to meet.
I boarded a vaporetto, but it took me away from the main island, out on the lagoon. I panicked. I became ashamed of my naked body and tried to cover myself. A woman offered me her coat; I think it was Nina Kuhn. Leyla was there too suddenly, and she told me Alexander had died in Venice. I cried. The Vaporetto morphed into a hearse boat. We were all dressed in black, standing next to the coffin. I felt empty and abandoned. The funeral was on a small island and it was so beautiful there that I couldn’t believe my eyes. People were cheerful and thankful to Alexander for creating it. Someone kissed me and said I tasted like him. More people came up to me, wanting to taste Alexander on my lips. I loved kissing all these people. I got aroused by it and the kissing turned into touching and caressing. It was like I got enveloped by an octopus with hands on tentacles, or maybe more like a Hindu deity with multiple arms. A multitude of hands caressed and massaged me; there were slick fingers on my clit, in my cunt, and up my arse. They worshipped me with lovely singing.
I was laid on a bed adorned with the most beautiful flowers and their scent made me high. A group of men stood in line, their cocks erect to attention. I wanted to touch them, take them in my mouth and pussy, but they were frozen like statues. In fact, they were statues, and I got scared. I was sure the bed was, in fact, an altar and I was about to be sacrificed.
I ran towards a portal and ended up in the London Underground. Maybe other things happened in between, but this is how I remember it. I felt relieved to be back in England, but I knew I couldn’t go home. I sat on the Tube and a man sat next to me. I’d seen him before somehow and I tried to remember who he was. He put a hand on my knee. I was wearing a short skirt — I think it was my school uniform — and my legs were bare. I knew I wasn’t wearing any knickers. I looked at the man, still trying to place him. He looked straight ahead and his hand slid ever so slowly up my leg. He snuck under my skirt and I willingly opened my legs. I was wet as hell and craved for his fingers to touch me. The Tube roared and I moaned as he fingered me. People were watching and touching themselves. A woman standing right in front of me had her hand on the bulge of a business man next to her. I watched her massage what looked like an enormous cock. She winked at me and I came in hot gushes.
The business cock sprang free from its constraints and bobbed in front of me. I grabbed it and fell to my knees. But the woman pushed me aside and told me to fuck off. I held on to the cock and looked up to its owner, to plead with him to let me suck it. But I couldn’t make out his face. The woman knelt next to me and it was Sonya from the club with the glory hole room. She called me a slut and slapped me in the face with the cock. I laughed because it was hilarious that all this was happening on the Tube. But the Tube was gone and I was back in Venice.
Alexander came up to me and I knew he had been the man who fingered me on the subway. I told him I wanted him to do it again but he shook his head and told me to follow him. I lost him in the narrow streets and I ran and ran, desperate to find him. I came to the Grand Canal and the water looked so nice that I dived in. I swam for a bit and when I returned to the shore, it was Whitstable beach. The waves broke on the wooden groynes and the pebbles warmed my soles. Mum was there waiting. I told her I needed to go back to Berlin. She nodded. I cried. And woke up. It’s fucking disturbing all this.
Why did I wake up aroused if this is how the dream ended? I now wish I’d talked nonsense. I was right last night; this dream is fucking disturbing. I have a knot in my stomach and all I want is for Alexander to be here, to have his arms around me. But he’s not in Berlin. He’s in Italy on business. Or for a woman, I don’t know. Please let it just be business. I can’t cope with being jealous because of an old bloke I cannot and will not fall in love with.
Cathy, you silly cow. You already have, haven’t you?
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