It happened again - a dream where my eyes were stuck together, cobwebrenderings on sticky lashes. But I could still see, like last time, struggling up out of dream depths ...

This time I saw (without seeing) an exfriend with black bobbed hair and a naked white body. Straddling my own...I was trapped beneath hotel sheets, woollen blue and white checked blankets hemming me, stitching me to the bed, immobile.

She wasn't. She had a pierced neck, a vampire touch to a deathwatch girl. She wanted to fuck me. She kept saying, over and over again, "Let me fuck you, touch you, just for a bit - just once..."

And I couldn't say or see a thing. I may have been amused, or even shocked. She wouldn't leave me alone, stop this pecking sextalk. Finally she stopped and started to lick my neck, leaving trails of glueish spit and straggling wet all over me, on my chest, my breasts.

I wanted her to stop, but couldn't speak. She must have taken my silence as acceptance, compliance. But it wasn't. I wanted her to stop, but wasn't really fussed. She thought she'd won...I could tell, victory glowing in her fierce grass eyes and stiffening her bluish skin. A rigor mortis girl.

She left then. Just got up, got off, and walked out, her puppet victory march echoing down the hall.

And my eyes opened. She'd tried again to get me, hold me, trap me.
Again. And I laughed out loud...brackish laughing, gruff healing sounds.
For me, for her - less her than me. For both of us.
Mary-Anne Breeze