A morning of restless dreaming

Barton was dreaming. He knew he was, and was doing his best not to wake up. It was hard to grab a dream without it escaping. He tried to cup it and hold it to him. Far beyond the dream world he felt the tea house rumble as Zora marched.

He was home. Not his parents’ house. His house, a house that he had never actually had but he recognized it immediately. A strange sensation perfect for a dream. He was seated in his study. It was an opulent place, but also cozy. A small fire burned in the hearth. The shelves held hundreds of books on magic, botany, astronomy, politics, philosophy, and math. His desk was overlong, dark wood, and polished so he could see his reflection. Papers were stacked on it, but they weren’t important right now. His investments were holding, and so he remained mostly retired.

Barton was seated in a large leather armchair. It was not unlike the chair his father used to sit in. On his lap was a half finished book, and small little trails of pipe smoke drifted from his ash tray. He looked down and instead of the wash board abs and trim waist he was used to seeing he was sporting a round happy beer belly. Retirement was good, and she was feeding him well. She? Who was that? Zora? Zora didn’t cook for him, and if she did it was always rabbit or deer roasted over the campfire.

He heard the stairs creak followed by a dainty feminine humming. Barton smiled a warm, happy, dumb smile. Of course, how could it not be her? Far away from here, from Tommlin, and the wandering teahouse, Barton was engaged, but not here. In the dream they were married.

Lilia Vega Solomon, entered the study. She was barefoot and dressed in a long flowing white sundress. She padded towards him across the carpet humming happily. Married life agreed with them both. In her hands was a great big tray, on it was a foamy glass of beer, and a sandwich for lunch.

“Hello, my love,” she said in her high pitched flutey voice. It was like honey to Barton’s ears. She placed the tray on his desk. She turned to appraise him there, sitting in his tall backed armchair. Lilia was petite, her golden blonde hair was a mess of curls that fell down to frame her face, her waist was thin and narrow, her dress tied with a yellow ribbon. Her bust was full; filling out the dress, and her hips were wide in that uniquely hyper-feminine way. Her face was cherubic and classically pretty. Her feet where they pushed into the carpet were tiny, and ever so slightly chubby.

She was the perfect vision. Just as beautiful in his dreams as she was in real life, somewhere, somewhere far away. She scrunched up her face in mild dissatisfaction. “You look tense husband.” She walked over to him. Gently with one foot she pushed his footrest out from under him. He lifted his legs so that it would slide away. She stood over him, barely with her height, and planted her hands on her hips. “What have I told you about being tense?” She scolded.

She was wearing a little yellow ribbon around her wrist. She untied it and added it to her hair, pulling the curls away from her face. Then she sunk to her knees, in front of him. “Tut, tut, tut,” as she reached for his belt buckle and he shifted to give her better access. “No husband of mine is going to be tense.” Her fingers began to deftly, in well practiced movements, undo his drawstring. Her shiny, pouty lips, parted in a little ”o”. She let out a tiny little exhale of anticipation.

Zora had reached a hill overlooking Ketterville and stopped with a great lurch, before settling herself down in the grass. The shuddering was too much and Barton woke from his dream with a start. He was sweating, red faced, sad, and erect. “Shit!” It had been so good. What would he give for that dream. Just a year ago, and that future had been his. He remembered Lilia’s smiling face when he had proposed.

Barton got dressed in a hurry. He would go into Ketterville and work his advertising enchantments for the teahouse. That was all there was to do. In his heart, he had never felt more homesick. Zora was sleepy from the night of traveling and watched him go. Gods did he look tense. Why could that be?

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