Sexy Girlfriend of the Apocalypse

There was another dream. I was with a group touring some museum in an apocalyptic future. Without realizing it, some of us passed from the museum into a dangerous government factory. Don’t remember much about the actual environment, just that it was in a massive underground building and there were suggestions of fantastic machinery used in the service of a nascent totalitarianism.

I joined up with a shy, not very pretty young woman who was without friends. I was very drawn to her and happy with her companionship. We were walking hand in hand through the place. Then we came across another misfit, a big galoot of a guy who was blind. I took him under my wing, too, but this made the shy girl feel abandoned. “I thought you were going to stay with me, but I can see I was wrong,” she said, and went off miserably into the crowd, leaving me with the troublesome, irritating, oversized blind stranger. After some adventures together, however, I began to see my big oaf’s virtues and secret talents — keen hearing, imperviousness to insults, a knack for defusing the bullies we ran into — and we became loyal to one another. 

He and I came to another exhibit or event-in-progress. Women in swimsuits were clustered on one of those big square blocks that serve as exhibit pedestals, for example at a car show, waiting to perform or to be taken away for some government purpose, it wasn’t clear to me which. One of these women was especially curvy and fine looking. She caught me admiring her as I approached her from the crowd, and she beamed a smile at me. It was  my shy friend from earlier. Her smile told me that she had forgiven me and was pleased to see me.

I told my blind buddy, “I wish you could see this, my friend. I’m going to have to describe it to you in detail.” Eagerly, he asked, “What is it?” I said, “Follow me. I’m going to let you ‘see’ this for yourself.” I led him to the edge of the pedestal, where there was a wooden box with a stool standing on it. With my knuckles I rapped the top of the the box, then the top of the stool. My buddy, listening with his keen ears and registering the heights and materials, said, “Uh-huh, box. Stool. Okay.” And up he climbed until that rickety arrangement and his own huge body had elevated him almost to the same height as my girl up on the pedestal. “Now reach out with both hands and see what you feel,” I said.

The object was for him to feel her bare waist, feel her hips lightly swaying, feel up along her sides to the arms, across the naked back, over the shoulders and down the arms — to apprehend the female beauty that existed in the world — as represented by the achingly desirable, dear, sweet loveliness of my girl’s form. 

Then the dream reached one of those stalls where my mind stepped back and thought about what it was dreaming. I didn’t like the idea of my friend feeling-up my girl. I looked for a way to reverse and revise this part of the dream — causing the dream to slow and halt. My girl continued standing there with her lovely flesh and curves on display. My towering, simpleminded pal was balanced precariously, the crowd below jostling him a little, his balance at risk, his big blind-galoot hands poised uncomfortably close to the body I by now cherished. It was a tense moment and remained tense while my consciousness slowly woke up and the dream slowly broke up. 

But that smile she gave me while slowly twisting her hips in her swimsuit up on that stage, that smile of delight at seeing me again, an implied promise that she would soon be sharing herself bodily with me: that is still vivid in my mind.

She was a jewel in the rough. A splendidly sexy woman that other men would pass over because of her slightly funny face. But to me the face had become endearing and beautiful. Her way of clutching my hand and sometimes walking with scooting, apprehensive steps until leaning against me she felt reassured again — it made me care about her and begin to love her. And then to discover that my shy, long-haired, uncertain girl under her sweet cotton dress had a very, very, very womanly body — my love for her shot to 100 percent, and I think is still climbing.