Anonymous – Submission to NNSS July 28 (2013)
OMFG. I had a dream about this triptych!
A former employee was sitting on floor with her dress forming a perfect circle around her, her bare, unshaved legs sticking out enough to show that she was sitting frog style.
The room was an amalgam of my room when I last lived with my mom, my current bedroom at that time and the second space I rented with several college chums after earning my undergraduate degree.
The floor was made from these broad, pine planks that were worn smooth after years of things scuffling against it.
In the way dream logic works, there was a perfectly sensible reason for her to be sitting in my room. Although we’re still loosely connected, she’s not someone I see with any regularity. And there was a feeling (in the dream at least) that she wasn’t there to hang out and whatever had brought her there was already completed.
This young woman–we’ll call her Skye–tends to be fragile to a fault and prone to fits of profound melancholia. Yet, on the rare occasion that she’s in a good mood, she takes on this affected simpering bravado that would–on anyone else–appear pout-y and conceited, except on her it comes off as playful and perhaps even a bit edgy.
I suddenly felt as if she’d hidden something in my room and I was expected to find it. I looked around but without knowing what I was looking for it all felt awkwardly contrived.
Something made me think of Charlie’s BB gun. I was pretty sure that I’d thrown it away years ago. But I felt suddenly as if Skye had either found it and wasn’t happy about my having it or that it would be super bad if she knew I still had it.
I began to tear the room apart in an effort to find it and get rid of it. Sure enough it was in a shoebox, wrapped in a towel. I showed her and she thought it was dumb that I had it but she didn’t say more than that.
She was still sitting there. I wondered why she was still there. I sheepishly said that she’d been in my room long enough that she probably had a pretty good idea what a pervert I was. She said she did but that she actually thought it was charming.
I put the BB pistol back in the shoebox and buried it in the closest again. When I turned back to her, she was holding the hem of her skirt up and was stroking the shaft of a fairly large cornflower blue phallus. A small purple vibrator was wedged between her crotch and the floor. Her boy shorts were a canary yellow except where the humming vibrator pressed against the outline of her vulva, a dark mustard color spreading slowly outward.
This is okay, right? She asked.