(no subject)

[nepheliad.livejournal.com]

Rating: PG? Talks about sex. Doesn't include any.
Word Count: 758
Characters: Robert. Who is talking about Alice.
Summary: Talking about this sex dream with Alice, even. This is Robert's journal entry from the next morning. He is not able to think very clearly and that shows because the good doctor is all over the place. The simplified version: "I was having nightmares. They sucked. Then I had a sex dream. It was weird. And hot. ♥Alice♥ *martyr attitude*" Unfortunately that is not what he wrote.

Of late, most oddly, my usual disquieting nightmares that come in the wake of many dreamless sleeps have become even odder and more disquieting – normally, they are nightmares, real nightmares. Reflections of my worst fears. And they are clearly fears, though sometimes oddly expressed. I do not, for instance, ever expect myself to be run in two by a train car, but it frequently occurs inside my head in a decidedly unrealistic fashion.

I have written on it before and will not dwell on it.

Last night, I know that the oddest dream I have had in at least a century (and that one was very much unlike this one) was not representing a fear. An apprehension and a desire all at once, perhaps, but not a fear, and its origins disturb me because normally when I do have odd dreams they are things like parrots playing chess and are so utterly unrealistic I know they are not attempting to release anything from my subconscious.

This, though, was without a doubt the most sexual dream I have had since age fourteen and even possibly more than that, for I had no anonymous lover who I barely remember getting close to. Truly if I were to be having erotic dreams I would expect her Alice Miss Fitzwilliam Alice to have been the one in them, but I never expected that I would. It is unlike me. It always made me feel uncomfortable to think of sexual dreams as they feel a sort of degradement and issue of nonconsent: she never said it was permissable to dream of her so, and so who am I to do so? I was afraid of ever doing such a thing as I knew it would leave me concerned for how I had wronged someone who had no way of knowing, and of course Sully thinks there's no possible way a dream could be infringing on someone's ability to consent, and no one is required consent simply to think about something -- but it always made me uncomfortable, and here I am, uncomfortable, not because the dream itself was unpleasant, but because I feel the urge to apologise to her and of course never could.

She interrupted my work, I remember, and spoke to me, and drew honesty from my lips; things I have always wanted to tell her but never thought to, or perhaps never had the chance. That I can understand as a mental process of simply wanting to be able to tell her, and of course I do also want to make love to her, someday, clearly, but not right now in the relationship we have, no matter its romantic tension, but later -- My sentences are decompensating because I am thinking faster than my pen can move. This is the fourth time this month that has happened.

She teased, and flirted, and drew me into what little flirtation I ever participate in (many think it is a lack of interest; it is a lack of skill and lack of personality trait) and very quickly that turned into confessions of desire and it being the land of a dream where consequences do not exist I was quickly lost to it. Unable to consider later consequences of my actions because there were not any and she very well said what she wanted, and I suppose I lost my patience, which I do suppose I do, though it would never be my sort of thing to do without being asked to, I always saw myself the slow and gentle lover -- and it becomes hazy, but I know that I did make love to her, quite passionately and firmly in a way that shocked us both and she made me laugh and it was very fast and very sudden and more the sort of hurried sex I am used to hearing about than the tender lovemaking I have ever imagined participating it.

And somewhat like a wrestling match at the same time. Uninhibited and playful and loving and delightful and so much like her and why I love her. Shocking, but rewarding at once. To be so close to her. And yet I could never – only out of her own interest.

If only I could be selfish, I believe we would both be happier.

She is lovely. In dreams, and out.

(I would want this dream again, but only hope not this week, as I'll be spending my nights in the crib. And I do doubt Whitaker would ever let it go.)

Comments

[chimbleysweep]

Oh, bless his heart. Alice is giggling up a storm because she got away with it she got away with it she got away with it AND HE LIKED IT.

AND NOW SHE'S GOING TO DO IT AGAIN.

Out of her own interest. Bahaha. This is her version of revenge for his being dumb.

[nepheliad.livejournal.com]

I concur on his dumbness. He is totally dumb. I often make fun of him when writing ... most things.

[chimbleysweep]

Good thing Alice overlooked the dumb for a good long while.

[nepheliad.livejournal.com]

It's kind of a lovable dumb in some arenas. And she can make fun of him too.

[chimbleysweep]

And that is why she loved him so.

[chimbleysweep]

And still loves him.

[chimbleysweep]

Alice would also like to add that he is not her father and so she is the only person in charge of her interests!!!!