ANNE

"I love you, Najda."  he said simply.

"My name is Anne."

"In my dream, your name is Najda."

They were lovers, not setting the woods on fire lovers, yet lovers, none the less.

But in his dream, in his dream, they blazed like a solar flare.  It started about a month after they got together.  In his dream she came to him with sweet butterfly kisses and a tenderness he had never known.  She was Anne, she was more than Anne was, she was Najda.  The thought of her, her touch, her smell, her taste, infused his waking moments and at night she ruled his  soul.  At first he would awake drenched in sweat and wet from his own release. Vaguely feeling the shame he felt as a teenager after a wet dream.  Anne was now becoming a poor substitute for his dream.  He longed for the wild consuming passion that came only when he slept.  They explored each other's bodies with touch and tongue.  They tried positions he did not think were possible.  Often he awoke exhausted to find Anne sleeping beside him, and he would awaken her to make love in real time, trying to maintain a tenuous hold on reality.  Bondage, fetishes, and perversions for which he knew no name filled his sleep.  Then the pain started.  He and Najda did things with pins and razor blades and whips, and fire.  He would awake and take Anne with a fury that frightened him.

Tonight Najda was astride him.  She drove her nails into his chest while he moaned.  She said, "When I reach my climax, plunge the knife into my heart."  "I can't" he replied.  "Do it." she ordered.  She rode him like a stallion, her face twisted with lust and emotion. "DO IT!  DO IT NOW!"  Like magic the knife appeared in his hand and with a mighty thrust he buried it between her breasts.  Together they convulsed, one in death, the other in orgasm.  He awoke "Thank God it was a dream", he sighed and then . . . . . then . . . . .  he saw the blood ! !    (Or was he still asleep?)

THE      END