Sunday, 22 April 2007

What princesses dream about.

Last night's two a.m. awakening included Jacob kissing my neck until I moaned softly and rolled away from him, far off in a dream in which we were having a picnic by the medieval ruins of a castle I didn't recognize. He was picking forget-me-nots for me and wearing a cape.

I didn't say it was logical. But my God, it was so romantic.

When I finally tore myself away from my conjured image, Jacob whispered that it was thundering outside and raining again. He was kissing me, down into the hollow of my throat and then all the way back out again to the back of my shoulder. His rough but warm hands slid up my arms and found their rest under my ears as his lips found my eyelashes.

He loves sleepy sex, I can barely wake up let alone make requests we both know he'll rarely, if ever grant. And I went to heaven anyway, where coincidentally it was crashing with thunder and lightning too. Funny how that works.

And then he disappeared, just like the Jacob who was wearing the cape and I lay in the dim candlelight drifting in and out of sleep once more, my sore limbs and fingertips tingling, throbbing from his touch.

I found the caped version of my husband in my sleep again and we resumed our picnic, clinking glasses in a toast. So...realistic. Neat. Another kiss landed on my forehead and I opened my eyes with so much effort. There was the Jacob with no cape but the clinking of glasses was real. A middle-of-the-night picnic with warm chocolate cake and glasses of pineapple juice, on a tray in the middle of our bed. On our best dishes. Which are the same dishes we use every day because they're new but give me allowance for my fantasy.

Warm cake at four in the morning is a luxury that all princesses require, so much so that it comes before sleep. And unclothed princes with muscles in places you wouldn't expect to see muscles is also required in as much that the prince is the icing himself.

God bless men who climb, for they are the best-looking naked men around and have stamina that can't be matched.

And God bless cake for tasting so good, night or day.

And God bless pretty little Bridget, who deserves this at long last. Though we all know she would have settled for the cape and the imaginary picnic with nary a complaint.