Night Wanderings
My chest shook, waking me. My pelvis was still bucking as my clamped legs flailed like an epileptic snake. My hands were by my ears, pressed into my pillow. The light from the pole near the chicken coop cast a faint bluish glow to the second story bedroom of our old ranch house. I was staring at the ceiling, nothing between me and the plaster- no sheets and no person. He who we will call M, was asleep with his back toward me on the far side of the king size bed. I could make out his snores easily over the pounding in my ears, my heart in high gear. Still only halfway through the doorway from the sleeping world, it took me a moment to piece together what was happening. M was asleep, and I couldn’t move my hands. My legs were braided together, goosebumps covered my body. In the dim light, my taut nipples made pokey spots, casting shadows with my pink lace bra. The new head of a dead deer, mounted over the bedroom entrance, startled me, as it does nearly every time I wake. I sat my head up as far as I could, looking around my feet, the floor by my side of the bed and the window. A glance at my hands showed there was nothing restraining, nothing holding me, but my wrists were absolutely welded into place. I checked M again. Still snoring.
My bra seemed to be snagging my left nipple, but after a second of remaining at rest, the weirder truth was revealed; something unseen was touching me, flicking both of my still taut nubbies, slowly and rhythmically, as if melting ice from my roof was dripping somehow right onto them. I watched unblinking as my breasts began lifting toward my chin, then registered the firm invisible hands moving them in large deliberate circles, molding and pulling. I gasped, wide eyed.
I looked to the right, but my eyes and ears told me he hadn’t heard my squeaky panting. Still snoring, he was a huge hairy wall. I bit my lip and tried not to think about what I was experiencing, as if denying it would make it stop. The ceiling by the way, has a crack in it, and it needs painted. I have very sensitive breasts, and within a minute I realized why I awakened to feverish wriggling. My face and neck were steaming hot, and I itched badly between my legs. Not a specific place, no magic button, from around my panty line in front, to the top of my butt in back, all of it cried out from an irresistible moist itch.
The flicking stopped, and I caught my breath, counting in my head to lower my blood pressure, and come back to the here and now. I needed to get some sleep, it was just after midnight and he gets up around four. If I want to spend any time with him it has to be then. Outside I could hear the dogs barking. The furnace fan banged loudly to life.
There’s no breeze in my house that feels like someone blowing in my face. This was absolutely what I felt. It made me blink, and when I sniffed, I noticed a fragrance like cologne, or maybe that alcohol germ gel. I smelled it again, and again, turning my head to evade the straight on breath of something unseen. I smelled it again. It was a peculiar and intriguing smell. Then it stopped. My hands were free, and I hugged myself, rubbing my cold arms. My head and neck dropped into my pillow and I relaxed, seemingly free from the trespasser. My body had shivered in erotic tension for several minutes, and I was drained. The black tunnel of sleep opened for me and my little gondola.
I wasn’t really awakened, more like I surfaced. When my already open eyes began transmitting to my brain, I was staring out the bedroom window less than a foot from me. My sight was filled by the back yard, the long garage where all the trucks and small tractor things are kept, and the dirt road passing through our place, down and along the river to the trailer where our helpers live. You know that feeling, like when you sit wayyy too long, and your panties kinda glue to your skin? Tingly, stuck to my undies, my butt hummed from a barely discernible caressing. The cold glass radiated to my now bare breasts and belly. I had been wearing a pink lace bra, I was sure of it, but I was too tired to focus. The almost unnoticeable caressing then became a familiar circular soothing, slow, slower, slower, soothing, soothing, soothed. I’m not sure how long I stood there.
Halfway down the steps to the living room, I struggled to feel the carpet. I was aware that it was very late, had no idea what time it was exactly. I was warm all over, sweaty and sticky. I tingled, like all those goosebumps were little antennae, receiving and reacting. It occurred to me I was descending the small steep stairway, but wasn’t sure why. I caught a reflection of me then at the bottom of the stairs, but didn’t even turn my head to review it. I could tell I was naked, but I knew that. With rhythmic, metered steps I seemed to float almost into the kitchen. The three nightlights plugged in there make it fairly well lit, and the sentry light bathes everything in a bluish haze.
I don’t think I meant to walk up to the antler rack where we keep all the keys and things. Looking back now I can’t say why I was down there. Maybe I was drawn to Heidi’s walking leash and collar, maybe not. It smelled like dog, felt oily to the touch, the colored glass gems on the white leather did not sparkle. Maybe they were asleep, maybe I was asleep. Maybe when you sleep, gems don’t sparkle. The tightest hole on her supple, worn collar was still quite large, but small enough it probably wouldn’t come off if I tried to lift it over my head. It mattered that it be tight enough. I’m not sure why. The shiny metal chain leash made a strange noise, not tinkling and musical, but clakkity and dull. It was much heavier than I thought it would be. It was cold where it touched my chest, I held most of it in my left hand, a ball of steel links. I smiled at the absurdity of the dreamlike event- I was wearing my dog’s walking collar.
I could see and smell and taste what was about to happen, like I had already done it and I couldn’t stop it, or even wonder why I couldn’t stop it. Maybe if you’ve already done something, there’s no need trying to stop it. Maybe I was watching a crazy movie starring the Actress formerly known as Wendy, and wanted to see how it ended. The wind caught the screen door and swung it hard away from me, stretching the spring all the way. The blast of cold air forced itself up my nose and down my throat so hard that breathing was stopped. My hair flew backward, tugging on my head. Some hair had gotten caught inside the collar when I fastened it, but the wind threaded it through and sent it flying behind me. The door landed in my hand, and I carefully latched it. I was standing on the cement outside the back door, naked, wearing Heidi’s collar and chain. I knew it, and yet it still wasn’t real, wasn’t solid. The wind wasn’t even really cold.
My feet began stepping, carefully landing where rocks wouldn’t cut them. There wasn’t a direction, there was a smell. The river nearby smelled really fishy, and muddy, and I was thinking that was where I was going. The dirt on my feet felt cool. I passed the sentry light, and saw the light was still on through the door to the milking barn. I was heading to the milking barn where the dogs slept, and as the man in my bed says, ‘where our girls are milked’. I wondered what the dogs would think of the collar. It really smelled like German shepherd and collie mix. The barn door was cracked open enough for light to escape but not for me to slide through. I knew I needed to slide that heavy door over, but it just didn’t happen. My arms stayed by my side, my right hand against my thigh, my left holding that wad of chain. I stood there, with that warm circular soothing sensation on my butt. It seemed the most natural and wonderful thing, an invisible ghost kneading and caressing my butt, and I barely gave it pause. I could see inside, the dogs in the hay on the left, and the machines and compressors and stuff all sleeping. Out of sight to the right was the ‘girls’.
There’s a very definite sound that car tires make when they turn off the hard packed dirt road of the county, onto the soft gravel where our road starts. Crunching and grinding, accelerating throws rocks everywhere. The headlights were well over a minute away, I was only nine car lengths from my back door. My heart started pounding.
The warm caresses on my butt pressed heavier. My feet didn’t move.
The old pickup truck that belongs to our hired couple was crunching along toward the house, where it would then swing around the light pole and head toward the river’s edge. Just before the light pole, their headlights would be shining directly at me, holding my balled up chain leash like an item for show and tell.
I took a large step with my left foot and the chain spilled through my fingers onto the ground. My right foot swung forward, seemingly in slow motion, as if under water. Fish are naked so what was the matter if I was? I was swimming in place, inching forward with the wind at my back, and a large firm hand polishing my loose butt muscles.
My left foot stepped forward.
The approaching car shot a rock out from its tires, hitting the metal trash can so hard I knew it was killed. I wondered on what wall he would mount the lid.
My right foot fell onto the only green grass on our property- a small patch by the light pole in the center of the small outbuildings and barns. My chin was centered, hips slightly tipped back, shoulders back. I worried just once, and for only a second, that the chain behind me, dragging on the ground, may snag on something.
It never occurred to me what I would say to my neighbors. I was sure they were drunk, as usual. They both would laugh, probably ask me back to their trailer to continue their partying. But would they tell M the next day? My delirious heart almost wanted them to see me.
The definite feeling of hands, large and warm, laid on my shoulders. Fingertips tickled my collarbones. The revelation sunk in deeply. They are called collar bones because your collar rests on them, rubbing them lightly as you stroll nude across your lawn late at night. My left arm and leg was against the lightpole. I would be hidden from view until their fast moving pickup was directly between me and the back door.
I tried to take a step. The hands held my shoulders. Here it was; I was to be displayed to my pot smoking, cow milking, paid employees. I took a deep breath, and sighed out in a long, slow ‘moooo’.
My eyes had adjusted well. I clearly made out the goings on in the truck as it hurtled past our house. He was asleep, his face against the window facing me, mouth open. She had crawled up into the steering wheel, hunched forward, looking into the windows of our house. Perhaps she knew how mad we would be if we caught her driving that recklessly, so near our back door. Dust covered me in a second, and ten seconds later, the inebriated couple was out of sight, one working taillight disappearing as it followed the river.
The kitchen looked like mine, but I stepped into it like I was on a stage, in someone’s play. My little glasses were still on the table. I bought them especially for Tawny port, which I like almost as much as Malibu now. I grabbed them and a few other dishes and filled a sink with sudsy hot water. I daydreamed about my neighbors, and how fast they were driving, as I lathered dish after dish, cup after cup. I carefully dried them all, and set them on their shelves. A scrutinizing inspection of the kitchen, and living room, found all the clothes in the hamper, magazines in the basket, dishes washed.
A wrinkle in my mind itched. The sky was somewhat lighter through the living room windows. Something didn’t feel right about the sunrise, and that nagging itch led me to the bathroom. It was difficult to wash up then do my eyeliner with the light off, and I felt very accomplished and skilled afterward. I had both eyes perfect with liner, Extra Lash mascara, two blended colors for the lids, rouge and Covergirl, and lipstick and lip liner. I blended my neck in and washed my hands. I felt much more relaxed then. Upstairs the bed creaked. I had just found the cologne I wanted to wear. I hoped my hair would stay curled till I got to the neighbor’s.
I freaked.
I was made up for the date of a lifetime, wearing only my dog’s collar, and M was stomping his way down the steps. How could I have been so blissfully unaware?
The tub was freezing cold, but the water was warm enough. The musky scent, intriguing and heady, was replaced by the smell of the rusty water from the well. I was covered in Mane and Tail in seconds, cold cream packed on my face in gobs. I shut the flimsy blue plastic curtain, ripping it from another ring. The door opened without a hello or good morning, and the room filled with the sound of the toilet filling violently. The smell was awful.
I grabbed for the loofa, and the leash rattled against the shower wall. That was when he asked what the strange noise was. I held my breath as I removed the collar, fumbling with the oily wet leather.
I threw the collar and leash out onto the floor, and told him next time to hang up Heidi’s stuff when he bathed her. It rattled as it slithered across the tile and wood floors, and smacked against the wall when he hung it. I tiptoed up the stairs unseen bye Mister Congeniality. You’d think a farmer would be a morning person wouldn’t you? The entire evening came back to me in a quick rush as I closed the bedroom door. That dead deer was staring at me. I wondered if minutes ago I may have had the same expression that he has, vacant, blissful, unaware.