Monday, August 23, 2010

Butterfly Dreams (30)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.
-(The Story begins HERE)-
Sleeping With the Dead

I could just make out the subtle swirling pattern of a craftsman's trowel upon the ceiling. I could sense some movement in the patterns, each one sliding beneath adjacent swirls.

Up there was something else moving, no, several somethings. The spiraling downward arc of them was bringing them toward me. The objects were blue and seemed to be fluttering as if on wings. Butterflies, dozens of them, were swarming above me.

He could feel the tickle of the fragile creatures as they alighted upon his bare skin. He began to giggle in spite of himself as their tiny legs carried the winged insects across his skin. Nearby, he could hear the gleeful laughter of another. To his left lie a naked prepubescent boy, he too covered in the little blue butterflies.

Across the lawn an attractive woman in a skimpy white bikini busied herself emptying the inflated kids' pool onto the lawn. Standing near her were two young girls. They were giggling and pointing at the two lads. She picked up two matching pieces of garments and shook her head. She turned and shouted, "Boys, how many times have I told you to keep your bathing suits on?"

At once, disturbed by the sound of her voice, and as if of a single mind, the butterflies took flight. He gasped as he watched the contrast of their blue forms against the low-flying clouds, their westerly edges tinted in a soft reddish glow of the setting sun. Then, they vanished into the pre-dusk sky.

She clapped her hands and barked, "Into the house now! It's time to clean up before supper."

The other boy had a head start for the house and he raced to catch up to him. He nearly caught him as he reached the sliding door. Behind the glass barrier the winner of the race stuck out his tongue and then darted from view. As he slid the door open he caught sight of his reflection. The face looking back at him was identical to the one who had passed through the entry before him.

I opened my eyes and squinted. There were no butterflies. The patterns on the ceiling were not in motion. Remembering that I was not alone, I twisted my head to the right. Her back was to me but I could hear Susan's steady respiration. I breathed a sigh of relief that she was still covered by the sheet.

Sitting up, I swung my legs off the bed and rested my elbows on my them. A quick glance at my watch revealed that it was two in the morning. That I had managed to grab a few hours of much needed sleep was appreciated, but I was troubled by the perplexing reverie still fresh in my mind.

It couldn't have been a dream I thought to myself. Had someone tapped into my mind while I was sleeping? Had the images of the young boys been channeled into me while I was asleep? If so, for what purpose? Was there any significance to the dream?

... And then there were the butterflies, those damned butterflies! Like Michelle's recurring dream, mine too featured the presence of swarming blue butterflies against the backdrop of a reddish sky. The similarity of the dreams, however, ended there.

In her dream as she explained it, she was naked and alone on a street. From the signage on a motel she was able to place her dream self somewhere in the southwest on the famed Route 66. Conversely, I was not central to my dream, but rather was viewing the back yard scene from another vantage point.

I lie back down and focused my eyes once again at the ceiling. There was something gnawing at me. There was something in the dream that filled me with chilling dread. Yet, I tried to will the patterns to move once again. I closed my eyes.

He reached the bathroom in time to see the other boy climbing into the bathtub. To his right he could hear the water running in the shower stall. There on the hamper lie the two pieces of her bathing suit. Although steam from the hot water had fogged the glass door he could just about make out some of the more interesting details of her naked body.

When he saw her hand reaching to shut off the water he hurried to the tub and climbed in with the other boy. With anticipation the two of them watched as the shower door swung open. Even though it was a nightly routine, they'd never lost their fascination of seeing her naked.

After wrapping a towel about her long black hair, she grabbed a bar of soap and a large sponge and walked toward them. Obviously unashamed of her nudity, she knelt by the tub and began to lather the sponge. Leaning forward she began to run the sponge over the other boy's body. He watched her breast squished against the rim of the tub waiting for her to lean farther. On cue it slid from the rim and dangled in air, its large tip only inches from the water.

The water draining in the tub, she dried the two of them in turn with a large towel. She turned the faucets on to refill the bathtub and stood up. Placing her foot on the toilet seat she ran the towel over her leg.

"Boys, go get dressed for supper," she whispered. She looked up and raised her voice, "Girls, it's your turn. Come on now."

Because it was at eye level he stood still, his eyes transfixed on an area high up on her inner thigh. There was something on her leg below and to the right of the jet-black curls of hair.

He pointed and exclaimed, "One of the little blue butterflies landed on your leg!"

She patted him on the backside and laughed, "No. That one lives there. Now, off you go."

The two girls, as naked as the boys entered through the bathroom door at the same time they were leaving. They stopped, covered their giggling mouths and pointed at the funny little things hanging between their legs.

I struggled to open my eyes. My body was damp from heavy perspiration. I was in a state of arousal. I felt something hot against my neck. My hand was running across bare skin. Turning my head, lips touched against mine. They parted to accept the tip of a probing tongue.

( To be continued ...

Where It All Began )

№ 2027


Jack K. said...

You do know how to write a "steamy", sensual scene.

Did you mean, "Conversely, I was not central to my dream," or "Conversely, it was not central to my dream,"? Just askin'.

You also know how to add new elements to the story. It is almost like we are beginning a new story. Hmmmm?

Sandee said...

What Jack said. It's hot in here. Can't wait to hear what happens next.

Have a terrific day. :)

Hale McKay said...


Steamy sensual scene? Do you mean the bathroom shower/bath scene? Or the last paragraph? :o}

Just answerin':

I did mean "I" as opposed to "it."

From his perspective, he was not in the dream. In Michelle's dream she was actually in her dream.

I'll take the literary 5th here and leave it at that, lest anything I say be used against in future comments.

Hale McKay said...


Hot - steamy ... one and the same?

It's only two AM - its a long night before their 9 AM flight the next morning.

It could get hotter and steamier.

Jack K. said...




Thanks for answering'.

Hale McKay said...


Hotter - steamier -

It's an identity accident waiting to happen.