She isn’t here, which means that you still might hold her attention.

    You sit back in your seat hoping that your fellow students hadn’t noticed how you had been perching on the edge of your plastic chair. Your teacher begins to drone and you feel your eyes begin to droop; English Lit. is by far the best sleep aid that you know of.

    In your dreams you are walking with her and there is no one there to judge you or the brunette walking slowly beside you. You are just walking. There are no such thing as social classes. She isn’t the outcast anymore and you are no longer the popular cheerbitch. You and her can just be yourselves…

    You and her slowly approach a bench in this dream world and you sit down on opposite ends of the dark wooden bench. You prepare yourself for the jolt of awakening from a deep slumber. This is a reoccuring dream and it usually ends with you and her taking a seat on the bench.

    But the expected jolt never came…

    Instead she moves closer to you and you can feel the heat radiating off of her body mixing with hers. Your body reacts in ways you do not understand and you feel yourself moving closer to her as well despite the protesting of your brain.

    You shudder as you feel those fingers you love so much come to rest on your reddened cheek. The heat from her hand runs down your body and strikes your center. You lean into the hand and to your surprise you lean your lips into her. For a slow secong the two of you just hover there, inches apart.

    Then you kiss her. You never thought that there could be something more amazing then her hands, and yet here it was. There is something more breath taking then those hands.

    Those lips…

    You jerk your head up and awake as you feel a soft hnad guiding itself through your hair as she sits down behind you with a huff. A slight tingle reverberates through your body and shoots straight down to where it tingles the most as you feel her body lean in close and say in barely a whisper into your ear.

    "I am sorry I’m late…"

    Then those hands return to stroking your hair, but you find yourself strangely unsatisfied. You find yourself wanting more. Wanting those lips…