Too Close to Love

by January 1st, 2008 - Creative » Writing »

Ratchet’s Dream Diary – December 31, 2007

I am straddling Glenn Close. She is radiant, wrapped in a white sarong that caresses her body and flows out over the bed to infinity. Her hair, a pile of tousled blond curls, seems to glow in the darkness that surrounds us. I stand, my legs on either side of hers, which lie bent over the edge of the bed. Lying on her back, her arms stretched toward me, she bids me to come forward and collapse into her embrace.

I want to fall into her, to feel the fabric and her arms around me, but instead I freeze, lost in thought. Is it right for me to physically commingle with an actress of her caliber? Certainly, her passion seems real enough, and we are shooting a film, after all. Presumably this is all written into the script. Still, I can’t help but feel that I would be diminishing her status by giving in to her demands.

Glenn Close has no use for my indecision. She straightens her legs out, throwing me off balance. I tumble on top of her, and am immediately wrapped up in her zealous embrace. Glenn Close’s arms and legs dance around my body as she urgently discloses her long-hidden desire for me. Her hair smells like clean sheets and pinot grigio. We don’t so much kiss as smoosh our faces together, with a passion too frenzied and stupid not to be real.

I am so caught up in Glenn Close that I almost fail to notice Courtney Love approaching on my right, emerging from the darkness on her hands and knees. A pair of spaghetti straps try desperately to keep their grip on her boney shoulders as she slinks toward me. The purple silk nightgown attached to those straps shifts impatiently with each twitch of her hips. She looks like a dragon’s skeleton wrapped in a shroud.

Is Courtney Love supposed to be in this movie? Glenn Close doesn’t react, so this must be how it was scripted. I continue to shower love down upon Ms. Close, but Courtney Love is now inches from us, and I want nothing more than to run away.

Courtney Love lowers her face and whispers something incoherent in my direction. As her hot breath splashes across my face, I try to turn my head, but Glenn Close has me in such a submission hold that the only movement I can achieve is the passionate wriggling we’ve been doing. I am no longer in the mood, as Courtney Love’s breasts are now at my eye level, and one of them has just escaped her nightgown. They manage to be both small and pendulous, marked by long lines and stretch marks. These are nothing like the delicate lines of Glenn Close’s face, which speak to her wisdom and experience. These lines are dangerous and forbidding, like a tether about to snap.

Just as I feared she would, Courtney Love swings a leg over me, and as she climbs onto my back, one of her breasts brushes my cheek. I want to vomit, but to do so would surely distract Glenn Close from her ecstasy, which has reached such heights that she no longer even looks at me as she flails around in the darkness.

Courtney Love begins pawing at me in an imitation of Glenn Close’s passion. Glenn Close doesn’t even notice the intrusion, so she’s no help at all. I am sandwiched, trapped. How can I get away from Courtney Love without offending Glenn Close?

Thankfully, I wake up before I have to decide.

End dream.

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