|FREDERICK’S DREAM OF LILITH by Francis-Marie de Châtillon|
I awoke in the night from a curious dream, a lovely dream in fact. The night was dark yet a warm dark, if you can understand me. It enveloped and enfolded like a soft blanket. A slow vinifera-black blanket of night-time settled comfort. I had slept but a short time, or so it seemed to me; but in fact it was many hours and it had been a deep and vivid slumber. I lay on my face and wrapped my arms contentedly around my pillow, wistfully remembering the dream through my tears of joy.
And the dream was of this: seemingly, I had been awoken from my sleep by the soft breath of a woman. It flowed smooth as a silken ribbon over my cheek, caressing my skin, tantalizing my senses. I breathed her in deep inhalations; I felt her presence next to me, warm and soothing. In the half-light of my room, I could see that she was of the dearest and loveliest face. She was golden-haired and of noble, sensual aspect. Her skin was white as the frost on Lithuanian trees on a winter’s morning; indeed, she was the fairest-of-the-fair. I looked at her, and unafraid we reached for each other and our arms enwrapped one another tenderly.
I felt the beauty of her body against me in the darkness, the fulsome curves of her form running like the purest of arithmetic. She was perfect in every detail; in every change and movement and volume.
As if in slow-motion our fingers entwined. How smooth her skin! How gentle her touch! How lovely her feel! I felt her hips and soothed the tops of her thigh; her warmth next to me was as of a summer’s day and my heart sang like birds at her nearness. We both stretched our arms above us and she rested her head upon my chest.
Although darkness was around us, in my dream I saw clearly the cool blue of her eyes and looked into their depths. She, in turn, looked into mine and together we sank into the purest of waters. I stroked her hair and felt her vitality.
Willingly our lips met and our breath became as one. She held me close and her kiss was like no other. Gently our mouths moved together, tasting the other’s freshness and heat. Hers was the kiss of an angel, the kiss of a beauty, but also the kiss of a real woman. I held each kiss as a precious moment, a sacred instant in my heart. Such a feeling moved through me like some God-given intoxicant, such was the wonder of her. I held her gentle tongue within my mouth and she took mine in return; together they loved and moved just as our whole bodies would.
Holding her face close to mine I asked her name, “I’m Lilith,” she said.
“How beautiful! I’m Frederick,” I whispered. And so we kissed again and with each caress we called to the inner spirit of the other.
“Kiss me more,” she said in the darkness, and her arms guided me to between her legs and the tenderest of her regions; directed me to those parts where a man may easily lose himself. I kissed her there deeper than her mouth and I tasted of her inner body. Honey tastes as nothing. The smell of her was as some opiate drug: hypnotic and somnambulistic. Yet a fire flamed high within me at the long sounds of her pleasure; low moans and high sighs filled the room as she guided my head to where she wanted my tongue. I kissed her as I would a perfect lover’s lips and I spoke words of honest love. Oh, such a dream! Slowly, she grew tense and her time had come. With burning desire for her I watched her eyes close tightly and her breathing shorten. Suddenly the mixed sounds of release and heavenly pain captured her and just as suddenly also, she filled my mouth with a musky juice, which I swallowed so eagerly. It was her and it was all I wanted. All I would ever want now. I held her hips hard and pulled her fast up to me as she thrust at my mouth. In those moments I tumbled and fell and toppled into her, I loved her so very, very much.
I listened to her gradually slowing breathing and then, when recovered, she moved herself down upon me in turn and lit the fiercest of all fires within my body, such was the sweetness of her. And her eyes sought mine as she loved me in long slow movements. Was it hours? Was it minutes? I truly cannot say: it seemed like eternity and yet it was but perhaps moments. I uttered her name under my breath over and over like some mantra, like the measured click of rosary beads, and at that sacred instant where a man’s reason can be lost as easily as a ship in a storm, I stretched my hand out to her hair and gently pulled her in rhythm, my body shuddering with the enjoyment she so willingly and generously gave to me. I cried her name loudly and she squeezed my hand in tender recognition. Then, sated, we finally both slept like children aware of nothing but the other.
“Will you come again?” I asked later as we awoke.
“Yes, every night,” she whispered back.
And so I now lie in my bed waiting for my dream to return tomorrow night. Strangely, I want no food, no drink. My strength seems to have deserted me: I feel listless, weak of body and vapid of mind. I want no company but hers, no sound of voice but hers; my thoughts seem held captive by her. I feel no desire to pray—as is my usual practice; I just long for her soft mouth and tender touch and the desire for an all-consuming union. I want nothing but her and to be with her. In the long, dark night as I patiently await her, slow, sharp tears come to my eyes for the lack of her. For such is my love.