The living room is dark—no, dimly lit. I can still see the outline of the rough patch-work couch I'm holding onto, partially for support, and it's myriad of non-too-flattering colors. Anything beyond it, my anchor to the real, rational world, is fuzzy, muddy; a reflection of what the room would be I anxiety and nervous fear weren't coursing through my body. My fingers periodically clutch the couch's fabric tighter, then relax, grip, relax—my breath catches in my throat as a breeze lightly (innocently, though I know better) brushes my face.

It glides first across my cheek, so intimate my eyes close and I can't ignore the explosion of feelings my stomach thrusts upon me. That breeze moves on to my right cheek, and the left comes in contact with foreign lips… my eyes automatically attempt to jump open, but they can't. My mouth gasps open instead, the only objection I can give as my body follows my eyes and stays in place, paralyzed. My breathing picks up, my mind's eye is flashing pictures I can't put together at me, and all the while, the foreign lips turn into lips and hands. The lips, so real and firm, trace my cheek bone to my throat before lightly kissing. The hands, oh, just one, snakes the trail the lips conquered, before wrapping my hair between the fingers and clutching tightly, harshly, though the pain in my scalp is completely numbed by the following small bite to my lobe—earning another gasp from my mouth.

The hand tangled in my hair is the size of my head and cups it delicately, causing an overwhelming calm and euphoric wave throughout my body—completely relaxed, my body crumbles and becomes immediately aware of the being controlling the tortuous devices bringing me further and further under.

The cold, strange absence of something I know the other should have clashes with my body's feeling of warmth, by those lips opening just so against my neck… oh, I sigh out into the still, musty room, god…

A snicker.
The illusion is shattered.
The presence gone. (What did I do wrong? What can I do to get it back?)
My eyes open and finally scan the area.
Nothing.
Nothing but the dust, the memories of families living in this wretched house before me, and nothing but me… standing behind the ugliest couch I've ever seen, too excited and heavily breathing to do anything but stare.

"If you think God made you feel that way…" a deep, growling voice whispers against my ear, lips brushing the edges, "… just wait."