Snake had imagined it a hundred times, in a hundred ways. Some things never changed in his imagination. The white hair cascading down as he pulled the pins from it. There was the way it felt in his hands but that was a memory and nothing that his imagination had made up. There was the feel of her warm soft cheeks under his fingers which he remembered so vividly that sometimes it caught him off guard.
He'd imagined the first time her confidence would fall away to shyness when his hands disappeared under the hem of her skirt. Her legs were so perfect to the touch that even silk stockings would take away from their softness. Her lips weren't an exaggeration of his mind like the moment itself. He had memories of them. Soft, sweet as candy and hot with passion. The few times he had found her lips things had nearly lead to the places he was now imagining.
Foremost of those memories was the beach in California. That had been the last time he'd held her. Their last kiss and last chance. It was that day that sparked this fantasy. It always started on the couch. She'd slide closer and his hands would wander. Their lips would meet and he'd press her back. From there incarnations of the fantasy took on different forms. Sometimes she would push him back others he'd use his weight to push her to the couch. They were both always in full uniform. Plissken knew when the moment would be. It was the night they would have come home from Leningrad. It was late at night in his parent's house. Everyone else asleep. Maybe it was a juvenile fantasy to get to your girl the first time on your parent's couch. Then again it could have been logic because he had nowhere else to go but home after the service.
Either way, the uniforms didn't matter aside from their role in slowly revealing the lovers to one another. The sensual slow stripping of clothes, of uniforms. The loss of those uniforms meant something more than merely undressing for Plissken. Those uniforms had prevented him from being with her earlier. They were a barrier between an officer and his underlings. The dress blues being striped free meant that barrier had gone with it.
He always felt vulnerable with her in those dreams. She owned so much of him. It was unlike anything he'd known with anyone else. His body had been the last piece of himself that he could give. Even as a play in his imagination he felt uncomfortably exposed to her. Light, loving touches always brushed the fear away. Sophia had loved him. He knew she did. She loved him as much as he returned those feelings. So many times it had shown through her eyes in real life that in the dream it was constantly there every time he met her gaze.
He never "fucked" her in his fantasies. It was always sex; passionate, gentle but not fucking. It was something more, something else. He took his time exploring her. He had seen her completely naked only once, by accident and that memory served to fill in the contours and curves that he longed for. Their bodies fit together seamlessly, curve to curve like they were meant to be pressed together. He had imagined every thrust, every moan. He could see how her lips would tremble from rising desire. He heard her whispering his name, stifling the cries of his name. Not Snake though, she still called him Steven when they were alone. The acts didn't matter. It wasn't the sex but the intimacy that made the fantasy arousing.
It always came to the same conclusion. Snake pulling back on his boxers and Sophia in his dress shirt. He'd be lying on his side, back to the couch and his arms around her protectively as she pressed her back to his chest. They were both covered in the warm fleecy throw that his grandmother had crocheted. He always whispered to her that he loved her. His hand finding hers under the heavy throw and tracing over the ring he'd put on her finger. In his dreams it was always the first of many times he'd make love to the woman that he asked to be his wife.
Sophia'd been gone six years and Plissken wondered if he would ever stop waking to that dream. He didn't imagine he would ever forget her but the "what ifs" and tension were eating at him. He still wanted her despite knowing she was long dead. He still loved her as much as he had ever, some days he thought that love ever grew. There was nothing to do for the ache and need. She was beyond his reach in the tangible world but in dreams he still sought her. Six years and nothing had changed in his mind though he'd learned to find a replacement here and there to fill the nights when her memory got too much to bear. Then never really satisfied that emptiness but were a bandage. Plissken figured out long ago the girls he visited knew they were a fix for a wound they couldn't see. It never bothered them but there were nights like this one where he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted that physical comfort nothing would live up to his dreams. No one could fulfill one thing Sophia had that he needed. He wanted to hold someone he loved and there wasn't another woman who held that place. Maybe there never would be again.