Beginning of short – dream sequence

"It's cold. Outside, I think." Here it comes again. I was standing up against the window. I could feel the cold of the glass radiating out. My face felt warm, the inside of my nose, the backs of my eyes. "No, it's not." The outside started to catch up with the rest of me. It was sticky, it was humid, it was holding me down. The window was gone, it was night. I could feel her before she came fully out of the darkness. We were on this field, the grass was dry and rough, and there was this string of lights dying behind us. They were clear, their filament visibly burning. It was soft. It was romantic.
She was standing there, naked, with heavy breasts, her hips wide, open. As I stared at her – the angles of her hip bones, her soft thighs, the stretched, abysmal navel – it occurred to me that it all begins in blood. All life does. From the start, women's bodies are covered in it. And so was she. It was spread over her body like chocolate: translucent in places, like over that navel, and tempting.
Presently I run my hand over her weighty breast, slick and warm. I feel the hard nipple, taste it with my tongue, feel the shudder as it crawls down my spine and the push, the yearning of my abdomen, my hips as I push up against her, touch the small of her back as I bring her to me.
I wanted her, desperately, I needed her, but I didn't know why. It was compulsion. And she was sexy, a siren, calling me to her salvation, but it could have been anyone that came, and she would have received them all.

(To be continued)