Fat Man's Dream

I realize with a flash of excitement, that I am in a suite at the Hassler and that all of Rome, the pompous, exuberant, immortal city, lingers outside the windows. The large bed is soft, welcoming, wrapped in fine linen, the muraled ceilings and walls enticing.

I rise and walk slowly across the enormous bedchamber. These rooms are familiar, but I have no idea how I got here or when I arrived.

I open one of the doors to the narrow balcony and step out into the morning. A soft warm breeze envelops me.

I look down at the marble steps that descend gracefully to the cobbled Piazza Di Spagna, the worn smooth boat shaped fountain at its center, the streets radiating from its perimeter like the fingers from the palm of a golden hand in the early sunlight. The Piazza, the steps, a gathering place, are now strangely deserted. Perhaps it is the early hour.

I look down at my bare wrist and wonder what has happened to my watch. The delicate breeze continues to stir, charming and fragrant with the alluring aroma of baking bread and the too sweet smell of smoking meat. The huge sun is rising, insistent, placing the still darkened skyline on a canvas of blazing color. One can feel the promise of the mid-day heat that will surely follow.

I go back inside and wander aimlessly around the suite.
I am alone. The bed looks as if no one has slept in it.
I can't remember if anyone is, or ever has been with me. This frightens me.

I enter the large bathroom. Naked god-like figures adorned with precious metals and crimson flowers grace the walls above an enormous oval tub filled with steaming water.

I get in.

I am naked and now realize that I was naked out on the terrace. I am seeing things fully only after they happen, not as they happen. This frightens me more. The water is hot and my body seems to subside as I get into it, although my erection remains.

I have been erect, I realize, since I woke up.
I was naked and erect on the terrace.
I am naked, erect, alone and now, even more afraid.