She found him behind her house, sleeping deeply. At first, she feared he was dead. Then, she saw him breathe; saw the muscles of his chest, the lines of his ribs, the ripples of his belly. She should have recoiled, called the police, the neighbors - a naked man in my backyard! Of course, he was a very beautiful naked man.
She had seen him somewhere before. As she examined him, walked around him, peered at the man so calmly layer out before her, she became more and more convinced - she knew this man. His tattoo, his arms, the way his muscles attached to his hips. His thighs. She knew him. But how could she know a man’s body this well, in all its unclothed details, and not remember even his name?
Then she remembered where she had met him. Remembered running her hands over his body, Remembered his arms holding her as her fingers dug into his back. She had met him many times. He came from her dreams.