Concerning dreams; haunted houses; baths and reflections; wet sheets; a performance for my class; a boat ride; and an awakening.

Last night I dreamt I was at my Nanna’s house in Linlithgow. I’ve always believed her house to be haunted. I should know; I spent almost every school holiday there. A faulty radio switches itself on and off and broadcasts loud static (and maybe quiet voices, and maybe not). Curtains billow wildly after dark. I would never spend the night alone there, even now.

In my dream it is five years ago. I am fifteen years old. My Nanna’s best friend has had a fall. Nanna is telling me she has to visit her friend to watch her, just until the next morning. “You’ll be alone tonight, hen,” she says. “You’re a brave lassie, you’ll be fine.”

I don’t want to be left alone.

“It’s just one night, hen.”

My Nanna has left. She packed an enormous suitcase (for just one night?) and put it in the boot of a rust-red Morris Minor. Which is strange, because my Nanna doesn’t drive. But this is a dream, and you don’t question things in dreams.

I’m in the bath. I don’t remember undressing, or running the water. The bathroom window is open wide. Outside the sun is setting. The bathroom is orange, then red. There is a mirror on the ceiling, in my dream. (In the waking world, there is no mirror; but this is a dream.) The mirror is misted by condensation but I can make out my reflection. It’s warped and indistinct like an impressionist painting. A small pale girl. A splash of dark paint around her head to symbolise her hair. A smaller splash at her crotch.

My best friend is standing in the doorway. She watches me, silent. In my dream I am fifteen years old so I expect my friend to be similarly reduced in age. But she is not; she is twenty, and tall, and slim, and aloof. She is naked, too, but her body lacks detail, like my reflection in the condensed mirror. I feel a sort of vulnerability, led before her in the bath. My nipples are hard and there is a warmth beginning to grow in my crotch.

My friend turns to leave and I call out after her. I don’t want to be left alone.

She speaks then, in a whisper. Just five words. And what she whispers is this: “It’s just one night, hen.”

The sun sets. The bedroom is dark and the night has come. I twist in the sheets, trying to make myself comfortable. My hair and body are wet. Was I in the bath? Or did I imagine it? The mirror is still above me but now the glass is frosted. The tingling warmth in my lower body is growing stronger. I kick back the damp sheets. I stroke my nipples: I circle each areola, gently pinch each teat. Then I can bear it no longer and I’m reaching down, caressing my chest, my stomach, my mound.

I run my fingers through my pubic hair. The dream is authentic in this detail: although I always trimmed my hair short as a teenager, I only started to fully shave it in recent months. Rather than the coarse and curly hair of my girlfriends, mine is soft and straight. A trait from the Asian half of my family.

With my left hand, I spread my labia and slip the forefinger of my right hand inside to wet it. Then, with my left hand I press against my mons. The pressure encourages my clitoris to peek out from under her hood; I withdraw my finger from inside me and tease her, gently. She starts to swell.

I’m starting to sweat. (Or am I just wet from the bath?) I lick my upper lip, taste salt. I lean back and twist my head in my pillow, tugging at my hair. I’ve always enjoyed having my hair lightly pulled. I start to rock myself in the bed, in time with the teasing of my clit. My labia are now swollen and I can feel my love-honey beginning to drip down between my thighs to the bedsheets.

“She’s about to come,” says my teacher. I’m in a classroom at school. I’m led on the carpet, surrounded by the students from my drama class. The blinds are drawn and it is dark, and my drama teacher is shining a torch at me. I’m in the spotlight, centre of attention, the star of the show. I arch my back and spread my legs as a balloon of bliss inflates inside me. I try to keep my eyes open so I can watch my audience as they watch me. But the pleasure builds. My eyes close. I bite my lip. My cunt is a furnace.