In this page out of Sandman: The Doll’s House, the female character, Rosie Walker, says, “Say, whoever you are. Do you know what Freud said about dreams of flying? It means you’re really dreaming about having sex.”
To which Morpheus, Sandman, and Lord Shaper of Dreams, replies, “Indeed? Tell me, then, what does it mean when you dream about having sex?”
I had the most vivid dream last night. And it was about having sex. This dream, however, has stood out in my mind, probably partially because of the lack of any actual sex, and the fact that it feature one of my girl friends. And the fact that we were sharing one guy.
One scene out of the numerous dream-scenes I remember especially clearly was that I rode this guy, helpfully condomed, on top, and I could feel my orgasm cresting with each undulation of my hips. I’ve no memory of who the guy was, but he was thick and hard, and that was all that mattered because I was coming in shallow gasps.
But, no, even that was not the most memorable part of the dream, because it soon cut to my friend’s turn with the guy. And, it still fills my head and my ears to remember it now, they both tore at each other, rough and loud and panting. I watched, awed, as the guy thrust his hands into my friend’s pussy, stretching it and manhandling her, while she moaned for more, harder, faster. It was disturbing, grotesque, but I couldn’t turn away.
And then she is gone, in a room somewhere with another guy, and I am inexplicably filled with a deep and brooding envy, because I want to be in that room. I wander aimlessly around the giant house of endless rooms, ending up in one vaguely reminiscent of my kitchen at home. And here things get even funkier, as dreams often do, because I am suddenly determined to make Jell-O with another friend who has appeared in the kitchen. We mix the powder and add pieces of fruit, but I want it to be sparkling Jell-O, and add flattened seltxer water and Sprite in the attempt.
We watched this in my Advanced Animation class yesterday. Poor kitty!
Using Stop-motion techniques.
I dreamt last night that I was charged with taking care of a furry handful of baby mice. There were maybe half a dozen of them, and they were still too young to open their eyes. I held them, or let them crawl around, in the back of an old car. At one point, and for reasons I don’t remember (or weren’t revealed), they were all tranquilized, and curled up into tiny furballs the size of marbles. I remember reveling in the cuteness, and sweetness, of the image.
Other people came into play in the dream, and other events occurred, but I am caught most by that image; of a hand cradling a half dozen baby mice curled into balls, quivering slightly in their sleep.