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of mice and men

May 16, 2008 Leave a comment

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.

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Categories: dream, ethereal, reflection

more messages from my subconscious

March 15, 2008 2 comments

I had a terrifying dream last night. Undoubtedly fueled by the combination of my late night dinner of pizza and soda, and the quietness and loneliness of being on campus over spring break, and the fact that I have my period, I dreamt I had moved into a house split into two partitions. From the outside it looked rather like a trailer. On my side was a family, some friends and acquaintances who were kind to me. On the other side of the partition lived my ex.

I dreamed of a sense of elation, of plotting grand plans of vengeance, now that he was so close, so within reach. This soon gave way to a deep dread, that he would discover where I was. Suddenly there were doors everywhere in the house, some doors leading directly into his side of the house, into the living room. Paranoid and terrified now, I ran around the house, constantly checking the locks, frustrated when I could not find my key card to lock the one most important door, the one leading to his side. Seeing him enter and exit the house through slits in the window shades, I only wanted to hide.

And as I lay in my bed, he was there, both he and his wife, guns in hand. One of my housemates shielded my body with his own as they started to fire, and I may have screamed, or cried, or pleaded. As abruptly as they have appeared, ex and wife were gone, and the others had rushed in to tend to my friend’s wounds.

I felt hunted as I walked through the ever shifting house, flashing intermittently between scenes where I continued trying to lock all the doors, and a strange scenario involving a poker game without chips, where I was struggling to understand the rules with each hand. And throughout both, images of him searching for me rattled my nerves.

When I awoke, it was without the feeling of panic and fear the dreams had evoked, but with bitterness in my mouth and those same images of my ex, eyes shifting and searching for me, imprinted in my brain. And with it, the finality of my realization that I will never be able to live in, or near, Boston, as long as his existence continues to haunt me. I will never rid myself of him by living in New England.

I have to move West.

Categories: dream, emolicious, ethereal

awake

March 3, 2008 1 comment

My body misses those early mornings with you. Those mornings where I am still three-quarters asleep but you are fully awake, and fully hard. Even though I was mostly asleep those mornings, I still remember the delicious, careful trek your hand makes, running lightly over my back and hips, along my thighs, seeking out the hidden crevice you have come to know so well. Perhaps you begin just by resting, hand cupped, letting the warmth suffuse into my skin. Or perhaps, this morning, you are more insistent, and peel my underwear to the side for immediate access (if I happen to have slept with underwear on). Your fingers slide up and down then, able to stimulate me no matter what position I happen to be in.

I’m now half-awake, but still sleepy enough to only be able to moan into the pillow, at best. Your hands persist despite my inertness, and perhaps it is that fervor that makes me so slick, so quickly (as your fingers find out). Or perhaps I am the weakest and most susceptible to persuasion in the morning. Either way, I am panting heavily now, and my legs seem to spread of their own volition.

I can feel your heavy, heavy hardness pressing against my thigh, and from that point of contact heat radiates into my body. As your fingers continue to work, even as you roll over my body, between my legs, I have become completely open, completely malleable and supple. The heaviness of sleep is still only just beginning to lift, but that veil seems to accentuate the sexual heat emanating from our bodies.

You raise my hips, and I can feel your cock brush between my legs. I hold my breath, waiting for that moment of first penetration, and when it comes I want to scream at the fullness and electricity. But instead my lungs empty out in a drawn-out moan that rises as my back arches.

You are no longer gentle, but ram into me head to hilt, over and over…and over. Your hands grip my waist hard, pulling my body back with each thrust, forcing me to grip the pillow, the bedsheets – anything – for stability.

And then you come, body suddenly tense, the strained guttural moan escaping your lips, cock pulsating inside me, both of us panting, arms and legs quivering.

I’m awake now.

Categories: dream, sex, submission

Disturbing dreams

November 13, 2007 Leave a comment

I had a very unsettling dream yesterday night. I write this minutes after waking, hoping to catch the fast-dissipating images.

I am at my mother’s house. There is a whisper of a conversation over the phone. I am at one end, my best friend from home at the other. Things are said that, once I hang up, I realize sound like self-ultimatums; I tell her I can no longer take it-that I am through. I suddenly panic: what if she understands? What if she and her mother come to my house?

And as suddenly as the thought is realized, the scene snaps to my room. My bed is where it used to be when I was in kindergarten, everything placed to remind me of my childhood.

Except for the bottle of sleeping pills at the foot of the bed.

In my panic at being discovered still alive, I start swallowing fistfuls of pills. They are long, white, and chalky, so that they break in my mouth and I am chewing in the effort to make them go down more quickly.

Pills spill across the floor; but I’m climbing into bed, under the covers, more of the pills in my fist. I’m sobbing, imagining being found this way, a complete mess and choking down sleeping pills. Insane. But no sooner do those thoughts fade from my dream than I realize I do want to be found. That I am desperately in need of help, and that this is my only beacon with which to get it.

Somehow this thought calms me, so that I find my mouth suddenly clear of pills. I’ve swallowed them all, and am lying on my side, under the comforter. Just waiting, and drifting.

Then it suddenly dawns on me that my best friend could not possibly come; she’s hundreds of miles away at grad school.

I must be dreaming.

short and sweet

October 24, 2007 1 comment

In the soft, grey light of my fantasy, I can feel you moving behind me. The mattress gives way to your body, springs creaking and sighing, and the warmth of your skin is touching mine. Your hands run over my back, my hips, down my legs where they kneel on the bed. You align yourself behind me, to my proffered opening, already slick and ready from seeming hours of teasing and groping.

And yet I am never quite ready for the shock of penetration, for that initial, delicious stretching. I can’t help but gasp as you slowly, firmly, fill me with your cock. I can hear your own gasps and drawn breaths as you revel at the heat and tightness. You shift your weight on the bed, already beginning to thrust.

Wait, I whisper, half-shy and all lustful. Don’t move. I arch my back as I slowly move my hips to take you inside me, until I am pressed against your groin, completely filled with your cock. And then I slowly move forward, gasping with each inch of sudden emptiness, until only the head is inside me.

Back, and forth. Back, and forth. Slowly driving both of us crazy with lust. You cannot take it anymore, grab at my hips, and slam into me with force that empties my lungs. You are in a frenzy now, thrusting and grinding me as if trying to go through my whole body. My arms give way to your strength, and I surrender to the sensations, crying out in ecstasy with each thrust that fills me more than the previous one.

Categories: dream, fantasy, sex, writing

grayscale sin

October 16, 2006 3 comments

(Begun 10.10, completed writing today)

My mind has finally betrayed me. I dreamt last night. I dreamt and now still remember every burning detail.

I was in a starkly bare room, nothing but gray-washed walls and a single (perhaps slightly pink) boxspring mattress, lumpy and tattered. I knew, although there were no windows and only one door behind me that I was vaguely conscious of, that I was somewhere on campus.

I was not alone. There were two men in the room; dark, roughly hewn construction workers, bodies and faces a gray-shadowed blur. Those areas were not my focus. I knew why I was there.

And as soon as I realized the purpose of being in that empty-but-for-the-mattress room, with those two men, I leapt forward in dream-time, discovering that I was now on all fours on that sole mattress. They positioned themselves accordingly: the one towering in front, the other leering at me from behind. It was with some desperation, I think, that I grabbed at the grayness in front of me with my mouth, but of course I had perfect dream precision, and I felt the pulsing warmth on my lips and tongue, pressing up into my soft palate. The other entered my pussy fluidly, and I admit I don’t remember feeling much … perhaps a sense of satisfaction and happiness.

The action passed hazily, and I’m not sure if it is more my active imagination that remembered the force of each thrusting me deeper into the other, a constant pushing-pulling.

[For every action, an equal and opposite reaction]

Back and forth … I cannot recall much detail there. But that is not important. What was important, and very much so for my dreamself, was the other cumming with both zeal and force inside me, so that I dripped and leaked.

When this happened, I suddenly became aware of two things. First, an instant contentedness, a feeling of accomplishment, flooded my subconscious. Second, the other, having been satisfied, left abruptly through the door in the back of my mind, and I knew there were more waiting on the other side. They were waiting their turn.

The dream ended there, and my conscious mind was jarred back to reality and another school day. But I recall this dream with a kind of trepidation. As it dissolved back into the recesses of my mind, I was in a state of disbelief. Had I really just dreamt of being in a threesome with anonymous construction workers from campus, with more lined up outside?

Taboo. Such a deeper level of sluttiness that I had not before believed I desired. And yet … there is was, played out as I slept. Slept, and undeniably grew aroused in my REM state.

I am still processing this. I realize it is a common fantasy of many, and perhaps not worth the distress, but, for me, it is still very new. For my identity suddenly expanding and twisting in such an unexpected way, it is worth the contemplation, at the very least.

What am I?

But you already know the answer to that, don’t you?

Categories: dream, fantasy, sex, submission, writing

all i have

September 30, 2006 4 comments

The aftermath of rain in a developed world has always held an intriguing atmosphere for me. I say that because of the beguiling properties of rain-drenched cement and asphalt, a quality so much harder to find in the natural places of the world. Walking throught campus, eyes down and umbrella up, I watched a paled, reflected sky pass under my feet. It is an almost disconcerting vertigo, but even more so, it fills me with a powerful sensation I can’t quite place. There is the nostalgia that seems to come with this season; a quiet sadness at the grey world reflected; but also a serenity, a stillness of water at its place of least resistance.

I dreamt last night that we were in bed, with him on top of me. There were few visuals besides the tilting changes in perspective from time to time. My eyes were closed, our bodies were pressed close, grinding, groping, rubbing. I could not stand it any longer and reached down, seeing/feeling his coarse jeans, his Carhartts, sliding my fingers towards his belt, his zipper. I felt the bulge, the heat, groaned into his hair, or his lips, I don’t remember. I only recall the frantic fumbling, the sigh of satisfaction and lust at freeing his cock, of caressing it with my palm as I guided it between my legs.

And there, he whispered throatily in my ear: “Perhaps it’s time we go to dinner.

My dream-self groaned, a monumental rumbling of disappointment as I vainly tried to rub against him, incite him more. It was no use. He lifted himself off of me, stood up.

And then I saw him cupping his hand between my legs, and saw his embarassed grin, and realized I was bleeding. Oh lord. Even my dream-self could see the humor here, as well as realize the connection to reality. The scenario was made more hilarious as he dashed out and back in with sopping wet paper towels, dripping both water and blood.

Ok, in hindsight, dripping blood is never funny. But luckily the copious amounts of flowing blood were dream fodder only, and not representative in any way of my actual period.

In any case, that was only one segment, as always, of my whole dream state (I seem to be in a dream-writing stage, or rather on a particular dreamscape fiasco), which involved taking freshmen on a hiking trip to a wilderness broken by cement staircases, and seminar rooms among the canopy, and a train station-like terrace. The odd thing is, I feel as if I’ve had a similar dream in the same landscape before.

Categories: dream, humor, writing