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 |  My first ever Writing.com journal. |
| yeah, don't read this if you don't want a glimpse into the more private side of things. and if you do read it, be forewarned--i'm keeping quiet as to whether any of these actually came true...a lady never tells those kinds of secrets, right? top three m-dreams i've had this month, meant to illustrate the following: (1) that i do have a sexual side, (2) that my subconscious loves to tease me, and (3) that, while our most poignant connections are mental and emotional, equally important are our musical and physical chemistry (and keep in mind that "you" refers, of course, to marcus): 1. (a few days after we watched the led zeppelin dvd) i'm sitting on the futon in your bedroom, watching you play guitar up on your bed. i make some remark about rock gods and their phallic gestures, and about how if you ever became one i'd worry you were going to stab me with it during a particularly impassioned solo. you stop playing and laugh for a second and then say "nah, i've got a benevolent penis. if anything if would pleasure you to death." and i stop laughing because suddenly all i can think about is death-by-thrusting, and then i look at you again and i can tell you're turned on, so i climb this invisible ladder up to your bed and we start kissing. suddenly i'm wearing my pink shirt (the same one i was wearing when we had our new year's kiss) and a denim skirt; i take your guitar out of your hands and hang it up from a rafter, where some invisible hand suddenly starts strumming the same minor chord over and over, to kind of a mariachi rhythm. you flip up my skirt, wrap your arms around me and make that "mmm" noise as you're pushing into me. i say something really corny--"you mean, 'mmm' for marcus?'--but then redeem myself by scooting downward so you're in even deeper; you push and push and push...and then i wake up. bummer. 2. you and i are somewhere in the midwest, and have been hired by the owner of an antique shop to smuggle goods from a shopping mall across the street via the underground pipes that connect the two. for several hours we're doing so successfully--we both hop through a manhole near the shop, crawl around underground and eventually emerge in the shopping mall; you grab handfuls of stuff and pass them to me; we take them back to the antique shop and are paid handsomely for our services. all is going well until we're spotted by what is apparently the underground equivalent of a park ranger--that is, he has no jurisdiction outside of the connector pipes. he sees us stealing shit and is determined to arrest us. i panic. you grab my waist and tell me to calm down because you know the one way we'll get out of this mess--we have to kiss, immediately. we start kissing. the setting for this kiss flips back and forth--every few seconds we're no longer underground, but on the bench outside the school bookstore. then we're back underground, and we're still kissing, and i forget about the police officer, and suddenly our feet aren't touching the ground anymore. still kissing, we are being magically transported aboveground, to the shopping mall. the police officer no longer a threat, we quit kissing. we're just sitting there for a while, listening to the music playing in the mall (that weird sixties grocery store music; you know what i'm talking about? it is really plinky and barely deserves to be called music, but for whatever weird reason i really like it--even when i'm awake), and then i'm laying down and my stomach starts to hurt. i tell you. you tell me the only way to make it feel better is from the inside (which make sense because apparently my sleeping brain suspends everything i know about anatomy). i'm wearing a skirt again (apparently my subconscious thinks neither of us knows how to remove pants) and you pull it up, kiss my neck and push in very quickly, because we are on a mission. it seems to be working at first, but soon i realize my stomach still hurts! i decide i have to take matters into my own hands. so the next time you're all the way in, i squeeze my legs around your hips so you can't move hardly at all, and then i start moving instead, shifting my hips around so my stomach is closer to yours, and your not-quite-innie pushes against me and the ache is cured. apparently, you like this. or at least your face suggests as such, and then you say something silly--"i think i like being squoze"--corny lines ALWAYS ruin my best dreams--and then there is more kissing and then an antique falls out of my hand. apparently i'd forgotten i was holding it. not the best ending, i know, but that's where it ended, probably because my alarm went off. 3. (my favorite; should come as no surprise that i have dreams like this pretty regularly) we're sitting in a diner with, it would seem, some amalgamation of "surreal life" characters--chyna doll, da brat, brigitte nielsen and judge judy, except that judge judy never appeared on the show--and while they are doing their own thing (brigitte is cornrowing da brat's hair while judge judy sagely talks her out of a bad life decision), you and i are eating corndogs. this is weird in and of itself, because i don't eat corndogs. you get up and leave the table to reset some counter (i have no idea what it's counting, but it seems important) and while you're gone i discover that we're pregnant. i say "we" because i know instinctively that it's your baby, and that this is a good thing. i make this discovery while rubbing my stomach after an especially delicious bite of corndog. i pull up my shirt and look down and that there is a tightening of the space between where my hipbones stick out, vaguely but perceptibly convex. i think it's gorgeous. there's life in there; i can't wait for you to come back from resetting the counter so i can show you and we can be excited together. while i'm waiting for you to get back, judge judy turns to me and starts trying to convince me to get an abortion. while this is happening da brat leaps up, turns off the power generator and starts rounding us up to leave the diner immediately. when the lights come back on, we are magically, automatically in a dark discovery zone-type place instead. which is okay; the walls are gray and purple and the atmosphere is random, but i seem to be happier here than i was in the diner. you return, and they vanish. i'm thrilled to see you; my shirt is still flipped up and i can't wait for you to acknowledge our unborn baby. i say some romanticized things about how wonderful this is and how happy i am...and then i notice that your hand is sneaking around to rub my butt. i frown and slide it back around to rest on my stomach; it persists and returns to the former locale. this tug of war lasts a few minutes and then i remember that you have two hands. a happy ending. phew. dreams are nuts. i feel it necessary to remind everyone that dream-sex doesn't equal real-life sex...but i'm not saying... interpretations? i write them down sometimes and usually i can make something out of them; these three had me stumped. i'd love to hear what you guys think. |
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