Perhaps that was me who looked like a cross between YZ, a rapper from the 1990s, and Doug E Doug; a young man striving to be the best school teacher in the world. I was already a teacher, in fact; if indeed it was me whose face I saw in this pleasantly cryptic dream; perhaps just a happy substitute at the beginning of his illustrious career.
I lived in a Detroit apartment that went from cluttered and congested to relatively spacious in what seemed like hours. I remember looking around at all the furniture and knick-knacks I’d collected over the years in a state of pride. “My home actually looks like a home,” I thought, maybe in those exact words, instead of a college dorm.
My suite, at least the early tiny of version of it, was on one of the mid-level to higher floors in a complex scarily and dangerously close to an airport. I could literally see the wings of the airplanes, taking off and landing, a few feet from my window. Never mind the noise they made. Knowing me, that was my trade-off for cheap rent.
The owner of the building used to be somewhat famous. He was either a former NFL player or a character from an old TV show. I can’t remember which, but I remember seeing him on TV, at present time in the dream, walking around a low-lit and seemingly vacant section of the apartment in some kind of local news segment.
Eventually the dream switched to the kitchen of the house I grew-up in. Frank was visiting. His mother had just put something white, or made something white we put, in the cabinet I don’t remember whether or not was there in real life before she died. We talked about the significance of it in regard to its sentimental value.
2021 [ September 04 ]
I guess I was married to her. Perhaps, since I wouldn’t under any realistic circumstance get married to even a cutie like her, assumably even in my dreams, I was the man she’s married to in real life. Either way, there we were in one of the bedrooms in our near mansion of a house.
It was the bedroom our kids slept in and I was lying in one of the beds as she stood beside me, asking what time our daughter woke up in the morning. It was as if she didn’t know because she was always or usually gone to work in the morning and I was more-or-less a househusband.
I started to answer; the kids were in the next room; when she cut me off with something like, “Or we can go in our room and wake up together.” That doesn’t really make sense and I don’t remember her exact words, but it ended with an emphasized “together” and she said it with a grin.
The implication was an invitation for sex with the excuse for the kids being that we were going in another room to give them theirs back; they seemed to be keeping their distance to respect the privacy of our conversation; to which I hopped up as her grin grew to a restrained giggle.
Since I was sort of Quantum Leaped into my role, I had no memory of having sex with her before; imagine all of a sudden waking up as the husband of someone you never met in real life; but I was damn-sure excited to have an opportunity as I followed her out of the kids room.
Michelle Waterson is an MMA fighter known as The Karate Hottie and that nickname is certainly fitting; a swift kick in the nuts with one of those Chun-Li legs wouldn’t break my instant boner; but I’d be lying if I say the anticipation didn’t come with a bit of performance anxiety.
I was being led hurriedly and hornily to the bedroom by a strong stamina-loaded athlete who also happens to be an attractive woman and I had to perform with no prep time. My dick saying no problem was the problem. I wasn’t worried about not being able to get up but keep up.
It wasn’t enough of a concern to stop me, but the pace slowed on its own as soon as we entered the bedroom. She had what looked like portable stove burners cooking breakfast; pancakes; presumably for the kids. “Oh, you brought me in here to work,” I said, feeling duped. She laughed.
2021 [ March 31 ]