I don’t know where we were; it seemed like an otherwise empty room in some kind of private building; but I think it all started with a poster on the wall. It had some kind of message written on it and, though I assumed it was related to “LGBT” or some other similarly ridiculous cause, I asked what it meant.
The answer had to do with the woman’s daughter, or perhaps another woman’s daughter, being bisexual and pregnant. “At least you said ‘bisexual’ and not ‘gay’,” I said in response, perhaps not in these exact words; “Sometimes pregnant women claim to be lesbians and I always wonder how that works.”
I understood a woman could get pregnant by means other than having sex with a man they’re sexually or romantically attracted to, but I was speaking in a general sense. If I made that distinction in the dream, I don’t remember doing so. I do, however, remember being surprised when they agreed with me.
“They” were a black woman and man probably around my age or a little younger; there may have also been a person or few standing around listening to us; but most of the conversation was between me and the woman as we sat, though she started off standing, at what looked like some sort of conference table.
From there, the discussion went quickly down the rabbit hole, as the saying goes, to other controversial topics. I don’t remember what else we talked about other than the “LGBT” stuff, but everything from politics to race to anything else I wanted to discuss and debate was potentially on the table.
That’s what made it captivating for me. Aside from the surprise agreement that started it, we were mostly disagreeing. It was civil; no yelling or anything like that; but we were both literally and figuratively on different sides of the table. The man, who sat almost behind me, was more of a moderator.
It got so interesting, in fact, that I asked if I could record it. “Audio only,” I clarified. “No video,” then I paused for a second, “unless you want to go there.” The woman was reluctant at first, but when I said she could record it too, she said of course she would and set her phone down on the table like I did mine.
At that point, I had already told her that the reason I wanted to record audio of the conversation was because I hated how when I had arguments and debates with other people in the past, they would later claim they didn’t say some of the things they said. That was true, but I also wanted it for the site.
2021 [ December 30 ]
My room was actually pretty nice. It was quite spacious, at least compared to my bedroom at home, with an exit/entrance door on each end and a TV and bed in the middle. That was the problem. There was just one normal-sized bed and everyone in the dorm was expected to have a roommate.
It seemed everyone else already did, but, perhaps because I was the newest arrival, I was placed in a room to myself until someone else came to be my roommate. There was a possibility I was the final tenant and I’d have the room to myself all semester long, but I knew that was unlikely.
It was even more unlikely that it would be an attractive (pretty/cute) girl, which I’d like almost as much as being alone; I actually heard the bed-bumping sounds of people having sex in other rooms when I awoke that morning; or a girl at all as roommates seemed to be matched by gender.
The thought of staying there with some dude was sickening. Sharing a bed, like two fags, would be nearly unbearable. Sure I could always go home if worse came to worst, but that would defeat the purpose of coming there to fully experience the college life, plus I’d already paid for the damn room.
My thoughts were interrupted when my friend Leanne, speaking of girls I wouldn’t mind rooming with, walked in. I’d left both doors open. She was already grinning before I started expressing aloud my concerns about living the gay life. She apparently had a female roommate and was fine with it.
I can’t remember what all we said, but I was telling her how I dreaded the thought of sharing a bed; I’d mentally prepared myself to share a room but not a bed; with a guy and she was laughing. It might’ve been her who said they’d probably bring in a second bed, which made me feel a lot better.
I don’t know if I was still dreaming or if I’d awaken when I thought of pushing a bed to either side of the room, literally against the walls, so that me and my roommate would be as far apart as possible. Us not being able to see the TV at a proper angle would be among the least of my concerns.
2021 [ December 18 ]
I was watching a video of people being shot and killed. I don’t know whether it was a compilation of different shooters in different instances or clips of one shooter on a rampage, but the one killing that stands out in my mind; the only one I actually remember; is of a girl who might’ve been able to escape but chose not to.
This particular clip was of one shooter on a rampage. He was outside, surrounded by frantic people and stopped cars, in what could’ve been a city street or parking lot, shooting at seemingly anyone in sight. Most people were running for their lives, as expected, but this one girl got out of her car and walked right over to him.
It was a black girl, a young woman actually, probably in her 20s or early 30s. She was physically attractive too, at least in the fakeup (makeup) and wig or weave she was probably wearing. She certainly had a sexy body, though, these days, who knows if even that were real. She seemed to be dressed somewhat fancily.
I didn’t know the woman or anything about her other than what I could see in the video, but I imagined her beauty made her so arrogant that she actually thought the guy wouldn’t shoot her. That’s certainly what her body language suggested as she walked briskly toward him with an irritated expression on her face.
It was as if she was thinking, “Nigga, I ain’t about to let you hold up traffic and ruin my plans.” Perhaps she gained even more confidence in the split seconds it took for her to approach him without getting shot. He was still shooting at other people, in fact, seeming to ignore or purposely avoid shooting her.
The cameraman; either the bravest soul in the world or an accomplice of the shooter; stopped panning as she walked out of frame to where the shooter was standing. Neither said a word, but she must’ve tried to grab the gun out of his hand or something. He was shooting so much, you couldn’t tell what happened.
That is until the camera finally panned around, pass the shooter, to the girl now standing on the other side of him. I don’t remember seeing blood, but he’d obviously shot her. The scowl she had on her face was now a look of distress as she stumbled about and collapsed onto the hood of a car. That’s when the blood came.
I remember imagining what she was thinking at that moment. Her facial expression suggested instant regret. It was apparent she didn’t walk over to him because she wanted to die. I could see her struggling to live. It seemed she walked over to him to get the gun out of his hand and simply didn’t think he would shoot her.
Blood was coming from her nose and mouth. I think she’d been shot in the stomach area. She was lying on her back with her legs dangling off the front of the car. I remember her struggling to sit up and falling back down. That’s when the shooter walked over and shot her twice more; first in the pussy then in the heart.
2021 [ November 01 ]
I might’ve already been awake, but I think it was the sound of them having sex that woke me up. Either way I was lying in bed under the covers, at least a blanket or sheet, when I overheard, or just heard, Tiara, my lesbian roommate, having sex.
I say “overheard, or just heard” because she obviously wasn’t trying to be discreet in any way. Perhaps she didn’t think I was home, but she should’ve known there was a chance. Perhaps she knew or figured I was and actually wanted me to hear her.
I say “her” instead of “them” because I could barely hear the other girl. It was mostly Tiara’s voice I heard; she was talking loud and clear almost to the point of projection; over the sound of rhythm bed creaking. That’s what really turned me on.
Tiara’s voice actually went against that, meaning it turned me off a bit. Not that she doesn’t have a sexy voice; I actually love her voice; but because of what she was saying. She was engaging in what people refer to as dirty talk, which I’m generally turned off by.
I don’t recall her exact words, but she made references to “pussy” and I clearly remember her saying she was about to “cum” before she apparently did; just the kind of forced utterances that put me off of most professional, and even some amateur, porn.
Her saying the girl’s name aloud; it was either “Alexandra” or “Alexandria”; and pronouncing almost everything with perfect school-taught enunciation, as she typically does, only made it sound more forced, or faker, than it already would’ve.
It was the sound of that bed, not to mention the other girl’s comparatively natural-sounding moaning on top of it, that turned me more on than off. Tiara must’ve been fucking her with a strap-on dildo to make it creak and the walls rock like that.
I would’ve loved to be a fly on the wall in her room. We lived in a college-dorm-like apartment with one or two other people. Tiara, a girl I know in real life, is cute enough despite her boyish (stud/dyke) look. I soon realized the other girl looked even better.
She was a much cuter Asian girl. I found that out when, I think because I yelled some kind of funny joke to let them know I heard them, she followed Tiara into my room. Tiara was grinning and apparently they’d both just orgasmed, so they were slightly out of breath.
“Hi Tiara and Tiara’s girlfriend,” I said before Tiara could get a chance to introduce us. She made it seem like that grin came out of embarrassment, but I think it was mostly pride; not the fake pride “LGBT” people parade about but actual pride.
The Asian girl reached out to shake my hand. I remember being sort of surprised, and majorly disappointed, that her hand wasn’t wet. It was little, soft, warm and inherently sweet; I really wanted to fuck this girl myself, with a real dick; but not wet.
Thinking about the dream, I don’t know why I expected her hand to be wet. I guess I figured she had just fingered Tiara’s pussy, but the bed sounds suggested her hands were either out to her sides or on Tiara’s back, so that wouldn’t have made much sense.
2021 [ October 03 ]
It must’ve been a short class as we watched My Girl; the Macaulay Culkin movie; for what seemed like the third day. It was playing on a TV on one of those rolling stands at the front of the classroom and we were apt to pay attention because the teacher would give us daily quizzes on it.
The movie seemed to be on a montage scene when I arrived relatively early that day to find that, much to my delight, the seats; we had black chairs as opposed to traditional school desks; farthest to the back and closest to the window were empty, which meant I got to sit in the very last one.
I liked not being surrounded by people. Like most of the time in life, I just wanted to be left alone. Besides, while it was sort of embarrassing watching a kid romance movie with a bunch of people; it was a fairly large class; it was vital that I paid attention and got good grades on the quizzes.
2021 [ September 25 ]
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 ]