Tag: sleep

a dream I had about Eugene getting knocked out in class

I don’t know what Eugene was cleaning or why; it seemed either he was cleaning a mess he made or drew the metaphorical short straw for cleaning duty that day; but he had a bottle of yellow liquid that had to be some form of Lysol. I remember the strong lemony odor in the air as he sprayed it while also holding a wiping rag or paper towels.

We were in a classroom of perhaps 30 or 40 middle or high school students, one of which was a black girl I may have, like Eugene, attended school with in real life. “You bet not spray me with that,” she might’ve phrased it as Eugene, standing and walking around the room as everyone else sat, playfully put the nozzle to her face.

I didn’t think he would actually spray her, but that’s exactly what happened. “Stop,” she yelled after the fact while shooting up from her desk as if she was able to hit Eugene. I thought she would, but she didn’t. Instead she walked away presumably to grab something to wipe away the yellow liquid that was now dripping from her face.

It would’ve been funny if he’d sprayed her on the body. The fact that he sprayed her in the face seemed, as far as childish horseplay goes, to cross the line. Eugene might’ve been smiling when he did it; I don’t know; but I don’t remember anybody laughing. There may have been a few nervous chuckles, but it was kind of like… damn.

Chris Mullins; a light-skinned black or Spanish dude; obviously felt the same way as he broke the awkward silence. I don’t remember his exact words, but he was basically warning Eugene not to spray him and saying or strongly implying what would happen if he did even though Eugene, who’d continued to walk and clean, never even looked his way.

Chris Mullins; it could’ve been “Mullens”; was one of those kids who seemed considerably older than everyone else in the class and probably was; the result of being held back a few grades. There was obviously something wrong with him, off about him, mentally. As if this were a movie, the camera seemed to pan in on his crazy facial expressions.

When he stood up, we all knew, rather I and probably everyone else figured, what would happen. Eugene, a relatively small kid who fit into the normal age bracket of the class, had sat back in his seat by then. Chris, whose threats were spoken loud enough for the whole class to hear, had apparently already scared him before standing up.

Without saying anything else; in fact the room fell back into an awkward silence; he (Chris) walked over toward Eugene as I myself stood up. To help Eugene? Hell no. I don’t think any of us liked Eugene, but I didn’t want to see him get knocked out. I figured I’d use this opportunity of all heads turned their way to sneak out of class early that day.

I was too slow though as I clearly remember a third person, another big black dude, standing up apparently to either go help Chris or get a closer look. I was almost at the door, which was kitty-cornered (diagonal) to the corner of the room Eugene was sitting. I don’t think I was looking back, but I heard the punch, drop and collective gasps.

Just like that Chris knocked him out with one punch. Eugene, whose chair was backed up against the wall, limiting his escape routes and defense options, might’ve put an arm up to block it but to no avail. The kid was out cold. I can’t say I didn’t feel sorry for him as I snuck out, thru the hall, down a swirl of stairs. I guess I was going home.

2022 [ September 03 ]

a dream I had about a nude white girl lying on me

It was nighttime. I was lying, not completely flat but in a reclined position, on some kind of makeshift bed; perhaps just a partly folded mattress and sheet; with my back propped against one end of what seems like an actual bunk bed. There might’ve been a TV on in front of me, but I don’t think so. The room was almost pitch black.

I say “almost” because when I was awoken by the girl, who’d been lying on the top bunk above and behind me, gently lying herself (perpendicular) across my lap, I could see she was nude. She was white, or Caucasian, so her skin reflected whatever little moonlight or street light there may have been shining in thru the window.

Our sleeping arrangement had been completely platonic; she was college age and it seemed we barely knew each other; so to say I was pleasantly surprised would be a major understatement. My first thought was that she’d half-awaken, stumbled to the bathroom to pee or something, and simply lay on me by mistake, thinking it was the bunk.

My second thought was that she did it on purpose to seduce me. After just a few seconds, however, she got up and started to go back to the top bunk. If my first thought was correct, it meant she made an embarrassing faux pas, but if my second thought was correct, it meant she was disappointed by the fact that I seemed to be asleep.

Either way I was going to tell her, half jokingly, to come back. If she giggled and stayed up there, my first thought would be confirmed. The worst-case scenario for me was for my second thought to be correct and not say anything. I was, in fact, asleep but not fully asleep. My eyes had been open enough to see her, but I couldn’t speak.

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t utter a word. I was telling her to come back in my mind, but I wasn’t actually saying anything. It was like when I was a kid and used to wake up unable to move, except in this case I couldn’t talk. That is until the words finally came out. “Come back,” I grunted with stroke-like inflections. “Back” sounded like “bock”.

I think she did giggle, but I don’t remember for sure. All I know is that I was going to leave it at that, but, after a few seconds, it happened again. This time she came down and lay across me not perpendicular on her side but to an angle on her stomach, with her leg touching my right arm. She was still nude, still white and still beautiful.

If she lay the opposite way, I probably would’ve stroked her long blonde hair, but all I could reach without moving was her legs and ass, so I started rubbing her leg. Her skin felt so soft and creamy. She didn’t react. She just continued to lay there as my dick started to wake up to see what was going on. That’s unfortunately when I awoke.

2022 [ May 29 ]

a dream I had about fucking a girl from behind

I don’t know who she was; it was a brown-skinned black (African-American) girl with a fat ass; but I was fucking the shit out of her. Literally perhaps. We were certainly having sex; her facedown on the bed with me atop, dick-thrusting from behind. Whether or not it was her pussy or anus is the question, but she seemed to enjoy it.

I certainly was, despite the fact that being on top isn’t one of my favorite positions; I generally prefer the girl to be in control while I play the passive role; despite the fact that she exaggerated her moans, which is usually a major turn-off for me, and despite the fact that another girl, possibly two other girls, were right there in the room with us.

That last bit didn’t cause the performance anxiety it probably would’ve in real life because she wasn’t, or they weren’t; I’ll just stuck to “they” for narrative simplicity; really paying attention to us. If they were, they were pretending not to as they sat beside the bed; one girl close enough to lean over and kiss us if she wanted to; watching TV.

My girl didn’t seem to care as she continued to moan in, or graciously pretending to be in, a state of sensual bliss. I didn’t care neither as it seemed the other girls were friends of us both. If they were just friends of hers, I was acquainted enough not to be bothered by their presence as I continued to pound her squashy ass cheeks with my hips.

I was quite the performer, I must say. I humped her with the rhythm and intensity of a porn star. I wasn’t even concerned about busting (cumming) too soon, which, if nothing else, should’ve let me know damn well it was a dream. If it included the sounds of butt clapping and bed creaking, it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the talking.

I didn’t say a word, but it seemed the girls occasionally conversated with each other as if there weren’t two people in the room fucking. That was all the better for me because it kept the attention off of me; again no performance anxiety; as I did my thing. Would it be too much information to mention the fact that I woke up with a boner?

2022 [ March 13 ]

a dream I had about a five-part Steven Spielberg movie

I don’t know where I was; it was a large room with a lot of people, mostly black girls; but we were watching a movie. It was one I’d never heard of and it was weird in the sense that the plot seemed to be all over the place. It wasn’t until I looked at the packaging; perhaps it was a Blu-ray Disc; that I realized it was a Steven Spielberg movie; a new one I must’ve missed the build-up for.

It was promoted as a “five-part epic”. It might’ve been another pretentious term instead of “epic”, but I clearly remember reading it being described as a five-parter, which made sense because it seemed like a mishmash of different movies from different genres. It also made sense that it was a Spielberg movie because the grandiose production suggested it cost a lot of money to make.

One part had a full cast of people singing and dancing like West Side Story, but the part I remember the most is the one I woke up at the end of; a poignant religious sequence about life and death. It started with two women giving birth or one woman giving birth to twins. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of people there, in a church, engaged in what seemed to be some kind of baptism.

Except for the guys who were down on their knees, apparently praying thru the whole thing, everyone was dancing, shouting and carrying on as the first baby emerged, the umbilical cord was presumably cut and one of the members raised the bloody thing up above his head. That’s when the celebration came to its peak. It wasn’t until the second baby emerged that things started to go astray.

The second baby wasn’t crying or wiggling around like the first one. It was DOA; dead on arrival; or what the medical world euphemistically refers to as a stillbirth. The guy who was supposed to hold it up above his head like The Lion King looked down to the guys on their knees. One of them was almost as still as the baby. The baby holder or someone kicked him over to his side. He was dead asleep.

That’s when the pandemonium began. Apparently the prayers were there to ensure nothing went wrong during the childbirths. When they realized he fell asleep, he was instantly to blame for the death of the baby. I thought they’d beat him up or something, but what happened was even worse as they dragged him over to a tub of water apparently reserved for baptizing the babies.

He surprisingly never awoke as they put him face down in the water. He was a somewhat heavyset Hispanic-looking man probably in his 20s with decades of life ahead of him. His only sin was falling asleep during a church ritual; poor thing probably stayed up late the night before; but they didn’t care. In their minds, this was justice; an eye for an eye, as the saying goes; and he deserved death.

As he lay there motionless; eventually two or three girls casually went over to sit on top of him; I thought about dying that way. You’d think a person would awake when they start to drown, I thought, but apparently not. I thought about Whitney Houston and her daughter, though they were reportedly subdued by drugs. I thought about the transition from sleep to death. Then I awoke.

2022 [ February 05 ]

a dream I had about having an interesting discussion with a woman at a table

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 ]

a dream I had about staying in a college dorm

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 ]

a dream I had about watching a video of a girl being killed

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 ]