Dream: Gemstone Trees LUCID *sexual*

Note: This entry contains some graphic descriptions of gay sex. If it’s not legal in your community for you to read it, you’re not old enough, or it would disturb you… please don’t click on the cut-tag.
Dream 20030914, 4:20 AM:
[This dream started out as a non-lucid dream. It seemed particularly real, more so than usual in my dreams; I think this contributed to the durability of the dream environment. I fell asleep doing the tactile version of 61 points meditation.]

I’m in bed with Chris. We are at my grandparent’s house in the woods (which Chris never got to see, as they moved out after it flooded almost a decade ago) in the master bedroom, although it seems like the guest bedroom. We are talking, and Chris is doing something like tickling me, but he keeps pinching a spot on my ass really hard. It hurts, and he thinks it’s funny. It annoys me a lot.

I get on top of the covers on my side so that he can’t touch me. I’m full-on ticked off at this point. Then, I feel myself drifting off toward sleep. I hear Magellan (my white cat) meowing, and realize that I haven’t fed him. I’m not even sure if I packed his food to bring with us. I tell Chris, who drowsily replies that we have some, in a silver envelope. I’m trying to visualize where it would be, and I think that if nothing else, I can feed him some tuna to tide him over.

I get out of the bed and walk down the hall to the kitchen. As I pass the main part of the kitchen, which is glass on two sides, I realize that the light seems odd – it’s a gentle early morning light, but the clocks all report that it’s 1:09. I walk through the kitchen, and the microwave flashes, as if the surface of the glass was reflecting a bright light. I back up and try to catch it again, so I could see what it’s reflecting, but it doesn’t do it again. This clues me in, and I consider that the pretty bright light outside couldn’t belong to either 1:09 in the morning OR 1:09 at night… and I become lucid. There are a bunch of clocks around here, traditional old analog style ones, and I look around to confirm the time – and they’re all showing different times, which is all the confirmation I need.

I take a packet of cat food that I’ve gotten from somewhere (I don’t remember picking it up) and empty it into a bowl on a table for Magellan. It has some whitish stuff on it, like congealed grease or mold, but I remark that it’s a dream, it’ll be fine, it won’t hurt him.

Grandmother and someone else (Aunt M.?) are in the breakfast area, and Granddad is out on the porch beside the atrium. Aunt M. says something about trimming Grandmother’s toes – I have this visual of her having claws like a cat for a second, but that doesn’t seem to develop into anything, and I turn and walk through the doorway into the dining room. On my left, beside the atrium, there is a little end table with two gemstone trees on it. I pick one up, it’s only about 2″ tall, and made of little pieces of peridot on the wire base. I tell myself that I will turn around and see more of them, larger and more beautiful – but when I do turn around and see them on the china hutch’s shelves, they look kind of like they were hand-crafted by children, and I don’t find myself particularly drawn to them. Granddad is here, and talks to me (and / or himself, he does this muttering thing…) for a minute. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror on the hutch, and I’m still shirtless – I think for a moment about pumping up my dream body, which of course leads my mind down the path to sex.

I walk down the hallway. I turn in to the bathroom, which is on the right side – which is across the hall from where it is in real life. I see myself in the mirror, and decide that instead of playing games with the image, I’ll try mirror-diving again. My previous experiments with it have not been particularly successful. I shrug my shoulders, and put my hands forward toward the mirror, and sort of push myself off from the ground. I fall into my image, and then through the mirror.

I find myself in a strange dark place – it seems like the darkness is almost more gray than black, because I can see movement when I move my limbs. The visual when I move has an almost echoing quality – like there are gray tracers following my hand as it moves before my face. I swim around in this for a little while before deciding that there’s really not a lot to do here. I swim upward, thinking that I want to get out of the mirror, but it doesn’t seem to work. Chagrined, I try to figure a more effective way out. I put both hands in front of me, making a triangle with my thumbs and forefingers, and visualize it forming a window that I could swim through to get out of the mirror space. It begins to gain color, a sort of medium blue, which stands out brilliantly from the rest of the surroundings which are all gray. My hands where they are against the blue seem to have more flesh color as well; the rest of my body is very shadowy. I wait until this window has brightened considerably, and then pull my hands away from it, point my fingers, and dive through it.

I find myself standing in a bathroom again, but a different one this time. The walls and counters are a dark slate-gray tile, as are the floors; it looks almost more like a bathroom at a gym than the kind you’d find in a house. Chris is here, and he has just gotten out of the shower; he is mostly toweled off, but still wet in spots.

I notice that he has a patch of longish hair on each shoulder. It looks more like head hair than body hair, about two or three inches long, thick, and falling in soft waves. I decide that this would look good as feathered angel-type wings, and I begin to handle it, stroking it, and trying to make it into wings. It does shift some, but it only becomes like short burgundy-colored down feathers. I look away and then look back, hoping to get it to shift that way, but it only works somewhat. It looks kind of like a patch of marabou; little soft clumps, not wing type feathers. Chris and I start making out, deep kisses. I press my cock up against his naked ass, and rub it around. I turn his face to me and continue kissing him. I am jacking my cock, and wonder if my sleeping body is jacking off in its sleep – I know that it’s probably lying quite still because of the dream paralysis, but the thought crosses my mind. I laugh, thinking that it would be quite a surprise for Chris to wake up to me sleep-masturbating. Chris opens his mouth, leaning back for another kiss, and I notice that his teeth are very crowded [in real life, they’re naturally straight]. His mouth seems very big. I lean forward to kiss him, and wake up.

2 replies
  1. spirit_bear
    spirit_bear says:

    When you dream, you don’t mess around to you? And your LJ has really become a major dream journal too, hasn’t it?

    Amazing dream. Do you jump up and record them quickly? I wouldn’t remember my dreams in this detail unless I recorded the immediately.

  2. admin
    admin says:

    hee hee… well, sometimes I kinda *do* mess around… especially if the dreamboy is hot…

    This journal has been all about dreams for over a year now; I keep a real-life journal at , although I focus a lot more on the dreamwork than the daily life journaling.

    I usually make at least brief, vague notes upon first waking. Sometimes a significant long dream gets reduced to just ten or fifteen keywords. If I don’t, they tend to vanish into the aether. With the notes to jog my memory, it stays clear enough to flesh out later in the day. I haven’t found a significant difference in quality in doing it this way, and writing the whole thing down immediately upon waking.

Leave a Reply

Want to join the discussion?
Feel free to contribute!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Security Code:

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.