Dream: Blowing Chris 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 20031005, 9:00 AM:

This is something I rarely manage to do: I was lucid in the bed with Chris and the dogs. Typically, I am sleeping alone in another room with the door shut. I did have earplugs in, so I wouldn’t be disturbed by sound.

I find myself dreaming (I’m pretty sure this was a WILD) in the Kingwood house. I walk into the blue bedroom, and see a bed made up; I sit on the edge, bouncing a few times, just enjoying the dream sensations. I look at the alarm clock beside the bed, and it says something like :41, although it’s very blurry and kind of orange. I walk into the Master Bedroom and look around; the house seems quiet and empty. I remark to myself that I’m not in the Kingwood house at all, I’m dreaming. I’m marginally aware of Chris and the animals in bed where I’m really sleeping; this is a strange double-awareness, and I focus back on the dream which makes the sense of the other fade back away.

I walk through a couple more rooms; now it seems like a cross between the Kingwood house and Grandma’s house in Kansas. I walk past something that looks like a cross between a TV and a microwave. There is a little image of a woman inside, sitting at a desk like a news anchor; I can see that she’s speaking, but can’t hear her. She sees me, and kind of shrugs. There is just a sliver of a reflection of a digital clock catching in the corner of the screen, like how a beveled mirror will catch a slice of something. I try to see it more clearly, to see what time it says, but have no luck. There are letters and numbers on the screen now, and because of my conversation with Simon about dream writing, I decide to watch them and see what they make. They are scrolling and moving around; they kind of remind me of movie credits or a teleprompter. I take careful note of the gibberish they make, hoping to remember it to tell Simon about; one part looks something like “Voc conmog Domco”… just little bits that are almost like parts of English words, but not anything sensible. They hang on the screen for a few seconds, and then are replaced. The letters move around more than they ought to. Because they are constantly changing, there’s no chance to see if they alter upon looking away.

I am again vaguely conscious of my sleeping body in bed. My right hand is up on top of Chris’s pillow, and I can feel his hair. Taco is behind my feet under the covers. I focus on the dream again, and I’m in the same room where I was looking at the screen, but now I’m sitting on a low couch or futon. Chris walks up, wearing pajama bottoms and no shirt. I reach over and pull down the top of the pants, and suck his cock into my mouth. He is fuzzy and warm, as if he had just woken up; I slide my mouth back and forth on his cock, and he rocks his hips gently, thrusting into my mouth. It feels good. I don’t think that I’ve ever had passive sex in my dreams – usually I’m sticking my dick into people, not being concerned at all about giving someone else pleasure.

I pull Chris down onto the couch so that he’s sitting beside me, and continue going down on him. His cock is long and very hard, and fills my throat completely but not uncomfortably. He says something about “those bands down there,” and I pull back and look at the shaft of his cock, expecting to see a ring around it or something, but don’t, and go back to what I was doing. The back of the couch is very low and the seat is wide, and I kick my leg over Chris’s torso so that I’m straddling him in a sort of 69 position. He starts to play with my ass, and I’m just about to sit on his cock when I wake up.

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