Sage. Wendy Anne
my surroundings into perspective, is the fact I’m dreaming. Though I am inclined to believe, for the reason that can only be justified by intuition, I feel inferior to his knowledge and vulnerable by way of his powerful presence. He doesn’t seem to emanate the type of pettiness a mortal would, providing they were in his situation and had to repeat themselves, only to be forgotten on a redundant basis. Instead, he is compassionate, and the eminence of me remembering these dreams seems important to him. A feeling of desire and love that can’t be explained by memories to substantiate their power calls to my heart, and I congeal into a motionless stupor as a result of their heavy influence. Proving that somehow he can sense my inner feelings and that he’s aware of my paralyzed astral body, this strange, yet familiar, man glides over to me as if his legs do need not move or bear his weight.
“You always forget I am here, but I am always at this juncture as a nonjudgmental spectator awaiting your periodic visits.” My tongue becomes too tied to speak; I am unable to convert my words into anything that makes sense. I have forgotten this recognizable being, and yet it is difficult to ignore his presence being so extremely familiar.
Reaching his hands out to me and grabbing hard at my wrists, folding all but my index finger into a loosely formed fist, he tugs my hand towards his mouth. Lifting my index finger to his lips, I lose all place and time. My body begins burning to the touch. My thoughts blur, as a shower of fragmented memories comes to me at once. Vivid scenes from a life, perhaps from a different era, protrude my thoughts. I become captivated as if watching a movie that lures me into its flickering trap. Whereby, my senses are consumed by a fictitious world, imagining myself there experiencing their love and I am enduring their pain.
With so many treacherous and wonderful moments compiling in my mind, weighing me down, I cannot pull my hand away to make it stop.
“Have you had enough?” he asks, with a strong blend of frustration and love in his voice, and I cannot be sure if this person is the devil or an overwhelmingly powerful deity who has my heart in his full grasp. I am sure my memories were predominantly us, in some love story that feels ancient and infused with immense turmoil and perseverance.
“I, I…”
“Shh, my love.” He pulls our hands away from his lips, still entwined, and presses them to his chest. “I have been expecting you tonight,” he continues as if he reserved a special place in the madness just for us to reminisce once more. “The moon is full and hanging young in the firmament of your imagination. Your psyche is ripe, and we have much to share.”
And as suddenly as he showed himself. He disappears in the swirl of dark mist, leaving me alone as if something forced him away. Alas, he leaves me with unanswered questions, and with a lingering need for his touch. I call out to the sky, beckoning him to return and fulfill my desire to know more, with high hopes to relish in his energy longer.
I awake, trembling and utterly confused, but horny. I learn at this very moment that you can be horny to the point of sexual frustration, without feeling turned on. With Bruce lying by my side, I question if I should simply masturbate or wake him. I have no conclusive reason for feeling turned off by Bruce, but I am slightly put off by being here with him rather than in my dreamstate. Bruce often wakes me during the night fully erect, tugging on his manhood out of nervousness. He doesn’t have the nonthreatening, average, flaccid penis. He’s much endowed, so he waking me to use it on me is preferable, but the choice is his.
Reflecting on the idea of him fondling himself creates a sexual craving that I can easily satisfy.
Using my hands, I aim to imitate the way he carries his erection by stroking it softly while occasionally jerking the head. As I begin to massage his manhood thoroughly, he grows noticeably more erect. Once hard enough, I gracefully climb above his pelvis and straddle his barely awake body beneath mine. Focusing on my insides contracting as I invite him in, inch by inch, I moan quietly. Leaning down as my breasts brush across his chest, I wrap my mouth around the nape of his neck and begin to bite hard. He breathes heavy but doesn’t insist that I stop. He does not indicate that he’s disturbed, so I begin to ride harder and faster. Sitting upright, using one of my hands on his chest to balance, and the other to cup the sensitive areas surrounding his testicles, he begins to cry in agonizing pleasure. This is not enough to satisfy my predatory thirst for pain and pleasure; I begin to ride even harder. I must have the type of physical stimuli to distract me from my lucid dream, which requires more than typical sex. I need the feeling of rich and immersive organic fluid that only the living can provide. Anything to distract me from him.
VIII
Businesswoman’s Transcendent Burden
Sometimes arbitrary thoughts can intrude on my day like a guest who doesn’t know when to leave, and whose main purpose in life is to distract me from more important matters. Occasionally, such as this morning, it is a dream I cannot escape. Other times it can be the slightest impact a person has on your mood, an unexpected challenge, and sometimes discomforting thoughts that are unprovoked, but still inescapable. I guess speaking about avoided subjects is what therapists get paid for. Having someone else listen, but also being able to hear yourself can sometimes be beneficial, though most of the associates that I know who pursue mental health treatment are more interested in the psychiatric end of things than the psychological.
Although I can’t deny there’s an allure to certain kinds of psychiatric remedies. I have avoided going that route because I believe that pain is there to remind you something is not right; it is a necessary evil. They have created drugs that allow you to avoid having to handle almost anything. If a pill could stop me from having such intense dreams, what type of pill will they prescribe me during the day, when my mind hasn’t been able to rely on my subconscious to vent while I sleep? Maybe this is pure superstition, or my insecurity at the thought of relinquishing any part of my control to a drug, or another person the ability to see into my mind, but I fear psychiatric drugs are major issues in the United States. It is wise to be aware of your surroundings, and even though this awareness is embedded in most of us as a defense mechanism, many people willfully lag in that area while relying on expensive treatments that hinder it. When someone becomes complicit in such a way, they forfeit intuitive accountability. Between those who numb themselves, those who become a prisoner of a marketed ego and the vast majority of unhealthy addictions poisoning humanity, there are certainly more people asleep than awake to the sickened condition of society. Those who are partially awake find themselves in a position of being sharks among fish, and some will use that dynamic to manipulate to get what they want. I’d be lying if I profess to have not done this during my adolescent phase, but karma came at me hard and fast when I tried that route. At this point in my life, I use the gift of persuasion for good, and even though it’s futile most of the time, I try to wake as many people as I can while attempting to stretch my arms and awake even further. However, I sometimes make tiny use of a world that sleeps. For instance, I expect most people to misinterpret my body language unless I’m making it a point to be obvious. Today my body language will resemble last night’s effects on my mood; however, it would be impossible for anyone to gather the full extent of my thoughts or pick up on body language cues that would suggest more. I take this into account when I read other people’s body language too, but as an empath, I am capable of feeling people’s vibes, and I make an effort to correlate those vibes with body language. I do not profess to be adept at reading people’s thoughts, and I am fully aware that I may know nothing regarding the thoughts that perpetuate people’s emotions, but I am fairly on point while assessing people around me. One of the wisest realizations I’ve had is that assumption isn’t equal to certainty, especially in regards to people. Sadly, my environment is always busy with people who haven’t sacrificed enough of their ego to admit they are just as ignorant to my thoughts as I am theirs, and I sometimes dislike their crazy interpretations. Frustrated with the idea of dealing with people today makes it harder to push aside the question of medication, where I can be peacefully numb for the day, but I do it once more in the name of “self-control and awareness.”
What an alien feeling to be here, in my second home, before the sun rises, with the office quiet and motionless. It could easily be mistaken for late evening. In a couple of hours, the silence will be replaced by fax machines, the clatter of computer