Coded red.

Thursday 28 June 2001

Butt-holding

Pic of the day: Lacking suitable supporting cast, I had once again to resort to a hastily assembled rag doll. I see the flashlight didn't really make it to the picture, either. Oh well.

More bad sex dreams

This entry is not suitable reading for children. Not even for teenage children. Perhaps particularly not for teenage children, but just in case ... if you're not grown up, you're welcome back later instead. Please. If you had read it, you would agree, but by then it would be too late.

***

It seems that in dreams I fill my measure of sins which I'd otherwise not get the opportunity to commit. Of course, I also do good things in dreams, and harmless things, which I often enough report. So in all fairness, I'll tell about another disturbing dream.

First, however, I'll point out that I was another in this dream. This happens sometimes, particularly in long dreams. Not the majority of dreams, but quite a few. In such dreams, I have another body, another name, another family, another job (if any), I live somewhere else. It is a complete reality, and I would probably not have recognized the name Itland if I heard it. Not that I ever have. Each such dream person has his own personal history, which I remember in the context of the dream. But when I wake up, I only remember those parts of it that I have actively thought of during the dream.

Incidentally, because of such dreams I have no respect at all for people's stories about past lives and all the exciting things they experienced there. The brain is fully capable of creating a human being, complete with family, friends and a history, in mere moments. None of these dream people have ever returned, that I can remember. They seem to be just made from scratch whenever I need to not be myself. Role playing de luxe!

***

In my dream, I must have been not that far below my real age. I had two children, of which the girl was the younger. I remember when my son was small, I called myself Tarzan. Not that I really confused myself with the character by Edgar Rice Burroughs, but I felt like that ... it was my self image, if you want. But that was in the past now.

My daughter was in her early teens, and had taken an interest in gymnastics. She was trying to walk on her hands, and I was supporting her. Physically. This was possibly not the smartest way to do it, but she was standing on her hands and rather than lifting her legs straight up, she was keeping her knees tight up to her body, her hips and butt in the air. So that's where I was holding her, on the hips on either side, keeping her from falling as she tentatively walked about on her hands, gradually more surely.

But my dream daughter was already past puberty by a bit, so that it was a young woman's body I saw and felt myself holding. And my body started to react the way male bodies can do, with involuntary sexual excitement. In short order, I could feel my male organ straining against the fabric of my clothes. It felt all wrong, even as I experienced it. But since when has that stopped ... wait, wrong lead-on.

To say it felt awkward is like calling a tropical downpour "cloudy". It felt all wrong, and besides there was the risk that I might be seen in that state, either by her or by someone else. (We were not alone in the house.) They would no doubt react with even more horror than I did, because I at least knew that I had not meant for this to happen. No one else would believe that.

I don't know if it was the real me that asserted itself, or if all males have the knowledge of this. There is a way to restrict an erection by contracting certain muscles hard. But it is uncomfortable, even painful, and may lead to hours or even days of discomfort and tenderness if it goes wrong. In the dream, I tried to do this constriction thing, but it was only partly effective. Perhaps the dream body lacked practice. Or perhaps it was because I was still holding the bobbing behind. Eventually I got a chance to put her down, and walked away as briskly as I could, trying to take care that she could not see my receding but still visible condition. Just as I met someone, I woke up.

***

Why this dream? It seemed too elaborate to be just random neurons firing in the brain. (Except for the "Tarzan" part. Ahem.) Well, the obvious reference is back to yesterday's diary. When I wrote about looking at that young woman yesterday, I though "she was young enough to be my daughter" but I considered it irrelevant, since she definitely isn't my daughter.

The second part of the riddle is a memory from years and years ago, where I watched a pubescent girl actually trying to stand on her head with her knees drawn close to her body, much like the girl in the dream, only she did not actually try to walk on her hands, just support herself. Which was evidently hard enough, as she fell over in one direction or the other again and again, each time trying anew. I considered offering a helping hand; but I did not. At that time, I was more entertained than excited; presumably she can't have been all that old. I don't remember exactly, but she was old enough that I decided against getting too involved.

The third is that, well, I think sometimes stuff like this happens. I'm not sure, but I've known loving fathers who suddenly become kind of cold and remote from their daughters when these start to grow up. And I have thought that they may be afraid of themselves. But I may be wrong. Theoretically, I may be wrong. Whether that be good or bad, you make up your own minds. At least then they'd had a good reason for their strange behavior. Or so it feels.


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