Dream of: 17 January 1998 "Cracked"

Carolina and I had stored some of our belongings in a house which closely resembled the House in South Shore, Kentucky (across the Ohio River from Portsmouth, a four room cottage where I lived for about a year when I was in the fifth and sixth grade). It looked as if almost everything in the house were junk, objects which we had stored because we no longer had use for them. I had finally decided to simply pile everything in front of the house so someone could take it all. I knew some things could be sold, but I simply didn't want to take the time to fool with it. At the same time, I didn't want to just throw everything away, and I hoped if we piled the stuff out front, someone who could use the mess would come along and cart it off.

Some things we had bought at yard sales, such as an old wicker chair which I pointed out to Carolina. I told her I thought it was called “rattan”. I also showed her an old plant-hanger fabricated from heavy brown cloth. It was the kind of thing which had some small value, but which we had bought and never used. Maybe if I piled it out front, someone else could use it. As I began hauling the junk out to the front yard, I saw the area close to the curb was muddy, and I had to start piling the stuff on the sidewalk which led to the curb. I hoped the things wouldn't get knocked into the mud and be ruined. In one load I carried out some blankets. I noticed one light blue blanket was quite dirty, as if it were already caked with mud. But it was still a good blanket and only needed to be washed. I almost hated to let it go.

As the work progressed, and the rooms became emptier, I noticed how much more visible the well-varnished hardwood floors looked. I sat down on the floor and reflected that the house was actually a rather nice little place, once all the junk had been hauled out.


As I was standing in one of the rooms, I noticed several old magazines lying on a table. I thought the magazines were ones which I had bought over the years and stored there. Noticing a couple issues of Cracked in the pile, I picked one up and began looking at it. The first thing I noticed was the date on the cover -- “1971." I wondered where I had been in 1971, and where I had bought this magazine. I knew that I almost never bought Cracked, that I had probably only purchased the magazine a couple times in my life. It seemed as if I vaguely recalled having bought the magazine in a bus station while I had been traveling. I also seemed to recall that in 1971 I had taken a bus from Chile back to the United States, and I thought it possible that I had bought the magazine during that trip.

As I stood leafing through the magazine, I became engrossed with what I saw — explicit images of a naked man and woman getting ready to have sex. The pictures were so vivid, they no longer seemed to be in a magazine, but in a movie which I was watching. The woman had dark brown hair and was probably about 30 years old. She was extremely attractive, and I was anxious to see the scene when she actually had sex with the man. But the way the plot was twisting, it was beginning to appear the two might not actually have sex. Finally just as the movie was about to end, the woman spread out her legs, revealing a densely hirsute pubic region. The man plunged his face into the thick hair. It was an erotic scene and I immediately became aroused, at the same time dreaming up my own little fantasy, imagining that the woman was the fellow's mother, and that they often engaged in sex together.

As I snapped out of my reverie, I realized I didn't have to fantasize about having sex with my mother — I could actually have sex with her. Indeed, my mother even now was standing in the room with me. She was a beautiful woman, about 30 years old, with dark brown hair. She and I often had sex together, and all I had to do was tell her I was ready and she would oblige. Right now I was ready. I already had an erection and I saw no reason to wait any longer. I motioned to her and told her to accompany me to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

The only problem was that my sister was also in the room. My sister (about 15 years old) had become aware that my mother and I sometimes had sex, and my sister had been importuning me to let her watch us. Now that my sister saw my mother and I going to the back room to have sex, she asked if she could go along. I was slightly incommoded by the thought of my sister's watching us, but at the same time, I found the idea somewhat erotic. Maybe my sister would even take off her clothes. I told her she could come, and all of us headed down the hallway toward the bedroom.

Only when we reached the bedroom door and were about to enter, did I realize that my brother Chris was with my sister, and that he also wanted to come in the bedroom and watch. He looked about the same age and height as my sister. He wasn't crippled with muscular dystrophy, as he had been in life, but was walking and seemed healthy. When I became aware of his presence, I immediately stopped in front of the bedroom door and politely told Chris he couldn't enter. I allowed my mother and sister to walk inside the bedroom, then closed the door, leaving Chris in the hall.

Inside the bedroom, my sister quickly sat down on one of the two beds. My mother walked to the other side of the room and began taking off her clothes. I also took off my clothes. As always, I was overcome by what a superb body my mother had. I could hardly wait to start rubbing against her. My only reservation was a slight embarrassment of being in front of my sister, especially with an erection. But my sister seemed to be enjoying the whole affair. I thought she might have even taken off her clothes, although I couldn't clearly see whether she had. It was possible that before we were finished, she might also join in the activity.


Carolina and I were standing in the back yard of the house. I had realized everything that had happened to me had been a dream, and I was trying to remember the details, at the same time telling Carolina about the dream. Some scenes were quite vivid, while others were vague. Some connections in the dream were also unclear. I could clearly recall the scene where Carolina and I had been moving things out of the house, and I could clearly recall the following scene where I had found the copy of Cracked; but I couldn't seem to connect the two scenes. I knew that this was a common difficulty I faced when I tried to remember my dreams, that I would recall disparate scenes and not remember how the two scenes were connected.

I remembered well how I had been sitting on the hardwood floor, admiring the light-colored wood. This particular scene reminded me that I had had another dream recently where I had been looking at a hardwood floor. In the other dream, the rest of the house hadn't yet been constructed, only the floor. I recalled that when I had later thought about the dream, I had concluded that the floor had symbolized my writing, how I had started writing books of dreams and had gotten off to a good start by laying a well-built foundation, symbolized by the well-built floor, but that I still had to construct the rest of the house. I also had reflected after the first hard-wood floor dream that my brother-in-law was in the business of constructing hard wood floors for a living. I felt sure his métier had influenced my dream. Now that I had had a second dream with the element of hardwood floors in it, I could see the element was recurring.

I also mentioned to Carolina the copy of Cracked which I had seen in the dream, and how vivid it had been. In fact, I told her I thought I would name the dream Cracked. I thought the word in the dream had been significant in more ways than one. The idea fit in perfectly with the whole theme of the dream, about having sex with my mother. The word pointed out a cracked element in my personality. It was interesting how well the word fit with the tenor of the dream.

Carolina mentioned that she also used to read Cracked magazine. This was complete news to me. I had had no idea that she had ever read the magazine. But now that she had mentioned it, I seemed to perceive a dilemma. When I wrote my dream, should I also write that Carolina also used to read Cracked magazine? The fact now somehow seemed relevant, but it was a fact which I had been unaware of when I had had the dream. I knew it was my policy not to include extraneous matter in the dream which wasn't actually a part of the dream. I only made an exception to this rule when I needed to explain who a person was, or explain something about a place in my past, but I only explained something when I already knew about it before having the dream. For instance, I knew that in this dream, I would give a brief accounting of the House in South Shore, because even though I hadn't consciously thought of the exact times when I had lived in the House, such knowledge was a part of my memory at the time I had had the dream. However, when I had had the dream, I had had no idea that Carolina used to read Cracked magazine. Therefore it was clear to me that I wouldn't be able to include that fact when I finally wrote the dream.

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