In front of me was standing a young boy whom I had only recently met. He was 8 years old, although he looked as if he were only 3-4 years old. He and I were in a rather dangerous situation; in order to protect him, I picked him up in my arms and began carrying him. As I proceeded, he began talking to me about myself – he knew so much about me, so much detail. When he began talking about Colorado and some details concerning me and Colorado, I quickly concluded he had been reading my dreams on my dream web site, because I had recently written a dream about Colorado there.

He soon told me he had not only been reading my dreams, but he had been writing dreams himself, and he had created his own website; I was pleased to hear it. I would like get to know someone who had a similar web site as mine. However, as my young friend continued talking, I became somewhat concerned about his preoccupation with me. He seemed to be implying that we would be communicating to each other by the dreams that we wrote, and that our dreams would even become dedicated to this communication. He began describing his and my websites as "ours."

I quickly told him that my website was read by many different people and that when we published dreams, the dreams would no longer simply be "ours," but would be read by a diverse group of people. He seemed downcast by my words, so much so that I finally relented and told him the websites would be "ours." After all, I thought to myself, simply telling him this didn't change the fact that the sites would be read by other people. He seemed elated again. Still, his apparent infatuation with me concerned me. And when I felt his hand stir down between my legs and caress my penis, I immediately pulled his hand away and put him back on the ground. I forcefully told him he couldn't do that. He again seemed dejected; obviously he was homosexual. I wasn't bothered by the fact – I could still carry on a dialogue with him – but he needed to know I definitely wasn't gay. I again told him there was no way he could ever touch me again in that way. He seemed to accept what I was saying.

By the time I had set him back on the ground, we had walked into a large room filled with fellows dressed in long black robes; the place had the appearance of a high school graduation. Suddenly, one blond-haired fellow who stood about twelve feet high, lunged at me and attacked me. As I tried to fight him off, several other fellows piled on and also began attacking me. One of them was a handsome black-haired fellow who was popular in the school, but who had never talked with me.

Although I was outnumbered, I was confident I could fend them off. After we had fought for a few minutes, I began to understand why they were attacking me: they were all jealous of my dream web site. Apparently the site had been achieving unexpected success and many people had begun reading my dreams. All these fellows who were attacking me were upset by my success. Their attacks on me now were a hassle; but nothing I couldn't overcome.

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