I was riding along in the passenger seat of a pickup truck. The driver was a man (about 50 years old) who had been living with me for a while. We were on a short trip to pick up something for him in his truck, and when we finally reached our destination, I was intrigued to see the man load, into the back of the truck, a box which resembled a spanking new wooden coffin—a rather small coffin made of thin wood. I didn't say anything, but judging from what I observed, I concluded the man had murdered someone, someone whom I had never met.
Upon returning to the house where the man and I were living, I walked straight to a room in the back and lay down in a bed. I hadn't lain there long, when I looked up and saw the man's daughter had entered the room. She had red-tinted hair and reminded me of a comely girl I knew named Carey. Perhaps 20 years old, she was sporting a festive outfit—blue jeans, a black button-up shirt and a brightly colored hat. She seemed happy to see me, and I was happy to see her.
Without knocking, her father (the man with whom I was living) abruptly strode into the room and interrupted us. But he didn't stay; he had simply stepped in to tell us he was leaving. And then he left. Immediately the girl reposed herself on the bed beside me. As we talked, I broached the subject of the murder, which she already knew about. But she was as much in the dark as I about the identity of the murdered man. We didn't even know where the body was located. It might be in the coffin, but I had no proof of that. The only fact upon which we could agree was that the murdered man had owned a dog which performed tricks. However, I was unsure such a detail had anything to do with the murder.
I was most concerned that I might somehow be drawn into a murder investigation, that the police might arrive and begin questioning me. I discussed my angst with the girl, and she agreed with me that I didn't know anything about the murder. I had never met the murdered man, I had never seen his dog, and I had never seen the dog do tricks. The only question was whether I had seen the coffin. I was unsure—if I were questioned—whether I should say anything about the coffin to the police; I might have to lie about that. After all, I knew the girl's father quite well, and I didn't want to present evidence against him. However I didn't feel quite right about lying about the coffin.
As the girl and I talked, I reflected that although I had known the girl for a long time and although I thought she was attractive, I had never attempted to have any kind of relationship with her, even though I thought she was also attracted to me.
Lying on my back, I reached over, wrapped my arm around the girl and pulled her on top of me. She was a bit overweight but that didn't bother me. When I kissed her neck, I could tell she liked it. I kissed her lips, small and painted bright red. The kiss was pleasant for me, and I knew she also enjoyed it. I stuck my tongue into her small mouth. We talked for awhile, then kissed again.
Gradually I began feeling the girl's breasts through her black shirt. We turned around so she was lying on her back. My head was over her head, but my body was stretched out away from her body in the opposite direction to her body. As I unbuttoned the first two top buttons of her blouse, she was unbuttoning the other buttons. Obviously she wanted to continue.
Once her blouse was unbuttoned, I began feeling her small breasts through her white bra. Finally, I stuck my thumb under her bra so I could touch the bare skin of her breasts. When I finally unbuttoned her pants, she said, "That lets it all out."
She was referring to the fact that with her pants unbuttoned, which were very tight on her, she looked somewhat overweight. Realizing she was abashed by my seeing she was overweight, I asked her why she didn't simply lose some weight.
We both stood up and began taking off our clothes. Once she had doffed her blouse and pants, I could see her stomach was indeed somewhat flabby. And when we had finished undressing and she was standing naked next to the bed, I noticed she had a small penis. Thinking it just must be an overlarge clitoris, I was unconcerned, and finally it just seemed to vanish.
After she had lain down and relaxed her head on a pillow, I moved on top of her. But suddenly it occurred to me that I wasn't going to actually be able to have sex with her—I had become celibate. I was even concerned I had gone too far by doing what I was doing.
I realized I was an artist and that my artistic gift could be snuffed out if I were to actually have sex with the girl. However I was so attracted to her I didn't want to stop immediately. Lying down next to her, I un-artfully said, "I'm not going to be able to go all the way."
Disappointed, she said she wanted to go on. I replied, "Well maybe we shouldn't continue at all."
But she wanted to proceed, even though she indicated she thought it would be cruel to begin and then not go all the way. With potent erection, I lay on top of her and proceeded to explain why I couldn't have sex with her. I didn't want her to think I had some kind of venereal disease, because I didn't. But she didn't seem concerned with that. Since I also didn't want her to think I was impotent, I began hunching her so she could feel that I had an erection. I was glad she could obviously perceive that I was quite potent.
But suddenly I realized that I was running a strong risk and that I had to stop. It somewhat dawned on me that I was dreaming and I remembered having recently had a dream where I had stopped in a similar situation. I knew it was important for me to cease because I had made an agreement with God that I wouldn't have sex. As a result of the agreement, I had been given the gift of being an artist. I was slowly becoming conscious of that fact; but still it was somewhat incomprehensible to think I could give up sex.
Nevertheless I stood up and declared to the girl that we could proceed no further. She seemed disappointed but not perturbed with me. I was a bit shaken, but I knew I had done the right thing.
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