There's three things you need to know about me before we can begin:
1) I do not have sex dreams. Which isn't to say that I don't have sexy dreams. It's just that the actual acts of sex never manage to happen in the dream. I've had many, many dreams where I'm about to have sex; more than I could count, in fact. But something always interrupts at the last possible second, and the dream then flows on to something else, and I wake the next morning and remember almost having sex the night before. (I've always assumed the reason for this to be that there is just something about the act of having sex that my mind simply cannot recreate for me, and knowing this, it always comes up with some last-minute coitus interruptus to avoid having to cross that particular body-mind barrier.) I have never had a "wet" dream.
2) Far more than any other form of art, entertainment, or media, graphic depictions of rape disturb and upset me. I can watch graphic, bloody, violent horror movies all night every night and not be disturbed in the slightest. But the second a dramatic movie suddenly veers into a rape scene, I know I will be having nightmares and disturbing daytime fugues for the next week. It doesn't have to be violent; it just has to be forced sex. I don't know why I respond this way. I was not raped as a child (far from it, I was sexually adventurous), nor as an adult for that matter, nor have I ever witnessed anyone actually being raped. But something about forcing sex onto someone against their will, something about twisting that highest of all loves and pleasures to its darkest apotheosis, repulses and scars me every single time I experience it. Every single time in my life that I have encountered graphic rape scenes in movies, or read them in books, I have become very upset and traumatized. For several days, or weeks, I will have a hard time getting the images out of my mind. And I will feel sad and scared and small every time I have to see them in my head again, almost as if I am reliving this moment - this fictional moment that did not actually happen to anyone at all, much less to myself. As if I am trapped in my own fictional hell.
3) I am currently reading Moore's Neonomicon. Some of you will understand the significance of this. The rest of you are lucky.
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Last night I dreamt that I was attending the upcoming national moot (chaos magickian retreat). Late one night, after a long, hard day of black magick, I went back upstairs to my hotel room to go to sleep. I found my roommate waiting for me there, getting ready for bed herself. She was young (and she looked a lot younger even than she was, almost disturbingly so), blonde, very pale skin. To my waking mind now, I do not believe I had ever seen this person
before, and as far as I am aware, she is entirely ephemeral. But in the dream, she was a close friend of mine; perhaps a temple-mate. So the familiar, intimate, affectionate ways we touched as we orbited each other around the hotel room getting ready for bed, did not seem unusual or in any way out-of-the-ordinary for us.
But something changed this time. Somehow, the friendly affection we showed one another began to feel deeper, and more intense. Being unafraid of the other's touch suddenly became wanting to be touched. I don't know how it was communicated, but we both knew we wanted each other, and we knew it was going to happen now.
There was holding, and cuddling, and running of hands along outlines of form. Layers began to get peeled off. Bare flesh was marveled at, and taken by the handful. Our mouths grew sore from kissing. My eyes were closed but I could see and my fingers were inside her and I could feel the wetheat on my fingers hands wrists arms legs and
We were in the water now - dark water dark night where?
A swimming pool, it seems. After hours. All the lights off, water black, can't see the bottom can't see ourselves. We're not swimming. We're floating upright. No need to swim, the water holds us up like gentle caressing hands of Mother. It is warm.
We're completely naked, this girl and I, wrapping arms and legs around each other in the dark water. I can feel myself throbbing against her under the water. I can feel her licking me all over under the water, while I am holding her and kissing her and running my hands all over her.
Suddenly, she takes a fistful of my hair and then slips me inside of her. After, there is not the usual motions, no thrusting, no rocking back and forth. We are not fucking. She is pressed against me, sucking me. I can feel her undulations as she sucks me inside of her, rippling up and down the length of me. The pleasure of this sensation is indescribable. I look down and can see through the water clear as glass at the mouth that is surrounding me, pursing lips sucking up and down. Please understand, this is not hyperbole or poetic license in my description - what I saw was not a vulva, it was a mouth.
I looked up from this scene of mounting horror to find her young, beautiful face now leering at me with an impossibly wide smile, and black eyes of terror madness. At the same time, I felt the will to resist being drained from me, as the astoundingly pleasurable sensations emanating from our conjoined bodies suddenly intensified beyond anything I had ever known. I recall the sensation of licking tongues caressing my entire sex all over; wand and orbs inside and outside, it was the Hell of All Flesh.
I wanted to scream, but her tongues were in my mouth down my throat, writhing fat worms, wrapping my tongue, stroking it sucking it. I felt tongues sliding along under me, caressing and licking the underside black door searching for purchase finding entrance. Licking me opening me impaling me gods pleasure fire fear I can still hear the sounds as they plunged in and out of me still feel the fire fire gods heat no no no no
I remember wanting to fight her, to stop her, to scream, anything. But I couldn't make my body respond at all. The pleasure was overwhelming to the point of paralysis. The last image I saw, as we began to descend beneath the still surface of the water, was our bodies' intersection, one last time. It was a star. Or had become a star. Her occulted mouth had split open eight ways from center - each ray of flesh a prehensile tongue that squicked and squiggled around my naked body, wrapping me and pulling me and licking me and draining me and taking me down down down and in the center of that eight-rayed star of inhuman flesh, a pink, pulsating mouth, with row upon row of concentric rings of tiny pink tentacle teeth, sucking me down, pulling me in, eating me raw, draining the nuclear fire from my very atoms, returning me to the black void of the bottomless unending sea.
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It must be Spring.
