by john e
(02/20/02)
I told her my dream.
I was rushing through crowds on a long subway platform. Though my ill-fitting charcoal suit jacket was buttoned tight, the zipper had fallen (or had been zipped down -- the beauty of dreams), I wore no underwear, and my penis (when telling the story I stumbled here, wanting to say "dick") and testicles (balls, baby) were hanging out and bouncing and swaying as I ran. And I was erect. Running, bouncing, erect.
I was bothered by this as I ran, but didn't stuff myself back in and zip up. I was bothered to a bit of excitement. Most people didn't notice my flash; some noticed and had no reaction. The feeling in my dream was one of being animal, anonymous, untouchable.
One tall woman, whose presence I felt long before my eyes focused on her, alternated between staring into my eyes and glancing at my cock as I approached her in my jog. In my dream, the moment I passed her she reached out and squeezed my erection, and I stopped before her. She made a sound like a whisper and a scream, an invitation, a plea for mercy, surrender, power -- you get the picture. She stroked and stared and breathed out sounds, again and again. When I came I could feel my face heat up mostly from embarrassment. Then I remembered -- inside the dream -- that it was a dream, and I came again. This time I marked her skirt and blouse and chin. In my dream, she had asked me to do this. She whispered, she screamed.
When I ran off, leaving her wiping her hands on her clothes (and licking her fingers), stray semen sprayed from me onto strangers.
I told her my dream, but it wasn't the dream I really wanted to tell her. This was good and titillating, and I'm sure she appreciated it.
But what I really wanted to tell her about was the one where I'm in a certain circle of Hell, and it's East Coast humid, and I'm naked, my average body sexy with sweat. My skin is red from cultivated passion; I have a constant hard-on. I don't give a fuck. I hide behind boulders and jump out to hypnotize unsure women into giving in. I want to get them from gingham to butt-nekkid to raving-with-sweat-and-sexy-juices. I pounce on a blonde; a skinny, shivering dark-haired woman; a redhead, old and wrinkled. I don't give a fuck. Here comes the train. Gates of Dis, choo choo forever, the nearly-modern way of getting around. Only a dream this telling, only a life this pleasure.
Choo choo.
