Dreamed 1997/9/18 by Chris Wayan
I camp on the beach with friends. We sleep on picnic tables shoved together, sprawling on top of each other in a straggling heap.
I wake at dawn, as three women stir on the table across from me. The skinny lesbian with dark long scraggly hair pokes two chubby blonde sisters and wakes them up, just to stroke them affectionately. They start to fall back asleep, she does it again. They completely lack my startle reflex--if I were one of them I'd be angry--the shock of being suddenly poked awake is definitely NOT worth a caress or two. But they feel no such shock--their bodies aren't so easily alarmed. Just enjoy her caresses as they slowly wake. The dark-haired woman pulls up her long skirt. Naked underneath! She leans back with legs spread, rocking her hips a little. Her bare cunt's facing the sisters not me, I don't see much. But the other two look at each other, smile, then slowly lower their heads together between her thighs to take turns kissing and nuzzling her... and each other. No surprise, since all three of them have long been lovers, but I get excited seeing them.
I'm not the only one--my head's resting on someone's hips, and I feel them starting to rock sleepily. My pelvis too starts to move. A hand strokes my thigh, near my crotch. I think if I turn a bit to accomodate that hand, it'll masturbate me.
And then I wonder... "Wait--do I want this? Is this what I want? Impersonal, anonymous pleasure?
"Or... something more?"
NOTES IN THE MORNING
I know exactly what this dream's about. Today got my nerve up and showed my friend Dawn this sexy dream I've been cartooning, called Fishergirls. In the dream, I was a girl from a fishing village--not a human girl, a sort of lemur-coyote, furry and nimble and small. My two best friends and I renovated an old boat and sailed off on a voyage of discovery. We all slept in a pile on the deck. My lesbian longings confused me, because our people, even our very language, lacked the concept.
I blushed, showing my tale for the first time. And Dawn blushed, at the last page of the dream, where I fulfilled my fantasies at last--I loved and lived with my two best friends. But not cast together by chance in a heap. By choice.
And the dream confirms that. What matters for me isn't sex, or pleasure, or even love or happiness. It's choosing for myself. Initiative. Whatever the result.
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