Sex on a Balcony

June 14, 2012
I’m lying in bed remembering/seeing this open air brick corridor that looks and feels totally familiar, as though I’ve been there before in dreams. I’m viewing it from just beyond it, looking north, the balcony on the right, the rooms on the left. It’s a hypnagogic image, my mind is still awake and I see a man I was attracted to once in waking reality standing by a door before walking toward me and disappearing. I know I’ve been here at least twice in dreams, but I don’t even like this man anymore, much less desire him. I want to walk up onto that corridor-balcony made of red bricks but the man I meet needs to be different.

Suddenly I’m aware of my body again. I’m lying in bed on my stomach, my right cheek on the pillow, a new position that felt so comfortable I couldn’t resist it even though all my lucid dreams have happened when I was sleeping either on my right or left side. I believe I’ve been awoken by my cat Whispers scratching insistently at something just beyond me at the foot of the bed. I also hear a strange noise. The feeling is sinister and I realize I’m dreaming. I have no desire to explore the creepy situation and easily will myself to wake up.

I wake up in the exact position, determined to enter a dream again. Already I’m seeing that brick balcony again, the hypnagogic image clear as day, and then I’m standing on it, the doorway near me on my left, the transition seamless. I’m looking out across a vast open landscape just beyond the balcony, at one sunlit area far to the north-west, while everything else is pitch black. Then that scene also winks out and there’s nothing but an absolute darkness beyond this open air corridor. It’s not frightening, however; it seems normal, and as I continue gazing out, the scene to the north-west reappears in stunning depth and clarity, perhaps a castle/mansion-like structure with a reddish brown pyramid-style roof the focal point.

There are about four other people there with me, male and female, and all of us are looking out at the vast open space beyond the balcony. The man I want to meet/conjure is not one of them; I’m barely aware of anything about them except their presence. Then I feel a leg pressing against my left leg even though there’s nothing but darkness beside me, followed by the sensation of a hand resting on, gently grasping, my left thigh. For an instant I wonder if I should be frightened or concerned, but I quickly decide it’s okay, that I’m helping shape, or bring forth, a man who will please me. Some measureless amount of time passes and a man steps out of the darkness on my left, perfectly real and independent of me, tall, solidly built, with a handsome face over short dark hair. He’s dressed as all my Guardian Lords are, in dark slacks, and his short-sleeved shirt is a fog-like gray. His features are even and firm, and I somehow recognize him, I know him, although he looks different from the blond Guardian Lord I’m most familiar with. I call him a Guardian Lord because he doesn’t feel like a dream character; he has a presence, an aura of command, of lucidity, most dream characters don’t.

He speaks to me, and I find myself leaning against the balcony now, facing inward. I understand he’s chiding me, in a serious yet not urgent or angry way, for being too clothed, even wearing boots. I understand he wants to see more flesh, which makes sense, because what I want from him is sex. That’s what we’re here for. Faster even than in the blink of an eye, I’m naked and his touch on the right side of my pelvis awakens desire in me, I distinctly feel it’s warmth, its sensation, and marvel at it, because I no longer experience it with such pure intensity in waking reality. I want him so much I can scarcely wait for it, and when he enters me I notice two or three other male-female couples engaging in the act around us. I see a blonde woman very clearly before me and slightly to my left, the whole scene as sharp as waking reality. It’s all very tasteful and graceful, utterly enjoyable. I can feel the pleasure but there isn’t enough pressure or friction, not enough motion, just a glowing physical ecstasy. I begin moving my hips aggressively back and forth. My partner is no longer wearing a shirt. I see his face and distinctly perceive and feel his bare chest (there’s a slight dark mark on it) the sparse hairs on his flesh textured, real; I can almost smell it. I feel his strokes now but our pleasure is motionless because it’s one—I experience his pleasure at the same time I feel my pleasure, a pure pleasure without borders. His expression is at once slightly smiling, serious and inscrutable, knowing and yet not at all judgmental, pleased yet detached. If I have to define it, I would describe it as the look of a man performing a service, and more than happy to do it, like some sort of dream world gigolo. And yet we are also involved in a deeper way, we somehow know each other, and the nature of our relationship on the Other Side makes him the right person for this particular scenario.

Comments and Questions Welcome