*As ever, thanks for your continued patronage; it does mean a great deal to me. Sweet dreams as ever and the very best to you!
On the cusp of my birthday, I share these nine dreams had near 21 years ago. They were beautiful dreams and, of course, there were flying dreams amongst them.
With wonder, and at times regrettably with trepidation, I lucidly slipped fecund, open and oceanic in sleep’s warm wet folds and into astral consciousness aligning with soul. There, on Sunday, October 17, 1993, I would whilst the Moon transited both Scorpio and my sixth house live these nine dreams.
They were beautiful dancerly movements in spirit which culminated with the most sensual of pas de deux whilst lovemaking with the most beautiful woman. Sweet dreams be yours.
In this the first dream, a female TV reporter was speaking about who was the most hard, as in well-hung, in TV. Peter Mansbridge was cited as such. She looked like Wendy Mesley but wasn’t. As this was said, it proved quite the revelation.
Thought about it and realised that it could indeed be true; after all, he is rather beefy, mesomorphic and broad-shouldered a man. I could, in fact, see him having a large-headed, thick dick.
Soon, they announced on television that starting in two days’ time, Peter Mansbridge would be hosting a new follow-up program after ABC television’s Nightline which was normally hosted by Ted Koppel.
As I didn’t know whether this meant that he had gone to work in the U.S. or if Ted Koppel had died, I found it all very strange. As he was about to leave Toronto, for work down in New York City, there was then a send-off party of television executives for Peter Mansbridge.
Myself, I was just outside the main ballroom where the guests were standing and sitting about holding drinks and noisily laughing aloud. On the inside, there was lots of dark wooden panelling similar to a private club like at 21 McGill Street.
The place was dimly lit and for being dark-wooded, this only made it appear even more soft-lighted inside. I would then go jogging with Peter Mansbridge in a very rich neighbourhood. Off to our left and down the road a bit, were these large, beautiful rolling plains.
The street would eventually veer off in two directions. Here it was at nighttime and the night sky was rather beautiful. Soon, I would decline jogging for very much longer because of the rigours on the heart from jogging.
He was not however fazed by my dropping out. As we no longer jogged but walked along, I would see the Moon appear from back of these heavy-looking clouds. There it sailed atop a stand of palm trees off in the distance.
The Moon was high in the eight house, as it were, in the west moving towards the horizon. Found it strange to find that it was a full Moon. After all, it was not supposed to be a full Moon at present in the waking state.
Nonetheless, it was such a larger-than-usual awesome sight that I was greatly moved by its impressive beauty.
Next, in the second dream, I found myself in the environs of a wooden schoolhouse. The structure was unpainted thus exposing a clear-wooded exterior. Can’t recall having gone inside but I know that I had been there to do some work.
I had also been playing in the yard and enjoying myself. In addition, I had gotten paid for the work that I did there. I was always in the backyard. Meanwhile, there was some discovery taking place.
There was a large scaffolding that was very tall and multilevelled. Lots of steel pylons in different sections were placed on the planks; they awaited to be used in the renovation and construction underway. The scaffold was only on the back of the schoolhouse.
All around were these incredibly large trees; one of them was definitely a breadfruit tree. Meanwhile, after having made my way up onto the scaffolding, I became suddenly afraid of the heights. This was because I had seen that there were these persons who had had to jump from the level that I was on.
Here everyone was very mercurial-bodied – slight and wiry. One had had to jump some five feet down and across the way by more than two feet. This was something that they had been doing over time; naturally, they had become quite familiar with the whole process.
Their technique involved throwing their body forwards then with the legs out in second position. The legs were at a twenty-five degree angle; this would enable you to land properly in plié. On leaping down, there was very little to hold on to; besides, there was also very little foot space on landing on any of the levels.
For whatever reasons, I became suddenly fearful as to whether or not I could actually sustain myself at these heights. Furthermore, I questioned whether I could successfully cross from one level to the next. Instead of leaping across, I clambered back down the scaffolding.
From there, I made my way into the building which proved on entering to be an incredibly large recreation room. The room had a lot of clear and blue plastic covering the floors. A very high-ceilinged place it was. One section, to one side of the complex, was very damp.
Entering the complex at the back, I would soon get to the main corridor which ran from left to right. On the opposite side of the corridor, to the back where I had made my entrance, were several strange-looking compartments.
They were made of three walls of white tiles with large blue plastic which fell down from the ceiling to cover each compartment. On entering, one had to stand on a large marble slab where it was very damp.
Incidentally, the whole thing looked like the opening of a car wash. One had to step down to enter the small three-sided compartment. In back of you as you entered, the length of the room remained opened up.
Unlike anything that I had ever experienced before, this place was incredibly humid. In that sense, the place was not unlike a steam room. As I saw some persons leaning against the blue plastics, I went to lean against them as well.
There were two other persons, to the left, leaning against the tubing which accompanied the plastics. Made little sense to me what they were up to but they did look decidedly lethargic and out of it.
Truth be told, it was almost as if they were asleep or even anesthetised. An unusual gestalt considering that this was the realms of the dreamtime, I thought. Figuring that the old adage, ‘When in Rome do as the Romans…’, I went off and tried to put myself in the state that they were in.
However, the plastic snapped, broke and caused me to almost fall face first into the tiled wall ahead of me. Steadying myself, I decided to not pursue this riddle of a queer experience further and thus took my leave.
Going out onto the veranda, in this the third dream, I saw Augustus Akins off in the distance. He was with someone on the landing as well. Standing there, I was amazed at just how much they had both grown.
Going over to them, I said to Augustus how surprised I was that he had grown so much. One of them wore a jean jacket which was opened up to reveal a lovely, dark-skinned complexion.
Don’t have any idea who the other fellow was but he was not a relation of Augustus’s. I was truly amazed that Augustus had grown so tall and looked so self-possessed and aristocratic.
Returning inside to the room where earlier I had been, I thought about both men as they had been leaning against these upright trunks that were out on the veranda.
I had the distinct impression that they were not saying anything to me because they had the distinct impression that my being enthralled with them would lead me back into the room.
Right away, I intuited that this was all a mere trap which was designed to lure me there at which point they could then come in and capture me. Straight away, I took my leave of them.
The room, though made out to be as if a bedroom, turned out to have been – though dimly lit – a prison cell. With that, I went rushing from this room in the schoolhouse by way of another door.
This posited me into another room where beyond which was yet another room. Coming out, I saw that the innards of the room were now dissolved. Indeed, the whole thing had been a holographic projection.
All that was left was a large Plexiglas cage of a room. The people who were left in the room, whom I had not initially noticed as being there, were the same comatose-looking persons as those at the plastic tubing.
Instantaneously, for being encased in the trap, they were gassed as the place filled up with a misty gas. Pretty soon, they were asphyxiated. The whole thing was very macabre as their screams were drowned out by the airtight-sealed thick Plexiglas encasing, as it were, in which they were entombed.
Truly gruesome a sight was it. To think that people could be annihilated just like that was truly horrific a spectre. Next door, in the room that I had rushed into, there was a guard; he was a tall, quiet dignified-looking man.
He decided not to kill the others. Nothing interested me more than getting the devil out of there toute de suite. From there, I went rushing down the staircase close by; I made it out into the grounds of the wonderfully treed schoolhouse.
Making it up to the wide road, I intuitively knew that I was being chased. Obviously, they would do everything in their power to try and capture me. I do recall seeing Duane Searles down; he was two landings from me as I had fled from the room.
Duane was keeping tabs on the fact that these persons were trying to entrap others. Duane was also keenly aware that one of the persons that they were attempting to entrap, by way of intimidation or scandal, was me.
I knew that his sense of justice was such that he intended to take them to task – to deal with them. He was waiting below for the perpetrators of this barbaric crime. Without a doubt, it was obvious that he had every intention of apprehending them.
These people were up to no good whatsoever. They knew that they could pull their little vindictive stunts and get away with it because no one had ever threatened their unfair behaviour.
Pretty soon, the relatives of the gassed persons showed up and were intent on avenging their family’s death by gassing. They pulled guns and soon the senior members of the families were caught cursing and pistol-whipping each other.
They were so despondent that they began attacking anyone in sight. For that reason, I sought to keep a low profile and went about sneaking from one place to the next whilst trying to stay out of harm’s way.
As they made for each other, I made it outdoors where it was nighttime. Of all people, Gabriela Denmann was there. Augustus said at the time that he hated her guts; this whilst I was waiting for a bus to show up.
I thought it weird that he should have said such a thing. Down the road from off to the left, down an incline, was what proved a truly mobile automaton. The transport was not operated by humans and could carry a few persons at a time. If you like, it was a taxi.
Driving past, it was empty and did not stop for us. Somehow, I had assumed that it would have sensed us and therefore would have stopped. All that I wanted was to get myself out of this freakish place. The vibrations in this place were way too negative.
When the family relations who were in hot pursuit of me began coming from the building, I decided to flee from the bus stop. I made it out to the woods, which were dense, and to the right when looking at the schoolhouse.
The Moon was brightly shining. Drinking in the light, I simply flew away. I had not even had to think of willing myself to fly, it had simply happened. I simply couldn’t afford to be in the line of their gunfire. Nor did I want to be seeing any bloodshed.
The trees were all very lushly tropical with lots of palm trees among them. Flying to the right of the paved road, I was also not above the treetops. Rather, I hung in amongst their crowns and snaked my way in and out of the network of branches as I flew by.
Here, it was effortless to have flown through the trees. There were even times when I would simply fly through the branches unobstructed by their being there. As though they were made of a different molecular structure, as their waking state counterparts, thus they did not prove impassable.
I was, of course, simply shifting my vibration so as to allow me to become momentarily one with their vibration and thereby allow me to pass through them unencumbered.
On one occasion, I moved through the most beautiful mango tree; this had filled me with pleasurable memories of the mango tree that I had planted during childhood in St. Kitts. The memory-filled experience was truly grounding.
As I flew on, I caught sight of the full Moon which was up ahead against the blackened sky. The Moon here was very yellow-tangerine-coloured. There were hues too of eggshell-white to it.
This was the most glorious soulful sight imaginable. If already I had not been in flight, by now, I would have done so. The Moon was now close to the horizon which made it take on those orange-going-fast-into-harvest-reds tones.
What was truly bizarre, though, was the fact that Penina da Braga began pleading with Harella da Braga to let her have some stocks. Harella refused saying that Penina was way too irresponsible and had no one to blame for her financial woes.
At that point, as I listened to their banter, the Moon began shifting shape and became truly like a Salvador Dali creation. As it got closer to the horizon, the Moon appeared to be melting away and became as if a limp piece of paper that was flying in the air.
As would a piece of paper, falling to the ground, the transformed Moon appeared to be flying back and forth in a rocking manner. A truly displacing state of affairs this would prove. If intended, it thankfully did not though have a hypnotic effect.
Next, in this the fourth dream, I was flying in this large salon and just below the ceiling. The walls were the same colour as the setting Moon had been just recently in the prior dream; at least, before it began shapeshifting and causing me to understandably feel some degree of displacement.
Yellow-orange, it was a beautiful tranquil tone of paint. Exceptionally high-ceilinged, the ceiling was white. Though not stucco, it had relief on it; patterns were set in the very thick layer of stonework. The workmanship in the ceiling was quite beautiful.
Flying on, I could see that up ahead was a door which stood a bit to the left. I knew that this door was one through which I could fly into the next room. That room appeared fairly dark. As I flew, I kept on rising higher in the room.
My progression here, unlike in the prior dream, was truly slow and leviathan. As I progressed with my back to the ceiling, my head was held at seventy degrees to my toes. Not quite fully upright, I was though still up vertically rather than progressing horizontally.
A truly beautiful feeling it was. At the time, I wondered to myself why not simply fly through the ceiling which really seemed to be a dense layer of clouds. The look was reminiscent of wintry clouds through which one passes, on descending, to land in a plane.
Though there were definite patterns in it, like the aforementioned wintry clouds, the ceiling had a cottony look to it. For being so close to the ceiling, I couldn’t get a good overview of their design and so was kept ignorant of what exactly the overall look was. Courageously, I decided to fly through the ceiling.
With that, down to the third eye chakra, my head slowly began penetrating the ceiling. Here again, I was actively willing my molecular integrity to shift; thus I could vibrationally become one with the ceiling’s frequency and thereby pass through it unhindered.
There was no escaping the fact that the ceiling was a solid entity. The ceiling was, in fact, quite dense a medium. I felt as though my head were a diamond-bladed saw cutting through a dense slab of granite. My focus here was quite intense…
At the point of penetrating to the third eye, I became cautious wondering as to what exactly I would end up seeing once on the other side of the ceiling.
Should I be so bold as to hazard the transition to the other side? What, indeed, if I didn’t quite like what I encountered there? Would I be trapped for being there and grow fearful in a potentially hostile situation? How would I know to get back out of there, once caught in a vortex of fear, if the adventure were to prove hostile in anyway?
With that, my thoughts became so dense, I was simply dropped back down from the ceiling. My focus had become diverted by negative thoughts; thus, this prevented me from being able to complete my vibrational shift. The whole thing, to say the least, was interesting.
So again, I collected my energies and attempted to move through the density of the ceiling again. Alas this time, I did not pull it off. Sensing that I was only going to strike my head against the ceiling, I righted myself into a more horizontal position and flew off.
I was still fairly high up from the floor. Somewhat disappointed that I had not broken through to the other side, I flew on making for the door that led to the darkened room.
Can’t say that I had flown through the door into the darkened room but next, in this the fifth dream, I found myself outside whilst still in flight. I was going along this wonderful wide road which had these colossal tropical trees that completely overhung the wide boulevard.
There were flamboyas and banyan trees, even Ficus Benjamina trees that were truly stellar in stature and beauty. All had immensely thick trunks on them. Arboreal masters all they were. I was being energised and my thoughts cleansed for being in the sphere of their pure loving energies.
As I flew along, there was an embankment to the left which was three feet from the road. The trees were next to the road with houses up on the embankments. The houses were set way back from the edge of the embankments and on large lots that were truly estate-like. Here too, it was also nighttime.
This was a very astral-planed experience – all these dreams. Rather than above their crowns, I flew within the crowns of the massive trees. I had been directly flying above the centre of the wide road; yet, the sprawling branches had splayed out enmeshing me in their friendly embrace with one another.
In this way, as I would have preferred, I could remain unobserved from the ground. My flight here was measured, deliberately slowed down, so as to allow me to drink of the beauty of these arboreal giants’ energies.
Stopping on one of the branches, I rested reclining in the same horizontal position as when in flight. At that point, an old Black man came out whilst I had been looking ahead of me at a Black woman.
As if she was a witch, she wore nothing but black garments. Soon, she was joined by a woman who came from my rear. The latter was White; both of them very stout women, though, they were not in the manner of the subjects of a Fernando Botero creation.
She wore a silver outfit which was again a long gown; again, it was the same design as the Black woman’s. They were clearly familiar with one another. Both had these twigs in their hands that were unusually crooked.
They were shaped as if a frozen, now fossilised, bolt of lightning. On meeting, they embraced each other and laughed a very full-breathed earthy laugh – think Whoopi Goldberg here of the nature of their laughter. They were so real and raucous.
Talking, they began dancing around and doing these gestures and movements that were all quite ritualised and seemingly of an occult nature. Whilst they danced, the old Black man had appeared from off to my left and up on the embankment.
Neither women had been up on the embankment; they met on the road and stayed there. The man was dressed in a pair of easy slacks, a short-sleeved loose shirt and a hat. He was a very West Indian-looking chap and he looked every bit the Nevisian.
A real countryman as the old folks in St. Kitts-Nevis would say. Ancient beyond belief, he was genuinely the real article. He was an old soul and immediately reminded me of Jacques Blanc. His demeanour was so gloriously at peace.
He had a sweet easy smile that made him look the most gloriously vulnerable. I found it was hard to believe that any human being could be born into the waking state and progress to such an old age and remain uncorrupted as that smile of his indicated.
The greatest of energies were his. On seeing them, he soon grew fearful of them. He became concerned – assuming, I suppose, that they were witches and could do him much harm.
Things only got worse because he had actually seen me before, as I flew down the street, in amongst the treetops. Looking up off to his right, as he walked past, he noticed me again.
On seeing me, he became startled so I began flying away; I did not care to disturb this mellow soul. Though I must say, I did so think it strange that he should find my being in flight an oddity – especially for being here in the dreamtime.
Slowly, I began flying away towards and above the two women up ahead who still remained below on the street. Seeing me in flight only made him upset because this, to his way of thinking, only validated his fears that this was something sinister.
Clearly, I had to fast rethink my assessment of this one being an old soul. Basically, things were rapidly changing about him and for someone so ancient it was all a bit too displacing for him to absorb. He was, sadly enough, left disturbed and fearful.
I was convinced that I was not sporting two or more heads here!
After having flown ahead of the two women who seemed to be female archetypes of the magi, in this the sixth dream, I arrived at my next dream experience where here it was daytime out.
To the left of the same road, along which I had been flying, I saw an estate just prior to a fort on a high hill. At this juncture, there were no longer any tall, majestic tropical trees looming over the same road.
Though I was fairly certain that it wasn’t, the fort reminded me much of Brimstone Hill in St. Kitts. The estate was not unlike one of the ones, from the days of slavery, from which plantations were operated.
Going up past the embankment from the road, I went into the grounds of the estate. The main house was a conical-roofed château, not unlike the château at Vallière, but it was not particularly French.
The building had such smooth gorgeous curves to its lines; an architectural gem, to be sure, it was. Though slightly Bavarian in look, it was however very much so a French château. However, the roof was made of stone and green and not painted blue in the French tradition like at Vallière or Chenonceau.
Centuries old, it was green because of a dense growth of moss covering the copper roofing. Low lying, it was nonetheless a very heavy-looking imposing building.
Walking up from the main road, I had alighted by this point, there were some steps that took you up to the next level beyond the embankment. There, one encountered another road and this one not as wide; this road was the one along which I went and it took one into the grounds of the estate.
Facing out to the right, the house was to the left. Beyond that, there was a low fence and after which was a large road. There were uniformed Black men who stood about talking whilst guarding the house. They wore fur-covered hats which were like those of the British honour guardsmen’s.
I knew that this was the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor, the monarch’s representative. Their uniforms were a grey-brown colour and rather beautiful material which was styled in a splendid design.
Colourful, they were rather original. The scene here was distinctively tropical and sunny as all hell. There was movement about the grounds as the score of gardeners and labourers worked the land.
The lowness of the structure did remind me of those low thatched-roofed houses in England which were current during Elizabethan times. This, however, was extremely large.
Then, I noticed an old White male who was speaking to the others and giving them directions. He seemed, perhaps, the lord of the manner. On closer inspection, and without moving, I was able to zoom his face in to a tight close-up at will.
Seeing his right profile, in amongst his long, white flowing hair, he was liver-spotted and had a large broad-nostrilled nose. There and then, I realised that he was a mix of all the races of this planet.
This was obviously a composite of all the lives that he had lived to date being borne out in his facial structure. He was however predominantly Black and, at that, an exceptionally fair-skinned Black man.
Definitely, it was not a case of his being a White male with a deep permanent tan after having lived in the tropics for decades. With that, I took to the air again and flew over the low level stone wall which was white stonewash; this was exactly the same schemata as the house’s walls.
In order to clear the wall, I had had to fly off to the right and went away from the mansion and the estate’s driveway. I saw there another road along which came William Herbert, the Kittisian politician, in a Hummer jeep.
He looked older as he does at present. He drove alone in the vehicle. His spirits were boisterous; a grin on his ruggedly handsome face as dust flew when he made a hard left turn. With that, he disappeared up a winding road which went up into the fort.
The road was about fifty feet away from the end of the road, which bleeds into the main road, along which I had initially flown up to the estate. Going along the road, I kept aloft and surveyed the strange but eerily beautiful terrain. Here, I was flying uncharacteristically low to the ground.
Eventually, I alighted yet again and joined the local teenagers who were all very West Indian-sensibilitied. They were thankfully not the least bit fazed by my flying.
Here, there were a few old-souled-looking sprawling trees. There were banyans and flamboyas here too. This was such an august-spirited place whose energies were truly intense.
Meanwhile, persons were looking on at me. The children here were so august-souled with eyes that were so dynamically grounded, potent and lived in; their eyes were truly ensouled. A very astral plane experience this was.
I would then leave with Fitzrene Wellington-Banks, Pia Banks-Abella’s mother, in an open vehicle. I had wanted to go further up the road but the kids being in the middle of the street were as if a telepathic directive to me to not advance any further.
One had the sense that their opinion was that to have ventured any further would be on the order of prying. So very good it was to see Fitzrene Wellington-Banks who was so incredibly solid and grounded. Her manner was open, friendly and thoroughly genuine.
So utterly refreshing a state of affairs to be relating to persons without there being any façade or maya. Fitzrene made very intent, direct and lingering eye contact. I could actually feel her soul each time that she looked at me. Truly, it was breathtakingly intimate and arrestingly sublime a beautiful experience.
As we were coming on to the village, we were stopped by road work that seemed not to have been construction-related. Perhaps, there had been an accident or some such; I couldn’t though quite figure out what was up. The disturbance was considerably up ahead of us at the time which left us slowed to a crawl.
To the right of the road, as we inched by, I noticed two low-lying, yellow clinic buildings; they were much like the ones at Sandy Point, St. Kitts next to Fitzrene’s apartments at Lara Wellington’s compound. These clinics, however, had wide ramps in front of them which enabled wheelchair access.
The yellow was a dark rich tone and were not unlike the yellows of the Salvador Dali-like Moon and the walls of the salon through whose ceiling I had attempted to pass.
At that, we saw William Herbert’s very stout son leave the fort; he was in the vehicle that his father had recently been driving. This young man was energetic, sexually dynamic and light-complected. His hair was thick, black and curly.
His stoutness reminded me of the local, White Kittisian playboy, Ian Kelsick who was so fond of red motorcycles and who it would seem does have nine lives. A lot of Martial energies here infused this man’s body.
Now, I was returned to the other village from which I had come; earlier, of course, I had been up the tree looking on at the two women enjoying themselves. Though considerably further along by now, I was on the same side of the road as the château-like mansion.
Beyond the clinics, William Herbert’s daughter was working and wore a light green smock. Young, she was unbelievably pretty. She worked with a blond who was very tiny and slight a man.
They were putting sulfur on the globs of blood which had trailed from the street to the clinic. Apparently, a woman had gone into labour, her water having broken, and left a bit of a mess en route to the clinic.
The blond guy wore a very pointy helmet that looked very Thai. He looked strange for being covered, as was she, with a lot of loose sulfurous dust. Next to his blondness, it made him look most strange.
His lashes were already incredibly blond. This gave him a decidedly extra-human quality. This man did so have a cool, murderous edge to him. What with the fine dust of sulfur covering his skin, he didn’t seem human in the slightest.
He had an abundance of Saturn close to his ascendant. He couldn’t have been any more than 15 or 16 years of age, yet, he was already a right proper stern man of great fixity.
This man’s energies were truly unsettling. They were bristly for me and reminded me much of the blondness of those kids with whom I would have a very traumatic experience, in St. Croix, U. S. Virgin Islands, in the summer of 1969.
Next, in this the seventh dream, I saw the performer, Tony Orlando onstage looking very stout to the point of being unhealthy. At the time, he was introduced by fellow performer and the very sexy, Lionel Richie – a man whom Merlin found so devastatingly sexy.
Tony Orlando wore a wonderful white suit standing way upstage whilst waiting to do a duet with Lionel Richie. There was a cheesy-looking, shimmering green-looking, festive curtain in back of the performer.
Lionel Richie came onstage from upstage left. Tony Orlando gingerly bantered whilst waiting for the star to come on. Lionel Richie came on looking very haggard, fatigued and indeed very grim-looking.
One was made to feel terribly uneasy to look at him. Lionel was very ill, looking very ill, as though in the later stages of AIDS. I was acutely uncomfortable.
This was made even more obvious when he stood next to the very plump Tony Orlando who was all shellacked, pulled back and looking as though he had been oozed into his skin; he was all body fat which gave him that smooth flawless-skinned look.
This was simply bad theatre and you just know I had no time for the macabre. With that, I got to my feet and took my leave of the experience altogether.
I got home, in this the eighth dream, to find Isha da Braga cleaning up the apartment. She was being very confrontational fast getting on my every which nerve.
Meanwhile, I went to the fridge to get something on which to snack. There, I saw lots of soups and meals that I had made that were stored; they were for consumption later in the week.
Isha was so disputatious and her energies so unevolved that I said to myself that I no longer wanted to be around this woman and her bullshit. I didn’t in the least want to be there.
So with that, I went outside to call Pandora da Braga about whom I have been concerned of
I rode an elevator up to a twentieth storey apartment, in this the ninth dream, where I was joined by a giggly, young flight attendant. He wore blue and hailed from the West Indies.
I had been there because I was quite attracted to this woman and wanted to get it on with her. We then went off to the balcony where I fondled her.
Soon, she laid down on her right side whilst curled up in a near-foetal position. She shivered growing moist and would eventually cum several times. As she came, she called out my name and left me very much so excited.
Due to her position, I was able to crouch down and slip into her wet warm pussy and made it all mine. I loved the strong sweet smell of her. Excitedly, I began fucking her at which point the dream became lucid and phenomenally real.
I could even hear my heart cantering away as I intensely hammered away at her. She wore a light blue fabric which I had shoved up over her shoulders – to get a good look at her gorgeous body.
The passion was strong; the silken slipperiness of her so real that, as she came calling out my name, I exploded uncontrollably cumming simultaneously with her.
This was so intense and real that I found myself fully awake and sporting a very moist hard-on.
*To say the least, on awakening, after having audio-cassette-recorded the dreams, I got about the business of auto-erotically celebrating being a phenomenally alive and beautiful incarnate soul. She was a stunning redhead who proved very alive and passionate. END.
Photo: Singer, Florence Welch
© 2014 Annie Leibovitz for American Vogue.
© 2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.