Tag: white woman

The Kiss Dream

No, it wasn’t the group, nor the song. I was in my apartment in a high rise, a lovely place, plain with white walls. A short white blonde woman in a purple dress was there, a dream friend, but not anyone I know. She and others had been visiting my wife and were now saying their good-byes. We were in the bedroom. My wife was in the other room. The woman said, “Kiss me, quick.” So I did. Then I heard my wife coming and broke it off.

It was a great kiss, though. Stayed on my mind, fulfilling some desire that I had for the other woman. A short while later, there’s a knock on our door. One of the women has returned. She talks to my wife, leading her into another room. As she does, the woman in purple and three other friends rush in and slip into the bedroom.

I go in. They’re laughing and whispering. I ask, “What are you doing?” They answer, “We came back to kiss you.” Each gives me a quick peck. They also play grab ass with me. I’m responding, “Are you crazy?” They hear my wife coming and hide under the bed, which is unmade.

My wife comes in with another female friend, the one who knocked on the door. I realize that she’s in on it. My wife says that she came over to borrow a video to watch. She wants something funny. I begin going through small stacks of VHS tapes, telling her what’s in there that we can loan her, but it’s all educational films.

She and my wife leave the room. The woman in purple appears beside me and says, “I just want to grab another kiss from you.” I answer, “I want to grab more than that.” We begin kissing and fondling one another.

Dream end.

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A Healing Massage Dream

I experienced many dreams last night. One of the most interesting ones was the healing dream.

I’d been walking and my feet hurt, so I sat to massage them. A man sat beside me. Large and black, his head was as round and bald as a basketball.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Massaging my feet because they hurt.”

“I can help you with that.” He held his hands up. They glistened with oil. “I have the power.”

“Okay, cool.”

Taking my feet, he rocked back and forth, humming and massaging them. Skin sloughed off my feet. Pain and soreness went with it.

He finished and rose. “Thanks,” I said. “That was amazing. I really appreciate it.”

Nodding and waving, he said, “No problem,” and then ambled off.

I was still sitting when a woman then approached me. I couldn’t get a clear look at her. It seemed like a misty gauze moved with her, but from glimpses, she seemed slender, young, and white. She wore light blue but her arms were bare. She said, “You look like you could use a massage.”

I debated it and then said, “Okay, sure.”

Darkness fell around us until we were in a circle of yellow-white light. The air grew cooler. She began massaging my chest and shoulders. Her hands and arms went into my chest. I could suddenly see into my chest. Her fingers embraced my heart and massaged it. Shocked and amazed, I just sat there, gawking.

A little girl ran up. The woman took my heart out of my chest. It looked like a piece of fried chicken. She gave it to the girl, who gave the woman a new heart.

As the girl ran off with my fried-chicken heart, the woman put the new heart inside of me. “That feel better?”

I couldn’t speak because I felt so amazed, so I nodded.

“Good.” Shifting her hands, she began massaging my lungs. Air rushed into them like never before. As she massaged me, my perspective changed, so that I was now watching her from outside of myself. Next, she massaged my liver, and then my stomach, and then moved her hands up, and massaged my head. I held my breath as I saw her squeezing, shaping, and re-shaping my brain.

“There,” she said. “Done.” She was gone, and I was back in my body.

I awoke feeling like I’d been scrubbed clean from the inside out.

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Another Car Dream

It was the second part of the dream, begun as I was exiting the first part. Walking across rich, deep green grass of a valley floor, with roads on the hillside above me, I met an elderly white woman. She said, “I have an opportunity for you.”

“Hang on,” I said. I briefly returned to the first part of my dream to tie up some loose ends, telling people, “This woman says she has an opportunity, so I need to go on,” and then resumed the second part.

The dream’s first part had left me satisfied and triumphant with the outcome. I had the sense that I’d made progress, and was continuing to progress, setting the stage for the second part. I was in a confident mood, meeting this woman. She said, “I’d like you to buy and drive exotic cars for me.”

I briefly thought she meant that she wanted me to be her driver, but she said, “I want you to thrash the cars, trash them. I want you to drive them without care and wreck them.”

I said, “You want me to wreck cars?”

“Yes, I want you to buy expensive cars like Ferraris and Aston Martins and drive them like you’re an average driver in an average car.” When she said this, I saw a red Ferrari go by on a hillside road above me. It was like she’d summoned the car.

Her suggestion that I was an average driver and that I’d wreck these cars when I drove them irritated me. “Why do you want me to do this?” I said.

“As a show.” While I thought, television, she said, “No, not like that dreadful Top Gear or those other ones. Buy these cars and live them in the real world and drive them hard. I’ll give you the money. You buy the cars and drive them.”

“And wreck them.”

“If that happens. I want to show what it’s really like having these cars and driving them.”

It was weird to me. I said, “I can imagine my friends’ reaction to this, when I say some lady wants me to buy expensive cars and drive them, and don’t worry about wrecking them.”

“What do you say?” she said.

“I have to think about it,” I said.

“Why? You’ll be paid to drive wonderful cars, without any concerns about what happens to them.”

“I know,” I said, “but it seems wrong.”

The dream ended.

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The Dancer Dream

I heard violin music. It was a classical song. I knew it but I couldn’t attach a title to it.

With a personal POV like a camera was perched just over my right shoulder, I turned in search of the sound. The view around me was like I looked at the world through a misty gray light gel.

A woman came toward me, brunette, with creamy white skin, and large, dark eyes. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun. I could only see her from her bare shoulders up.

As she approached me, she sang, “I am here for you, I am here for you,” in a tone and rhythm that matched the violin tune.

Her eyes on me, she passed while still singing, turning away but then turning back to look at me again, still singing, with a hint of smile. I saw more of her. She’s dancing, I realized. She’s a ballerina, I saw, and then awoke.

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