I just need to get this out somewhere because it’s been eeking me out all day
graphic description of a bad dream i had last night
last night i had a dream that I was a guy named John. Basically myself but a cis guy and all that entails. My dream was running me, a few friends, and some family members through a series of places, amusement parks, cities, beaches, grassy parks, etc. and we were all kind of being wild and having fun. We eventually made a stop in my grandma’s town for the weekend, and we spent the night in a nice little house that someone was lending us. It started awesome bc in my dream my family and friends were all calling me John and using he/him and all that jazz. It was a breath of fresh air, in dream world, in that way.
I went back into a back room to get changed and go to bed because it had been a long day and someone comes into the room behind me. I turn and look and it’s a woman who seems really familiar but I can’t quite place. She has a bob of blond hair and is shorter than me, but I didn’t quite recognize her. She came closer to me, backing me up to the wall, and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear “tonight we’re gonna be the harlequins” and smiled.
I told her to leave, I just wanted to go to sleep. She pushed me a little harder and said that was no way to behave, especially with the Master on his way. The door opened again and a taller man came in. The woman turned and cried out “Master! Finally!” and ran over to him. He picked her up and swung her around before setting her back on the ground. I was kind of shocked and frozen, no idea what was happening.
“What a good boy you found for us, Mayor. This will be fun,” he said, appraising me like a piece of meat.
“Get out, or I’ll scream,” I said.
“Go ahead, see who comes running for the worthless, forgettable, burden of a kid you are. We’re gonna have fun tonight, and no one’s gonna stop me.” the Master said.
The woman lunged for me and I put my hands up to block my face. She pulled and dragged me over to the bed where she tore off my clothes and pushed me down. She threw her clothes off as well and climbed over me.
She started kissing my neck and running her fingers through my hair and all over my body. I remember squirming and saying “no, get off, I don’t want this” and all variations but they wouldn’t listen. I remember calling for help and seeing someone walk by in the hall, but all they said to me about it was “hey nice, way to finally get laid, John. Have fun!” as if it was all a planned little game.
I remember feeling very freaked out and very upset as the Master kept me pinned in place, and Mayor was planted on top of me, kissing me and trying to get me turned on. I remember feeling horrified when I felt myself get hard despite being not into it and not wanting it. Mayor laughed and said something along the lines of being excited that I’d finally come out to play.
Then she sunk down on my dick and rode me slowly, while the Master watched for a moment. Then he backed off and circled around, watching as Mayor’s fingernails scratched my skin and left superficial blood welling at the cuts. He climbed behind Mayor and I felt him poke at my asshole, dry, before spitting on his hand and rubbing himself, sliding into me painfully.
I remember a lot of yelling and some in and out moments, even within the dream, of the other two making out and being all over each other and all over me and how much i hated myself for being hard and how much i hated them for doing this to me and how much i wished i’d never come to that place.
They fucked me over and over again until they were exhausted, and collapsed on top of me, grinning, pulling at my chest hair and saying how good I was for them. How they’d finally made me into someone worth noticing.
It was so fucking gross but all these details are still in my head. I haven’t had a dream like this in a long, long time, and every time it shakes me up super bad. I don’t know how to shake it and prevent a dream from happening like that again. Hopefully it’ll leave over time. Until then I have a vivid recollection, as I do with all my dreams, as if they were real and happened, of all that. Of being told I should be happy someone wanted to fuck me, that I got laid at all.
Horrifying. At least mine is just a dream. Knowing that happens irl is enough to make me sick.
Liar, liar
Mind on fire
Ventured out and dug myself deep
Mother Goose put me to sleep
Told lies so high, high, high
They touched the sky, sky, sky
With a silver tongue
Empty words were sung
To match my silver buttons
Miss Mary Mack
All dressed in black
Attending my own funeral
I lay myself at the mercy of you all
Shovel the dirt across my face
Bury my unashamed disgrace
No more elephants jumping fences
I lost my last line of defenses
No 50 cent flower upon my grave
I’ve fallen too far for fables to save
A fairy tale can’t put me at ease
These nursery lies were my disease
Throw the book on top and light the pyre
Watch our words burn away within the fire
But guess I should get a tindr or something. Just want somebody to sext maybe? Like sorry im misusing this blog but i need a sb to talk about how horny i am and i already have those weird ones talking bout it
((Not poetry but yet again can we pretend it's poetic to be horny? Like every dam "classic" we had to read in English, when the male lead is sad and theres a war and fancy wine and parties divine don't cure the ache they feel for a pretty woman/man and gotdamn they just want to live and nothing changes by the end of the book.
Can we pretend it's poetic to be horny? I'm just following literature into the modern era.))
because fifteen is old enough to have an idea
about what you’re doing for the rest of your life
(but should have the chance to be changed
again and again as the moment strikes)
but too young
for it to suddenly not matter
Dad got me a kleenex box
and I complained about being nagged
for the thousandth time
“Just blow your nose.”
But he shook his head and
sat next to me on the
blue couch next to the
ugliest curtains my cat always tried to claw
and said
my great-grandfather had died.
Dad sent me a series of texts
and usually I complained about the
“family group chat.”
But I shook my head with
a small smile that
dropped from my face
as I sat on a pile of clothes
that hadn’t been washed in three weeks
on top of my bed
and cried for two hours that
my fifteen year old friend had died.
romaincrisis
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