On Dreams, pt. 1

Notice how each of these posts have a theme, followed by a number? This implies that there will be more like them. I won’t promise that, though. Maybe it’s just for the aesthetic.

I have been an active dreamer for just about as long as I can remember. I remember my first nightmares (I was somewhere between 3 and 5 at the time). More importantly, I remember my first lucid dream, which occurred a few years later. Maybe I’ll talk a bit about lucid dreams in a future post.

For now, I want to talk about something more personal, and more embarrassing: the sex dreams that I began having once I started puberty.

An understatement I’ll probably draw on throughout this blog: sexuality is complicated. To be honest, my sex drive has always been much lower than the average male. At least, that is how I have come to perceive it. “Guys think with their penis,” and so on. They make asses of themselves because of it, especially during puberty. All I can say is, I have less of those juices, a claim I will verify in another post.

Despite this, I did have wet dreams pretty frequently during puberty, though I would still assert that they were different from the great majority of most guys’. And they were completely involuntary, not a trace of lucidity to them.

You see, in my dreams, I was always a girl. And I was dreaming about being with other girls.

I don’t know why this was: it simply was. This was before I knew what porn was, and before I had ever even seen a lesbian couple. I didn’t even really know how hetero sex worked, and I had had a class on it in fifth grade, to say nothing of the exotic and utterly foreign lesbian variant. In fact, I was generally pretty sheltered as a child, and very naive compared to my classmates. All I knew is that, even if I didn’t know how it worked, I was a girl, and so were my dream partners. Every. Single. Time.

I honestly don’t know if I have had a sexual dream as a male once in my life, but I do know that I have never had one with a male.

I have to say, these dreams were the catalyst for me to start taking my dreams seriously, and to look deeper into the art of lucid dreamer. My dreams were the only place I could be the girl I knew I was, without any of the latent horribleness that I will document in future posts. For many years, my dreams were one of my greatest coping mechanisms, and were integral to my being able to not only cope with my situation, but to repress a good deal of the nagging shame and self-loathing that my desires would cause.

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