\u201cI lost my virginity in a lucid dream.\u201d<\/p>\n
To anyone else that\u2019d sound crazy but not to The Therapist. She understood. I wasn\u2019t so keen of her at first, but I stepped out on a limb and she didn\u2019t fail me. You may have heard of her. Maybe not. She\u2019s a dream therapist. She helps you cope with your dreams. She doesn\u2019t waste her time on any run-of-the-mill nightmare; she specializes in lucid dreams.<\/p>\n
And by the time I saw her, I was a chronic lucid dreamer.<\/p>\n
It started as a kid. You ever have a nightmare that comes back, night after night? So much so that eventually you stop \u2013 like you\u2019re looking yourself in the mirror \u2013 and you realize, with a lightning strike of ice on your spine, that you\u2019re in a dream. Suddenly, you\u2019ve got some control. Suddenly, it isn\u2019t just a dream. Suddenly, you\u2019re a god.<\/p>\n
You turn to the vampire and say, \u201cBite me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now you\u2019re the nightmare. Roving the streets with bands of creeps.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s how it began. Every night I hit the hay hoping that I might wake up in that in-between state. Over time I found tricks. The first thing I did every morning was sit and think. I\u2019d write down all I could remember from the last night\u2019s dreams. You\u2019d be surprised to see how many recur. Once I started to recognize the similarities while awake, I started to recognize them while asleep. Silly things would alert me. My watch might read a word like \u201cDAY,\u201d or a door might lead to a room that it shouldn\u2019t. Sometimes these flukes eluded me until, in the morning, I raked my brain to record them but, other times, they\u2019d set me off. It was scary at first. Then, as I became accustomed to it, comforting. Eventually, exciting \u2013 invigorating.<\/p>\n
Initially, I spent most of my lucid dreams defying the laws of physics. I can\u2019t count how many times I flew across the Atlantic. But as I got older, my focus shifted. I\u2019d take my best friend\u2019s mom \u2013 the one with the curves \u2013 shopping and I\u2019d kiss the girl I sat next to in geography \u2013 the one that I couldn\u2019t form a sentence in front of. I got bolder and bolder. Looking back, it\u2019s funny how I was just as nervous to go to the next level in my dreams as I was in real life. In the end, it wasn\u2019t dreams that gave me the courage. It was alcohol.<\/p>\n
I had my first drink near the end of my junior year of high school. I\u2019d fooled enough of my peers into thinking I was cool and I\u2019d been invited to a graduation party. Once there I realized my mistake. I was not <\/em>cool. Though alcohol was foreign to me, I knew it was renowned for making an ass out of men and \u2013 judging from the behavior of my peers \u2013 asses were the ones who fit in. So I drank and I drank and I drank. I drank enough to drown a horse and then some and soon I felt like I could rule the world \u2013 then they took away my keys.<\/p>\n She told me I could sleep on the couch. She being the girl from middle school geography I mentioned before. I remember her tucking me in, with my own coat I believe, on her couch\u2026but then I was in her doorway. God knows what took place in between. My shirt was off and I focused hard to hold what I assumed was a masculine posture. Her room was empty. Not empty-empty; there were clothes everywhere, a bed of course, a mirror, and a handful of posters, but she<\/em> was not in there. She was behind me.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are your pants?\u201d<\/p>\n Those are the only words I recall from that night.<\/p>\n By this point in my life, almost every night involved a lucid dream. I didn\u2019t get to this point by simply noticing little flaws here and there. I\u2019d developed a trick. Every time I became lucid, it was like I was staring in a mirror. As soon as I realized I was dreaming I was no longer in my body but standing just across the room, looking at my bamboozled self. My room, growing up, had a closet across from my bed with mirrors for doors. Early in my lucid endeavors, I began to envision myself standing in that closet and watching me sleep. When I opened my eyes, that\u2019s what I\u2019d see (not me in the closet, of course, but my prone body reflected in the mirror). Somehow that reinforced my imagination. And it never failed. When I finally fell asleep, it was as if I never had. I\u2019d get out of bed and, somehow, I\u2019d know I wasn\u2019t awake. I could wreck my car or jump off a building and nothing would happen. Sometimes I\u2019d die three or four times in the same dream. Eventually, I\u2019d wake up right back in bed, staring at my mirror.<\/p>\n I believe it was fate that put a mirror on the desk parallel to her bed. After she caught me posing nude in the doorway, she was merciful. She offered to share her bed. There I lay, staring in the mirror, debating whether or not it would be wrong if I were to fuck her in my dreams.<\/p>\n But a drunk man isn\u2019t guided by morality, only desire.<\/p>\n Right or wrong aside, it was the best sex I\u2019ve ever had.<\/p>\n That\u2019s how I lost my virginity.<\/p>\n Before you tell me that doesn\u2019t count, let me just tell you what she told me after not responding to my texts, calls, and snail mail all summer:<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m pregnant.\u201d<\/p>\n Turns out, while I made love to her in my dreams I bumped uglies with her in the physical world. Don\u2019t worry. Not only was she conscious enough to consent, she was conscious enough to remember it (which turned out to be fatal for my self-esteem). What lasted hours in my dreams lasted only minutes for her. Nevertheless, no matter whether I performed to her liking, my little soldier got the job done.<\/p>\n Funny thing is, she\u2019d already let it slip in the little narrative of my dreams.<\/p>\n After I developed my lucid-dream-cheatcode, I did my best to wake up in my dreams every night. After a year or two, if it was a regular night, I didn\u2019t even have to try. No sooner would I fall asleep than I\u2019d come to in a world of endless possibilities. This had its ups and downs. After a few months of chronic lucid dreaming, I preferred my imaginary world to the real one. There were times when I lost control \u2013 even times that turned into nightmares \u2013 but overall, things just seemed to work out for me there. After the graduation party, I spent the dreams of the summer getting to know the girl I\u2019d been dreaming of for years.<\/p>\n It was fantastic.<\/p>\n When she told me she was pregnant, I immediately dropped to my knees and proposed. After years of lucid dreaming, years in which my best memories existed only in my imagination, it was becoming hard to differentiate what was real and what wasn\u2019t, but her response reminded me with that familiar spine chilling sensation that this could only be a dream \u2013 she said yes.<\/p>\n In real life, as you might\u2019ve guessed, she was much more hesitant. She agreed to give it a shot. Not marriage, not yet, she wanted to date first. Unfortunately, we got along much better when she was a figment of my imagination. She considered abortion but when that option ran dry she settled for a wedding. There was no honey moon. There was no love. The union was economical. She didn\u2019t want to live in poverty. I didn\u2019t want my daughter to.<\/p>\n We dropped out of high school, picked up minimum wage jobs, and moved into an apartment. We shared our possessions but nothing more. Indifference melted into tolerance then tolerance evaporated leaving only animosity. We cooed our child to sleep by gossiping about the other. Our vows may have been the last civil conversation between us.<\/p>\n That\u2019s why I came to The Therapist. My dreams were fine. In fact, my dreams were the only good bit of my existence. Reality had become my nightmare. I loved my daughter heart and soul \u2013 but her, not so much. And I think she hated our daughter more than she hated me. Maybe because our daughter was the source of her bondage.<\/p>\n It\u2019d gotten to a point where I almost didn\u2019t trust her alone with the baby. I started refusing shifts at work. After a few no-shows, I was outright fired. This was good for the baby but bad for my wife \u2013 she wasn\u2019t worried about our daughter; she was worried about our income. What we saved on letting the baby sitter go didn\u2019t compensate for what I gave up to stay home. Before long, I dreaded her coming home as much as I dreaded waking up.<\/p>\n That\u2019s when I began to consider an alternative.<\/p>\n An old coworker suggested a less drastic option: counseling. This wasn\u2019t the first friend to suggest a shrink but this was the first friend to mention a shrink and lucid dreaming in the same sentence. He sealed the deal when he promised she wouldn\u2019t charge \u2013 as long as I intrigued her.<\/p>\n The Therapist told me to meet her at the courthouse \u2013 the first peculiar thing about her. The rubbery yellow jacket and red cowboy hat further crippled her chances of a good first impression.<\/p>\n \u201cHello dreamer!\u201d<\/p>\n She extended her hand as soon as I passed through the metal detector. We shook before I was even able to put my belt back on.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat seems to be the problem?\u201d<\/p>\n Despite my skepticism, I was desperate. I had to find a way out. Each day I went to bed a little earlier and slept a little later but the brilliance of my dream life only exaggerated the darkness of my real life. I felt weighed down. Trapped beneath my situation. I was ready for it all to be over. It took me a while to get up my resolve, but by the time I met The Therapist I was on the verge. All that was holding me back was the thought of abandoning my daughter. I gave myself one last chance. Though she didn\u2019t know it, I put my life her hands that day.<\/p>\n I waited for the elevator doors too close before I uttered my hook.<\/p>\n \u201cI lost my virginity in a lucid dream.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat doesn\u2019t sound like a problem.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe got pregnant.\u201d<\/p>\n She smiled, \u201cThat doesn\u2019t sound like a lucid dream.\u201d<\/p>\n I elaborated. I told her everything and watched as her jovial tawny eyes darkened into a caramel shade. Her lips pursed just slightly and her brow gently furled. Even if I were blind, I would have still noticed her sympathy. I could feel it in her silence. With every word I uttered, she drew closer. Not physically, but on a social level. By the time the elevator came to a stop and I had finished my story, I felt as if we had known each other our whole lives.<\/p>\n The doors opened and The Therapist stepped out.<\/p>\n \u201cAre dreams pointless?\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t know how to respond. I followed her and prayed the question was rhetoric.<\/p>\n \u201cIt isn\u2019t a trick question. I\u2019m no neuroscientist. There\u2019s no right or wrong answer. What\u2019s your opinion? Are dreams pointless?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI suppose\u2026\u201d I immediately regretted my answer, \u201cNo. No they\u2019re not.\u201d<\/p>\n We\u2019d reached the end of the hall. A broad window showed the pillars of fellow sky scrapers sharing each other\u2019s shadows.<\/p>\n \u201cThey can comfort you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat they can. They can soothe the soul like few things can\u2026\u201d The Therapist paused. We stood there in a minute of comfortable quiet. Then she struck me with another question, \u201cDo they go anywhere, dreams?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMine do!\u201d I blurted.<\/p>\n \u201cI know!\u201d She turned from the window and put a hand on my shoulder, \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n Her somber tone made me anxious. It was the voice a close friend uses to reveal the death of a loved one. I could feel tears budding in my eyes but I wasn\u2019t sure why. I had no clue where she was going. I could sense the gravity but not the direction.<\/p>\n The edge of the sun peaked between the mighty monoliths before us, forcing me to face The Therapist.<\/p>\n She asked, \u201cA hundred years from now, will anyone know what you dreamt?\u201d<\/p>\n Blood rushed to my cheeks. I felt like she was attacking me. I was struck dumb.<\/p>\n \u201cA hundred years from now, will anyone know who you are? Maybe. What about a thousand?\u201d She clasped my other shoulder, \u201cWhen the Earth is a withered husk and the Sun is running on fumes, will there be a human left to judge you?\u201d<\/p>\n Beckoning me with a flick of her hand we headed back down the hall. I hesitated for a moment, mulling over her words. I knew I must have missed something. When she reached the elevator she pivoted to stare at me from the other end of the hall. I surrendered. Back at the elevator, she hit the down arrow then held out her hand.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t worry about payment,\u201d her sobering mannerisms had been replaced by the chipper demeanor I\u2019d encountered when I first shook her hand, \u201cI did nothing for you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWait\u2026\u201d I staggered into the elevator, \u201cWhat?!\u201d<\/p>\n Grabbing ahold of myself, I whirled back around and grabbed either side of the elevator door.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re done? You won\u2019t help me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHelp you? You never needed my help to begin with!\u201d She chuckled and jabbed me in the ribs, \u201cNo one ever does. I just have to walk them through it. Everyone I help already knows what they need.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t!\u201d<\/p>\n She rolled her eyes, \u201cDeath!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat if I go to hell?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAren\u2019t you already?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat if I don\u2019t go anywhere? What if there\u2019s nothing after death, what if-\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen life is as pointless as a dream.\u201d<\/p>\n I stepped back into the elevator.<\/p>\n \u201cDeath is a dream that never ends.\u201d<\/p>\n The doors began to close as The Therapist posed her final question.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy wait for the glory of immortality when your mortality is a nightmare?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n – – –<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Malcolm dragged his fingers from the keyboard. Grabbing the mouse, he scrolled to the top of the page and read to the end of the document. Then again. And one last time. His fingers drifted back over the keys.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n – – –<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I\u2019m not sure why I wrote this. Maybe as one final gut check. To see the logic neatly typed out in black and white. Don\u2019t blame The Therapist. If I hadn\u2019t met her, then I would\u2019ve done the same. Only I would\u2019ve been afraid. I\u2019m not afraid now. I\u2019m excited. Giddy, almost. I can\u2019t remember the last time I felt this way in my waking life.<\/p>\n I finally have control.<\/p>\n I\u2019m going somewhere.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n – – –<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Satisfied, he left the desk and approached the bed where his keys lay. The distinct jingling of metal woke the baby who immediately asserted her discontent with a melody of wails. Undeterred, Malcolm slipped the key chain into his pocket and checked his phone.<\/p>\n A text message from his neighbor read, \u201cWe propped the door open, got plenty of beer!\u201d<\/p>\n Malcolm took a step towards the crib then hesitated. He couldn\u2019t. Pivoting, he marched out of the bedroom. He paused instinctively to lock the door, then stopped. Should he? Yes. He did. Then he turned to the stairs. There were only a few flights to climb. The staircase ended at a door that was normally locked but was kept ajar by a lone tennis shoe. He slipped onto the roof quietly. His neighbor\u2019s party was going on above and behind the doorway. The bouncing light and dancing silhouettes projected on the rooftop before him.<\/p>\n If he hadn\u2019t met The Therapist, he might\u2019ve joined them. The beer might\u2019ve deluded his resolve. But no. He was going somewhere.<\/p>\n He strode away from the flickering shadows of the party and towards the dark edges of the building. He stared into the multicolor lights of the city, beautiful yet meager in comparison to the starlight they\u2019d replaced. He thought of her smile and the baby\u2019s tight grip on his index finger. He could hear her giggle. He could see her blush. It was time to go home.<\/p>\n Malcolm climbed on top of the concrete slabs that trimmed the building, then dove out of the world that haunted him.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n – – –<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cMalcolm? Malcolm?\u201d Her voice was sweet yet invigorating, like cinnamon, \u201cYou\u2019ve got to wake up.\u201d<\/p>\n I stirred, not to wake but to turn onto my side.<\/p>\n \u201cMaaalcooolm!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m up,\u201d I murmured, unable to fend off a smirk.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve got to get <\/em>up,\u201d she urged.<\/p>\n \u201cI know\u2026\u201d I rolled on top of her, kissing her forehead, cheek, and chin, \u201cI\u2019m up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay-\u201d She took my lips then said, \u201cnow, get up!\u201d<\/p>\n Finally, I conceded. Rolling out of bed, I staggered to the dresser. As I sifted through my options I heard the baby stir behind me, murmuring gibberish.<\/p>\n \u201cHush, hush.\u201d I said, \u201cGo back to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe won\u2019t,\u201d my wife said, \u201cshe hates to see you leave.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI wish I didn\u2019t have to,\u201d I admitted.<\/p>\n \u201cSame,\u201d she said, \u201cSame.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cI lost my virginity in a lucid dream.\u201d To anyone else that\u2019d sound crazy but not to The Therapist. She understood. I wasn\u2019t so keen of her at first, but I stepped out on a limb and she didn\u2019t fail me. You may have heard of her. Maybe not. She\u2019s a dream therapist. She helps … Continue reading “Dream Junkies: The Dream that Never Ends”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":7,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-138","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/138","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=138"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/138\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139,"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/138\/revisions\/139"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/deadsquirrelpro.com\/sethpen\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=138"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}