Just another long, boring (to you) dream...
I had a dream last night. There was a poor family that lived in some good-hearted people’s attic. There were three children. The younger sister, the middle brother, Paul, and the elder sister. The elder sister was going through a period of injuring herself several times a day to feel the pain. She was thin and ill and had regular stomach ailments. The younger sister was somewhat oblivious to what was going on. The middle brother (about 14-16) took to his big sister’s habits quite badly. It made him sick for her, and he vomited over it at least twice in my dream (though even with my emetophobia, it didn’t bother me like it usually does for some reason…)
So, at some point in my dream I tried to help. I especially felt sorry for Paul (I suppose that’s sort of a duh since he’s the only one whose name I remember), so I took care of him while trying to help his sister with her… ‘addiction’. After a time, I apparently succeeded. As a thank you, Paul gave me his most precious possession. An old, falling apart book on how to use pain inflicted on your hands to gain certain effects on the rest of the body. Sort of like a book on acupuncture for the self-mutilator. He’d taken it from his sister in an attempt to end her ‘phase’, and even though he treasured it because it belonged to her, when she dropped the habit, he couldn’t keep it as it was a reminder (obviously). So, to avoid having to look at it again, he gave it to me as his way of saying thank you. It was a disturbing book with graphic photographs (all of them black and white). One of them was a hand completely covered in welts from being repeatedly jabbed with needles and other things, another a picture of a large, pointed drill looking spike stuck in someone’s palm and 2 large metal (and one larger bone) rings shoved all the way through the hand, and in between the bones. But hell. I had a little crush on the skinny little buzz-cut kid about 4 years younger than me. ^^; So I treasured it.
Approximately 10 years later, after not seeing the family since I was given the book, I ran into them again. The whole family had turned to the adult entertainment industry to make ends meet. Paul was a male stripper. I was saddened but a little intrigued. I’d also been told that he’d gotten in to music since I last saw him. Not the typical stuff for youngsters, electric guitars, blasting out the windows, and heavy metal, but the sort of stuff I really love to see people play. Acoustic, good old-fashioned rock/folk/blues and the other sorts of things I love to hear live. Anyway, a few days after seeing his family except him and his little sister, I went somewhere with my parents to one of their musical events. It seemed to take place outside some sort of cabin. There was a pond nearby, a Jacuzzi outside, and a path made of old, splintered wooden slats with an equally old, splintered railing that moved across the ground, over the large pond, and also stretched over the ‘cabin’ itself. Paul was there, looking DRASTICALLY different from when I last saw him. He had a nice tan, not dark, but not the pasty white it had once been, dark eyes that led me to believe his race was maybe part Asian, part American Indian? His hair was thick and healthy, and all the way down past his waist, and his body had filled out quite nicely. 0:) (er yes… he was naked in the Jacuzzi when I arrived *giggles*) After he got dressed and dried off we got to talking again. I found that he had apparently missed me as much as I'd missed him. He’d told me of his previous girlfriends, all porn stars and strippers, and that he was curious of what it was like to be with a woman who hadn’t been tainted by the same sorts of things he’d been forced into to do his part to support his starving family, and that he wanted out of ‘the business’.
After a while, we exchanged phone numbers. He was SOOO sweet. When we parted though, we didn’t talk to each other for at least a couple days. It was as much my doing as it was his, but he still made an effort. After those couple days, I came across the book he’d given me all those years ago that I carried everywhere I went when I wasn’t in the house. It was sitting on an easy chair. When I opened it up there was a short little one-lined poem inside written on a little red ribbon in a plastic bag and placed between the cover and the pages. I can’t remember what it said, but it was damned sweet. At the end of the poem was his phone number once again.
And then I woke up. Sigh…I don’t remember what the number was either. I wish things like this could happen for real. I realize I’m not the kind of girl those things happen to (usually, you have to be a super model for that shit to happen), but hell, I haven’t had a male show interest in me in probably 2-4 years, except for one night and a few flirts with a certain person that no one that doesn’t know about him needs to know about. I wishes Paul was real. I’d draw him if I were capable of drawing anything right now, but I know he’d come out looking female from the neck up… *cries*
So, at some point in my dream I tried to help. I especially felt sorry for Paul (I suppose that’s sort of a duh since he’s the only one whose name I remember), so I took care of him while trying to help his sister with her… ‘addiction’. After a time, I apparently succeeded. As a thank you, Paul gave me his most precious possession. An old, falling apart book on how to use pain inflicted on your hands to gain certain effects on the rest of the body. Sort of like a book on acupuncture for the self-mutilator. He’d taken it from his sister in an attempt to end her ‘phase’, and even though he treasured it because it belonged to her, when she dropped the habit, he couldn’t keep it as it was a reminder (obviously). So, to avoid having to look at it again, he gave it to me as his way of saying thank you. It was a disturbing book with graphic photographs (all of them black and white). One of them was a hand completely covered in welts from being repeatedly jabbed with needles and other things, another a picture of a large, pointed drill looking spike stuck in someone’s palm and 2 large metal (and one larger bone) rings shoved all the way through the hand, and in between the bones. But hell. I had a little crush on the skinny little buzz-cut kid about 4 years younger than me. ^^; So I treasured it.
Approximately 10 years later, after not seeing the family since I was given the book, I ran into them again. The whole family had turned to the adult entertainment industry to make ends meet. Paul was a male stripper. I was saddened but a little intrigued. I’d also been told that he’d gotten in to music since I last saw him. Not the typical stuff for youngsters, electric guitars, blasting out the windows, and heavy metal, but the sort of stuff I really love to see people play. Acoustic, good old-fashioned rock/folk/blues and the other sorts of things I love to hear live. Anyway, a few days after seeing his family except him and his little sister, I went somewhere with my parents to one of their musical events. It seemed to take place outside some sort of cabin. There was a pond nearby, a Jacuzzi outside, and a path made of old, splintered wooden slats with an equally old, splintered railing that moved across the ground, over the large pond, and also stretched over the ‘cabin’ itself. Paul was there, looking DRASTICALLY different from when I last saw him. He had a nice tan, not dark, but not the pasty white it had once been, dark eyes that led me to believe his race was maybe part Asian, part American Indian? His hair was thick and healthy, and all the way down past his waist, and his body had filled out quite nicely. 0:) (er yes… he was naked in the Jacuzzi when I arrived *giggles*) After he got dressed and dried off we got to talking again. I found that he had apparently missed me as much as I'd missed him. He’d told me of his previous girlfriends, all porn stars and strippers, and that he was curious of what it was like to be with a woman who hadn’t been tainted by the same sorts of things he’d been forced into to do his part to support his starving family, and that he wanted out of ‘the business’.
After a while, we exchanged phone numbers. He was SOOO sweet. When we parted though, we didn’t talk to each other for at least a couple days. It was as much my doing as it was his, but he still made an effort. After those couple days, I came across the book he’d given me all those years ago that I carried everywhere I went when I wasn’t in the house. It was sitting on an easy chair. When I opened it up there was a short little one-lined poem inside written on a little red ribbon in a plastic bag and placed between the cover and the pages. I can’t remember what it said, but it was damned sweet. At the end of the poem was his phone number once again.
And then I woke up. Sigh…I don’t remember what the number was either. I wish things like this could happen for real. I realize I’m not the kind of girl those things happen to (usually, you have to be a super model for that shit to happen), but hell, I haven’t had a male show interest in me in probably 2-4 years, except for one night and a few flirts with a certain person that no one that doesn’t know about him needs to know about. I wishes Paul was real. I’d draw him if I were capable of drawing anything right now, but I know he’d come out looking female from the neck up… *cries*