it was nice
Mirabel? Mirador? Her name was something like that. She was ridiculous cute, a tiny, tiny thing with short cropped blonde hair and anime-big eyes, working the front desk at the Film Center. I think she may have had some kind of accent -- French or Quebecois, maybe.
We got into some conversation about how not a single kid there was paying for the overpriced school on their own -- I made the declaration that 100% of them were spoiled by their parents, citing myself as an example -- and so none of them knew how to spend a film budget in the right places. Andy was there with us. We were in the "waiting room" (less like the real NWFC and more like a big bland waiting room), waiting.
Mirabel/-dor and I somehow ended up lying side by side, clothed, and touching each other's bodies in that is-this-okay?/is-this-too-far? way, and I remember she clumsily put a lot of pressure on one of my testicles, basically leaning on it. I tensed up and told her to be more careful. My hands went, eventually, up her belly and under her shirt and she had almost no breasts to speak of; I suddenly realized she had a very boyish figure (there was no question in the dream of her actual gender). Andy was still on the waiting-room couch, ignoring us, and I remember being uncertain whether or not he knew we were acting like teenagers only ten feet away.
Eventually we were sitting upright and pressing our chests together, in each other's arms. She kept encouraging me to put my hands down the back of her pants, so I did. When I touched her butt she whispered, "Do you want to see it?" in a very excited way. I couldn't imagine what was so unique or special about it that would warrant such a reaction, but I said what anybody, dude or lady, would say in that situation: I said yes.
I remember her dropping her pants to show me her backside, and I remember thinking, "it's very nice but it's not special; the only thing special about this is that she thinks it's special." I guess Andy was still there, or I don't know. Dreams are funny.
Next thing I remember is we're laughing and I'm pushing her at high speeds down the city streets in a shopping cart. She's naked and I think her hair is longer and she's wearing make-up. A lot of bums and other streetfolk keep calling out to us as we ride past things like, "You look like a girl!" and "You're all girly!" and I realize that these are Mirador/-bel's friends, and they are used to seeing her in androgynous mode, with her tomboy looks and boy clothes. I guess I was bringing out a feminine side in her? And racing down the street as a game with it. Or something.
Anyway despite all the touching and nakedness, this didn't have the tone of a sex dream. It had the tone of meeting someone new. I remember that as soon as we walked into the waiting room I was totally fascinated with this girl and wanted to find a way to talk to her. I think that's why we were bitching about Film Center students as spoiled kids, because it was the only opener I could come up with. She had a charismatic calmness, like she would do her thing and wait for the world to want her, rather than try and be what the world wanted her to be. It's a trait I've always been drawn to.
And then I woke up in that vaguely smitten-in-my-dream way and laid there a bit, struggling not to forget this person who doesn't exist and who will never return. Sounds familiar.
We got into some conversation about how not a single kid there was paying for the overpriced school on their own -- I made the declaration that 100% of them were spoiled by their parents, citing myself as an example -- and so none of them knew how to spend a film budget in the right places. Andy was there with us. We were in the "waiting room" (less like the real NWFC and more like a big bland waiting room), waiting.
Mirabel/-dor and I somehow ended up lying side by side, clothed, and touching each other's bodies in that is-this-okay?/is-this-too-far? way, and I remember she clumsily put a lot of pressure on one of my testicles, basically leaning on it. I tensed up and told her to be more careful. My hands went, eventually, up her belly and under her shirt and she had almost no breasts to speak of; I suddenly realized she had a very boyish figure (there was no question in the dream of her actual gender). Andy was still on the waiting-room couch, ignoring us, and I remember being uncertain whether or not he knew we were acting like teenagers only ten feet away.
Eventually we were sitting upright and pressing our chests together, in each other's arms. She kept encouraging me to put my hands down the back of her pants, so I did. When I touched her butt she whispered, "Do you want to see it?" in a very excited way. I couldn't imagine what was so unique or special about it that would warrant such a reaction, but I said what anybody, dude or lady, would say in that situation: I said yes.
I remember her dropping her pants to show me her backside, and I remember thinking, "it's very nice but it's not special; the only thing special about this is that she thinks it's special." I guess Andy was still there, or I don't know. Dreams are funny.
Next thing I remember is we're laughing and I'm pushing her at high speeds down the city streets in a shopping cart. She's naked and I think her hair is longer and she's wearing make-up. A lot of bums and other streetfolk keep calling out to us as we ride past things like, "You look like a girl!" and "You're all girly!" and I realize that these are Mirador/-bel's friends, and they are used to seeing her in androgynous mode, with her tomboy looks and boy clothes. I guess I was bringing out a feminine side in her? And racing down the street as a game with it. Or something.
Anyway despite all the touching and nakedness, this didn't have the tone of a sex dream. It had the tone of meeting someone new. I remember that as soon as we walked into the waiting room I was totally fascinated with this girl and wanted to find a way to talk to her. I think that's why we were bitching about Film Center students as spoiled kids, because it was the only opener I could come up with. She had a charismatic calmness, like she would do her thing and wait for the world to want her, rather than try and be what the world wanted her to be. It's a trait I've always been drawn to.
And then I woke up in that vaguely smitten-in-my-dream way and laid there a bit, struggling not to forget this person who doesn't exist and who will never return. Sounds familiar.