18-nov-97

Switch to a rendered scene, with adventurous, upbeat action music. Two characters from the SNES game Chronotrigger are ducked behind the windshield of a sleek speedboat, jetting across the ocean at breakneck speed, around rocks and other obstacles. Flashy sprays of water flare up, in rows of diagonal lines, looking vaguely detached from the surface. The rendering is not perfect.

The two characters are the primitive woman and the princess. They are ducked down almost horizontal to keep behind the windshield, one over the other. There are footgrips and armgrips, which they hold onto. Each is wearing the traditional costume, the primitive with her tail, and the princess with her blue pajamas. One of the mnemonics that I used to remember this dream is "Butt", because that's what I named her when I played the game. I remember watching this action sequence in the third person and sliding my gaze over her body, enjoying its unblemished rendered perfection through the transparent pajamas. Clearly, they make these games for a male audience.

The boat is no longer on the ocean, but speeding up Scotts Valley Drive, into the woods, towards Sawyer Circle and my old house. The view swings all around it, to showcase the quality rendering and add dynamism to the soundtrack. The boat flies along gravel and dirt, the way the road was before it was paved years ago. Just after the S-curve on the hill with my house, the road terminates at a wall of roots and rock. My companion and I leap daringly off the boat before it explodes and cling to the wall, and begin to climb.

At the top of the wall some person hands me an object the size of a ball. My companion is gone. The object resembles an orange-red lemon, with deep creases in it. An outer layer falls away to reveal a softer inner core, loosely containing a thick liquid like fruit juice. This object is important in some way to my situation. The ball rolls down the hill a ways and I catch it, and see the juice barely leaking from the seams in the core.

At the top of the hill is my old house. I stand in the driveway and a group of people approaches in a van. I run to the porch, trying to get away from the people, who are pursuing me and want to catch me and alter me. I stand on the edge of the upstairs porch and leap off, trying to fly away, but I can't resist gravity well enough and I sink into the vinka vines on the hill below.

Losing precious time, I extricate myself from the vinka tangle and leap into the air. After some flying, I am passing over a dense daytime townscape, resembling the Berkeley hills. I drift down and make a fine two-point landing in a cement square, where a few people mill about. I leap around for a bit, exploring the area.

On a particularly high leap, I see a tall building before me. The outer rooms of the building have no walls, only support beams. Crowds of people are sitting on the floors of the rooms, facing outwards, napping and having lunch, waiting for some signal. I fly closer and realize that every person is a young female volleyball player.

I land on the floor of one section, in the thick of the crowd of girls, and pick up a loose-leaf manual. It is a kind of yearbook, with pictures of each girl in the building. I thumb through it lecherously, find several attractive looking faces, and stroll amongst the girls like a holiday shopper, picking out my quarry.

I spy two of the three girls but they somehow look less attractive in person. One is wearing makeup and talking about stupid things. I find the third girl and she doesn't look like her picture (don't ask me how I knew it was her, if she didn't look like the picture. Duh. It's a dream) but she looks good anyway. I grab her shoulders and gently pull her to me as though she was no more resistant than a sleepy tabby cat. Starting below her arms, I peel her clothes down to the backs of her knees as if I were unwrapping a candy bar. I then ease her forward onto her chest and examine her, greedily.

Her skin is uniformly white and flawless, like a tight sheet. I notice no ridges of muscle, but only slight bumps of backbone and hip. The curve from her back to her hips is a blunted apple shape, unconventional and fascinating in a carnal way. I slide my hands greedily over her flesh, finding the mere consistency exciting. I draw one of her legs aside and rub my crotch around on it, feeling it through my pants. I begin to approach an orgasm but realize that if I have one, I'll make a mess of my bed. Funny how one can suddenly know when one is dreaming, when it comes to practical considerations.

So I let her go. A few minutes later I wake up, and realize that the cat has been preventing me from turning over. I shove her around on the covers and reposition myself, briefly memorize a mnemonic word so that I can recall my dream, and drift off again.