cock pocket
Every so often I'll have a dream that shakes me up and makes me feel slightly off-kilter for a day or two.

One of these dreams is a recurring one where I have giant thumbs. Nothing else happens in the dream. I just have giant thumbs and go about my business.

The next day, awake and with the mind wobble of the giant thumb experience, I always find myself constantly rotating them and doing things I wouldn't normally do with my thumbs but they're quite apt at doing all the same, such as flicking the electric kettle switch, using it to do the del in ctrl+alt+del instead of my right hand forefinger. I just need to reassure myself that they aren't massive you see.

But my rather tenuous post to the phobia qotw isn't about giant thumbs. No, it isn't a phobia but it was fucking realistic and scared the life and all the shit out of me.

The other night I found myself in the US / Vietnam war. I believe that I was fairly new to the platoon and therefore a bit shit in a combat situation, but hey, all was good. My platoon was just snaking along some dense jungle terrain with only the odd annoying mosquito for company. 'This will be ok' was the general feeling of the dream.

As dreams are wont to do the next thing I was on my own and all hell was breaking loose. Screams broke through the foliage as my comrades were slaugheterd, cut down, had their throats slit and were dragged off into the distance.

I'm not ashamed to say, given the horror of the situation and evidence that the odds were defo stacked against a successful one man stand, I hid and put some mud on my face, like a poor mans rambo in rambo: first blood part 2.

Curling into a ball, I slept until they went away. Well, half slept - I do snore after all.

Night came and passed so figuring it safe to find my way back to camp, keeping low I began to creep, keeping adjacent to the trail, deep in the foliage. Making about 20 meters in what seemed like an hour progress was slow and I had to keep constant watch for shadows, movement, footprints, booby traps. It was necessarilly slow.

Hang on. Something in the mud. What's this? I look closer. Is that a cock? I pick it up. It is a cock. I drop it.

I continue my slothlike progress. A few metres
more I see something else. It's another cock.

What's with all of these cocks thought I? Scoping the area I find more. About a dozen cocks of varies size, race, and shape. Quite cleany severed off I must say.

Then it hits me. They're cutting off my platoon's cocks to demasculate them and maybe stop them from breeding in their next incarnation.

So I then decide to do something heroic. With their bodies taken, probably never to be found, I would scour the area of the firefight collecting the cocks so I could take them home for their mothers to remember them by.

The rest of my dream is spent collecting cocks and putting them in the various expansive pockets of my fatigues. Trying to be as quiet as I can. Also, I construct a system of marking the territory so I don't go over old ground.

THinking it was pretty much job done I give the area one final onceover.

AAGGH! Hands around my neck. Excitable chatter. Now they have their arm wrapped around tight and strangling me. More voices, now closer. Someone kicks my legs from underneath me and the stranglehold gets tenser. I feel myself being dragged backwards and my fatigues are ripped from me. I scream like a big girly flanders.

I wake up.

THank fuck for that. It gave me the wobble though. I shower, dress and drive to work. All the time mulling over what the fuck that dream was about. I told my colleagues and they just laughed.

But strangest thing is that it was so realistic, the emotions, the clarity of it all that every time, for the next couple of days, that I put my hands in my pockets I expected to come out holding a severed cock or three.
(Heyzeus, Thu 10 Apr 2008, 20:56, 1 reply)

My god.
This is more bizarre than any of my dreams, and I thought mine were strange, especially the one with the zombie chavs.
( Rev. Cleo still alive, Thu 10 Apr 2008, 21:59, closed)