Disclaimer: All people in this story are 18 years or older.
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This was a dream, a very vivid one. If it's a little rough, or strange, that's because I wanted to keep the details authentic to the actual dream. Some of my dreams happen in third person, but this one was first person. I'd love to hear some comments regarding whether vivid sexual dreams, especially regarding reluctance, of this nature, are common.
My mother and I were visiting a large city where I'd never been. Kansas City, supposedly. We found ourselves at a college campus, where she had some business to take care of; she was giving a lecture or something like that. The buildings were 1960's style abstract architecture, lots of straight lines and large glass windows. I left her there, to go bike riding. Down some hills, into a quiet, older neighborhood, serene, with spacious houses, tall trees and free-form landscaping. The sun was shining, the temperature mild.
"When I'm grown up, I want to live here, I love the way these houses make me feel. It'll be expensive, but somehow, I'll make it happen." I said aloud to myself.
I took another ride around the winding, streets, trying to find a particular home with dark wood siding and a green door, and a metal trellis with vines, that I wanted to see again.
As I glanced behind me, I finally saw it out of the corner of my eye, but had taken a different turn and in a moment, didn't know where I was. I pedaled faster, and looked down to see my legs and bare feet were tanning in the sun. I usually avoided the sun, but there was nothing I could do about it now. This was a city of hills and winding roads.
I found myself riding out of that neighborhood into a different setting. This was more like a ghetto, dirtier, everything darker, grayer. I looked around and realized there were very few Caucasians such as myself, and even tho' I appreciated diversity, I felt nervous at the way most of the people I passed looked at me. They seemed to be thinking I didn't belong, and had no business there.
"Can you tell me where, the school is, the college?"
I asked a pair of women.
"Hey, I don't know this city either, I've never been here before." One of them snapped.
I found the streets had become sidewalks, that wove between buildings, mainly apartment houses, and there were flights of steps. A couple of men had started following me, aggressively, shouting things, whistling, asking me what I was doing there.
My bike was bouncing and imbalanced, as I rode down the stairs when I could. But finally, I had to get off and push it. It was a sort of dirty, muted pink color, a vintage bike. My anxiety and discomfort at being lost here had started to turn into fear, and in the numbers of milling people, everyone seemed hostile.