I titled my blog "Writers Luck" in an ironic attempt to display the strife a writer goes though. I had writers block but tonight, my Dream Journal saved me. Every author should keep a dream journal, when you have writers block just look back on past dreams.
This is a dream I had on August 5th 2005. I have of course altered it to make sense for your eyes.
Masked Man Memo
Chanelle and I were assigned to a Black Panther Movement sit in at a Woolworth's Lunch counter. The year was 1952. I dont remember the season, I dont remember the date, all I can remember was that black mask he wore to tempt my faith. I was destined to be graced by his presence.
He was the leader of our posse, but then again I dont even remember the rest of the posse. I just remember him, he had this aura of strength that guided my will towards figuring out this man. Heh, I cant even tell you what he looked like. He wore a black mask. He was sexy still. Maybe he was sexy because I could paint his black canvas with my feline paintbrush. No matter the case. The fact that I couldnt see his face, still made him first in my place.
He instructed our posse of disgruntled, disgraced, displaced, deacons to chain themselves to the counter. It was my turn to be chained. He leaned in and wrapped his big thick hard...cord of steel, around my tiny waist. Thats when it stroked me. The scent of heavenly pineapples and manly musk. Like a fruity sexy tropical gush of sensation. I whiffed him in and began my dream in a dream.
"Wait!" I Hypothesized.
"Take It Off." I demanded.
I really wanted him to take off that mask - and his shirt. As if he knew my dirty innuendo, he smiled wryly and took the chains from around my waist. And breathed these unearthly words, that proved my Hypothesis.
"You don't have to be afraid my Love."
For a momment I forgot my name was Lovelette.
He continued his bondage and coy BDSM with my heart. I could think of many places I wanted him to chain me up and the Lunch counter at Woolworth's was not one of them, or was it?
He continued his facetious bondage on the rest of our posse. He paused at the mulatto chic with the red beret tilted to the side, for a second too long. I was embarresed at my own jealousy for a man I didn't even know. I still wanted to smack that chic. When he continued his foreplay on our patrons, I continued the foreplay in my psyche.....
....I could feel his brown skin rubbing my complexion as if I were the bottle that held the key to his Genie. His hands had yet to discover the reason why men quiver. I let time escape and I could feel a moan escape, as a tongue had found my nape......
I opened my brown eyes to alarm, this white man was grabbing me by the neck. Masked Man came to my rescue. We had to make a great escape, and I was glad I was in his arms. He nursed me to sleep, not a sound he did peep.
My hand did creep to take a sneak peek, I wanted to see what was under that black heap of fabric. When my hand found the treat. I knew this was the right man to meet.