Oh dear God, I had that weird dream again.
Some people say I’m not normal.
Some people say I’m insane.
The psychologist from school, she says I’m not.
Anyway, I shouldn’t tell my dream to any of those people. Even though, if I’m actually mad, I don’t see why should I be ashamed of it. Funny thing, I never saw it that way before. Maybe because I never really thought about it. I mean, I never thought of the fact that I could really be insane and that, in this case, I shouldn’t be ashamed of what I am. I mean, if I discovered that I was black, would I have the idea of hiding it? No. If I became homosexual, should I be hiding myself?
Whether I’m crazy or normal, I think no one would understand if I told them my weird dream. Even to the psycho of my school I told nothing. She’d think I’m nuts.
It was in a house I think. A house a little like our house I think. And she was bending down as if, I don’t know, as if she was grabbing something on the floor for instance. And I, I saw her panties stuck into her bottom because her dress was lifted. I was feeling all funny in my dream. Then I came closer and I wasn’t massaging her bottom, no, I wasn’t kissing her greedily, I didn’t take her breasts in my hands, I wasn’t doing anything one may do when they desire a woman, because I wasn’t desiring her, it was something else. It was rather like a strange fusion, something that’s almost normal, and terribly good. I was getting closer and what I was doing was that without saying anything, crac, I penetrated her without even take her panties off. And even when I saw it was my Mum I kept on, I was coming and going, knowing that it was my Mum and that it was terribly good.
I’m 15 and 3 days.
Do you think it’s easy when you’re 15 and 3 days to say: “Mum, I dreamt I was fucking you last night, is that normal?”
I must be insane.
I wonder if Crocheton ever had that kind of dream. Maybe he did after all. Maybe he did dream he was fucking Mum. Oh fuck, I can’t imagine me asking. He could take it wrong.
It’s not the first time I have this dream. When I wake up my willy is all hard, all straight. And just before opening my eyes I feel so good. And as soon as I get into the real world I feel like they made me eat shit because I feel disgusting. I don’t know if I’m normal.
If I asked Crocheton: “Hey, did you ever dream you were fucking Mum?”, he’d be capable of answering she’s not his real mother. You can’t expect something different from my brother; you can’t expect something different from a guy who spends all day investigating on his genealogy. I don’t know how many hours he spent on internet, at the libraries and at the town hall records until now, just to prove that he’s been adopted. My parents can tell him he hasn’t, he won’t believe them. “One day, I’ll find my real parents. Even if they come from another planet”, that’s what he said to me again yesterday. Sometimes I think Crocheton is a little crazy. But as I’m not sure I’m quite normal either, I don’t say anything.
When he was my age, Crocheton, 4 years ago, I remember he scared me. He pushed me, I fell and then he sat on my chest, blocked my arms and took his willy out of his pants and he wanted to make me eat it. I, I was shouting. I was struggling, but he was 15 and I was 11. When Mum entered the room she said “Crocheton, leave Brad-Pitt alone!” Here. It’s not such a fascinating story.
It’s funny what the willy can make you do. Well, I’m sorry for the people, well, the girl-people who don’t have one and who maybe have the feeling they can’t understand what I’m talking about; but it’s true, the willy makes us do weird things sometimes. I wonder if Crocheton, when he was my age, also tried to enter his willy into Jean-Pierre. But, same thing, I can’t imagine asking him. I had the forearm torn into pieces and I told my father I fell in gym class. That we ran the 110 meters hurdles. That I fell on the ground. The truth is that Jean-Pierre, he, he didn’t feel like me sticking my willy into him at all. Fuck. I must be insane. “Crocheton, is that normal if one feels like sodomize his cat?” I can’t imagine asking him that.
Mrs Goimain she said the other day to my Mum: “at this age, they’re tortured by the hormones. It makes their blood boil. Some even become insane.” I, I told her that according to the stats, she should be dead in over 3 years. Mum said: “Brad-Pitt, apologize to Mrs Goimain”. I said I apologized, that, actually, it was 2 years according to the official numbers. Paf. She slapped me. I’ll be mad at my Mum all my life because of that slap ; even if she wasn’t declared mentally deficient, even if she’s feeble, and sometimes she dribbles a little, I’ll be mad at my Mum my entire life for this slap. All my life I’ll be mad at her for giving me that slap before old Mrs Goimain did.