Dreams of Maternity Pt. 08

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October 12th – Exhibitionism

All right, I’m still with the girl I mentioned before my hiatus, things are going very well (boyfriend/girlfriend-official!), and I think I’m in the right mental state to dip my toes back into my lucid dreaming hobby (nothing more than a hobby, I need to remember). I’ve even disclosed my fetish to her, which she does not share but is very open to exploring with me to see where that takes us.

I decided I want my goals for dreaming to be a little more specific, so for now, I’m going to further attempt to dream of scenarios in which I am a pregnant woman. I’ve found the dreams I’ve had of this type enlightening in the past, and hope to learn more about the female experience through them now, if that’s a thing that’s even possible within my own brain. It’ll all be very research-informed, so hopefully it’s not all purely masturbatory. Though, yeah, there’ll be plenty of masturbation involved, too. I’m not a completely new person or anything.


Ok, onward to last night’s dream! I was reading a lot about pregnant women’s experiences in public, especially in regard to the extra attention they draw, male gaze issues, etc. The dream I ended up with last night was centered around exhibitionism. I was a woman 7 months into her pregnancy, attending what felt like a music festival, but contained no audible music. Very crowded and outdoors, whatever it was. I wore jeans and a tight pink tank top over a black bra, pre-maternity attire that showed off an inch or two of underbelly cleavage. I could feel the great many heads I was turning, and I actually really liked it. Right out in the open, I pulled my top off over my head, continuing on in just a bra and jeans.

More heads were most definitely turned. A fully-bared pregnant belly is one hell of an eye-catcher, not to mention some nearly-bared, milk-swollen breasts. I practically strutted through the crowd, attempting (and succeeding, I’m pretty sure) to exude a sort of sexual confidence and exhibitionist nonchalance. No big deal, I’m very scantily clad, and I’m carrying a baby at the moment: who cares. That sort of attitude.

Appreciating the elevated level of attention (and not being cat-called or groped or harassed in any way by the surprisingly respectful crowd) made me want to take things to the next level. I ducked into a portable toilet, removing bra, jeans, and panties, exiting wearing sandals and nothing else (convenient bonus: you can leave your clothes wherever the hell you want in a dream – no need to get them back or worry about it at all!).

People really, really seemed to enjoy my presence now. I didn’t get cat-calls, but considerate compliments. Especially about my wild bush and my dark, milk-leaking nipples. A few people asked to rub my belly, and I happily obliged them. Of course, I do realize that every member of this crowd was a manifestation of my subconscious, and that my subconscious is extraordinarily pro-pregnancy. So, I wasn’t getting a real life response, but one informed by research yet inevitably filtered through my own positive biases. I’m not saying it’s scientific, but I do think I’m learning a thing or two. escort bursa I’ve definitely never been stared at that much, for one thing. That experience alone is pretty eye-opening, for my money.

Eventually, I got cold from being nude outside and willed myself awake. Always a bit of a letdown when I wake up an average guy after being a pregnant lady in a dream. That’s just life, though, and I’m always thankful for my lucid experiences. I certainly enjoyed this outing.

October 15th – The Ultrasound

I dream-experienced my first ultrasound last night, and it went…interestingly. The gel the doctor applied to my just-starting-to-show belly was cold, as I’ve always heard it would be. It was pretty fascinating watching the monitor as he searched for heartbeats. He quickly found one, letting me know I was carrying a healthy child. It felt hugely relieving, a tangible weight lifting off my chest the moment he reported the good news. He kept at it with the wand, though, and almost immediately found another heartbeat. And another. He could barely tell me about the number of babies I was carrying before he found another and had to amend his count. In fact, I woke up before he’d even finished, anxiety finally getting the best of me.

This all was sort of exciting from a fetishist’s viewpoint, thinking about how big my bump could grow with what seemed to be an infinite number of fetuses growing within me. On the other hand, all the practicalities and intimidating realities of having a shit-ton of babies at once hit me HARD. I was crying by the end, no longer fantasizing about bump growth. Tough realities can really temper sexual excitement, it turns out. Of course they can.

October 16th – JOI

Much fun last night. Didn’t really plan at all for this one, but it was a welcome and enjoyable little sensual experience nonetheless. I found myself a pregnant woman once again, smooth watermelon-shaped third trimester bump hard to keep my eyes and hands off. Tits surprisingly perky for how obviously swollen with milk they were. I was nude, kneeling on the floor of a seedy motel room. A fit nude man stood in front of me, to whom I provided JOI: Jerk-Off Instructions, if you’re not familiar. He touched himself right in front of me as I directed him, speeding up satisfyingly as my instructions excited him. It went something like this:

“Stroke that cock for me, baby. Nice and slow, no rush. Look at these pregnant tits. Do you want me to spray some of my milk onto your cock? You might just have to spray something from your cock onto my tits first. Or just right onto my belly. I’d LOVE it if you shot your load right onto my preggo baby bump. I want to rub it in till I’m nice and shiny, then you can lick your cum off my fingers for me. Don’t you just love the taste of your own juices? I know my pussy tastes fantastic. Okay, go a little faster now. Stroke, stroke, stroke. Yeah, there you go, baby. Don’t be afraid to do it nice and hard. Yeah, keep going. Ohh, God, keep going! Blow that load right onto my bump!”

He took a step forward, stroking himself furiously as he climaxed. The cum landed directly on my belly, which I was pretty fucking aroused görükle escort by. I spread it all over, shining whitely and so very sticky to the touch. As soon as I finished coating myself, my belly turned fattier and startlingly hairy: I had mysteriously and abruptly gone mpreg! This was a first for me in my dreams, but I can’t say it was unpleasant once I got over the initial shock. The shift even came with a new load of cum, so I got to rub myself shiny once more.

When I finally looked up after concentrating on rubbing two consecutive loads into two consecutive bumps, the producer of the semen had disappeared, as had the bed in the motel room and the bathroom door. Dreams are both sexy and weird.

October 19th – The Horror

I wasn’t visibly pregnant, but I was hunched over a dorm room ladies’ room toilet puking my guts out at 6 in the morning. For the fifth day in a row. There was a creeping dread in both body and mind that I just couldn’t shake. I’d gotten myself knocked up, I was just sure of it. Finally done puking for the moment, I went back to my room to grab the pregnancy test I’d finally worked up the nerve to buy last night. The slow walk back to the bathroom felt like a walk down death row, right to the electric chair. My life was fucking over. I was 19 years old, a pregnant teen.

The test confirmed it, as I had no doubt it would. I felt I had entirely lost control of my body; it had betrayed me and utterly fucked up my life. I blame my reproductive system and irresponsible partying for my newly confirmed condition, not the motherfucker who didn’t want to use a condom when we drunkenly hooked up a few weeks ago. I don’t know why I placed every bit of the blame on myself, but that’s exactly what happened. Back in my room, I cried until I fell asleep.

Falling asleep in the dream triggered wakefulness in the real world. I felt I’d just received a serious lesson in empathy. What heartbreak, finding out you’d become a dreaded “pregnant teen,” every school system’s favorite cautionary tale and shameful persona. Fuck all that stigma.

October 24th – Labor

It was a brief but powerful dream, enjoyable despite its painfulness. Labor. Goddamn. I really appreciated being able to experience some small approximation of such a vaunted human miracle/ordeal. Even with the pain and fright I felt, I’m very glad I put myself in this situation.

Contractions were crazy. It was still pretty hot to feel my bump go ultra-hard, but the whole-body pain part was intense, not very lengthy in actuality but felt like it lasted for hours and was never going to stop. I’m glad I stopped short of the birth aspect, as that prospect was absolutely terrifying amidst the other things I did feel. I knew the actual delivery would be by far the worst part, and just couldn’t imagine something worse than what the contractions put me through.

A pale imitation, but I feel your pain in some small way, ladies. Thanks for having those babies! You’re all my heroes.

October 31st – Rubs

Now this one was just a straight-up pleasure. So much fun, so much communal good feeling, so much kindness and enjoyment of the bursa escort bayan human form. Positivity was in full bloom at what I’d best describe as a “maternity convention.” It was definitely held in a huge, convention center-esque venue, and it was just about wall-to-wall pregnant women in attendance. There were signs around that were difficult for me to read within the dream (reading’s always near-impossible in these things), but the gist was “Keep Your Shirt Hiked Up if You’d Like to Participate in Belly Rubbing.” Not concise, but I’m not sure how else to explain it. And it went equally for receiving and giving rubs.

I’d say north of 50% of the preggos there had their bellies bared, open for business rub-wise. I certainly had mine up! This made asking about rubs unnecessary, the act of approaching a bump with hands outstretched sanctioned and enjoyed by all participating. Great policy, if I may compliment my own mind’s concoction. My bump was massive in this one, protruding significantly and remarkably uniformly across all parts of my torso, plus spreading out beyond my sides (easily identifiable as preggo from behind). People seemed to enjoy it’s mix of soft and firm sections very much.

Torpedos, watermelons, teardrops, amorphous guts, basketballs, beach balls: I can’t think of a potential bump shape I didn’t get my hands on. Nor size, with just-barely-showing 2-monthers getting as much attention as 10-month twinners. Equality and enthusiasm reigned. I even saw a few daring ladies with their breasts bared, inviting people to squeeze them for a fun spray of milk. Everything was on the table, all pregnancy changes being celebrated and enjoyed by all these enthusiasts (and this fetishist, of course…).

I think events marginally similar to this do exist in the real world, but definitely not for a guy to comfortably attend. And certainly not with so much bare pregnant skin and such a liberal touching policy in place. I would absolutely love to have a pregnant partner with whom I could attend such a gathering at some point in my life!

November 2nd – BBW Pride

I don’t believe I’d been a BBW pregnant woman before, but I was last night and it was very illuminating. Society’s judgement of my body felt palpable, mitigated only by the fact that I was visibly pregnant, temporarily the socially acceptable way in which to be bigger than idealized media images tell you to be. I could tell that this was the first time I’d ever felt a measure of body positivity, the thought of which curdled pretty hard when I thought about just how fleeting my time as a visibly pregnant person would be. Afterward, it would be back to the shame/guilt patterns that were societally omnipresent.

At the moment, though, the world loved my body, it’s shape suggesting procreative health rather than bodily disrepair. I managed to feel more confident than I thought would have been possible given all the bullshit baggage being fat (used in the taking-it-back empowering fashion!) comes with. But really, looking back, I cannot get over the rancor aimed towards fat people, all the bigotry displayed to them. Fuck all that, celebrate all bodies, let people be the people they are, shut your judgmental fucking mouths.

Being fat is hard as hell (male or female). And as I’ve been seeing, being a woman is hard in so very many ways. My eyes are much more widely open today than they were a few weeks ago.

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