I once got up sitting and started to touch mine and my girlfriends ankles. The reason I apparently gave, highly distressed, was “The Orcs, they’re coming. I need more skeletons. Give me your bones.” and returned to sleep after she told me to sleep. I also once held my cat at the finger-gun and proclaimed it was a doppleganger and it was trying to rob us, after which I pleaded stupidity and fell asleep again.
I had some close calls, even punched a wall from a dream once, it’s just a matter of time until one lands on who ever sleeps next to me at that moment.
I feel like it is an appropriate price to pay for enjoying the funny shit I say in my sleep.
I was just telling my wife this story last night: bout 15 years ago I was asleep next to my (now) ex gf. I was dreaming I was in a fight with my dad, and I punched my gf right in her back, on her spine. Didn’t really hurt her too badly but we both woke up and I apologized.
She took it shockingly well, I would have been much more angry.
You know, I have never made contact with my wife when I’m having dreams like that.
I’ve punched and kicked other people in my sleep, but never her, or my kid. Nor my dogs back when they were alive.
But anyone else? I used to warn people about it, and they wouldn’t believe me until it happened. PTSD dreams will fuck shit up lol. Even my best friend got elbowed in the nose once. After that, he learned to stay on the other side of the bed. And yes I have shared a bed with my homie. That’s how a real homie gets through a winter in the mountains when you’re both poor as fuck and heating was absurdly expensive compared to good blankets and two human furnaces.
But my wife? Even before she was my wife, I could have the worst fucking dreams and never touch her. She could even touch me and wake me up, and I wouldn’t hurt her before I was all the way awake.
I wouldn’t hurt her before I was all the way awake.
Later though, you should’ve seen me. I was swinging left and right, it was a fireworks show, a real display of athleticism. Mike Tyson would’ve wanted an autograph.
I have punched my ex in my sleep because I got in a fight with Daniel Radcliffe because he was a nazi. Another time I kicked her while practicing karate under water.
I have also been punched in the back by another girl. Then she yelled “You can kick the piss out of that one, wooooooo!”, then she spat on me. I’m fairly certain she was asleep at the time.
Cuddling my wife in our bed.
She wants me to rub her back. Rolls onto her side.
Pull at the bottom of her oversized sleep shirt for better access.
It’s stuck underneath her.
Tug again, this time more firmly. Stuck.
“Hey, what’s the hold up?”
Think of cartoon tablecloth gag.
Firmly grasp it dot jpeg. A gentlemen does not disappoint.
Yank with the force of a thousand suns.
Cloth ripping.
Wife screaming.
My asshole! MY ASSHOLE!
She teleports out of bed and runs down the hall bowl legged, screaming.
That wasn’t shirt. It was panties.
Bless her heart she wasn’t walking right for a week. I felt so tremendously guilty for inflicting her with an accidental atomic wedgie the likes of which any civilized society would consider a war crime.