First remembered dream in a long time. And it is, as all my dreams tend to be, completely forked up.
My parents' house. We go to my old room. We lay on my old bed. We begin doing what I've been thinking about for quite a long time; this is very strange. I seldom have detailed dreams, and I never have sexual dreams, so this is simultaneously weird and fun. I think it was at least partially lucid -- I knew I was dreaming, hence the feeling of novelty, and I think I was directing what I was doing.
And then the next time I look up, the object of my affections has turned into someone completely inappropriate. The dream is no longer controlled by me. I continue the motions, even the talking, while I'm filled with revulsion. I wake up.
Altogether disturbing. I hate my brain sometimes. Perhaps the crappy beer I had tonight will treat me to better dreams than the stout did last night. One can only hope.