The feeling of being watched

I first began to experiment with lucid dreaming after mentioning to a counselor that in almost all of my dreams I am with a boy. The same boy. My counselor was so intrigued that she explained the basics of how to achieve lucidity to me and two weeks later I was lucid. At the time I had paired my RCs with my watch, so that whenever I checked the time, I would be reminded to perform a RC and every time I performed an RC I checked my watch. When I was in my dream, I felt the need to check the time (because when you are robbing banks generally you have to move on a schedule). Looking at my watch, I suddenly had an inkling that there was something else I was supposed to remember. "What was it again?" I pondered. Then it came to me, "oh, that I am dreaming." Then, BAM! It was like the whole world rippled and suddenly I found myself standing, lucid, in the middle of a ghost town tucked away in the desert. I could feel the heat of the sand heating the soles of my feet through my shoes. I lifted my face to the sky and held a hand up to block the sun from my eyes, relishing in the feel of it on my skin. It felt so real. I could not believe it. There was a gentle breeze, and then I remembered why it was I was here in the first place. Turning in a half circle, I located the boy about 30 feet away leaning against the railing on the deck of what I assumed used to be the general store. I walked over and up the steps, amazed at the creak of the wood beneath my feet, and rested my elbows on the railing next to him. It was quiet between us, but comfortable. Because that was how it would always been. In my dreams, we never spoke to each other. Instead, we communicated with a sort of thought/emotion transfer where, whatever he felt, I knew and if he needed to tell me something, I already knew what it was he wanted to tell me. So in that moment, silence was...right. I ran my hands over the rough texture of the wood banister, feeling it splinter beneath my ridges of my fingers, fascinated that I could feel it at all. I felt his eyes on me then, and looked over. I could tell that he knew something was different. It was in the way he was watching me. Something between curiosity and amusement. I guess normally, in my dreams, I am not so captivated by wood. His eyes met mine and I knew then; it was time to do what I would come for. "What is your name?" I asked, my eyes searching his for answers. He smiled small and sweet, and the gesture surprised me because it spoke volumes of a character who I would only ever thought of as a shadow in the waking world. "My name is--" Next thing I knew I was opening my eyes to the pale blue of my ceiling and the monotonous screeching of my alarm clock.