I had too much boredom coffee today, which means one of two things: I’m either high or dying. In any case, let’s get this show on the road!
I had a sex dream last night. It was pretty tame, but if you’re not into going down this route (both those puns entirely intentional), the last exit is on the right.
Coolsville, daddio. I don’t have a heap of sex dreams. Or if I do, it’s rare for me to remember them. I’m not a teenager anymore. It’s not like the sight of an open avocado is enough to send me into an eroticised tailspin. My mind is no longer a rabid howler monkey intent on flinging its shit at whatever sticks. It’s more like a chimp. Closer to human, but still not afraid to flay a face or two. When I do have sex dreams now, they’re more controlled. A tighter narrative than errant flesh and flowing water. Let’s go.
I’m not sure where I was in a geographical sense. I was travelling for work, but I was at a bar for sure. I was chatting with the bartender, nursing a whiskey and in walked Scarlett Johansson. I know what you’re thinking. Couldn’t my subconsciousness be more imaginative? It’s got unlimited pasture in which to run free. Not only did it not need to be a celebrity, but dreams are abstract. It could’ve been a humanoid alien or something. Get creative for (literally) my fuck’s sake. Anyway, in the dream I played it cool and kept sipping my drink and minding my own business. She sidled up to the bar and ordered a vodka on the rocks. We started chatting and it was obviously a dream, because I was not only quippy, but charming. We hit it off and soon enough I had to leave. I said she was welcome to join me. She did.
Two things somehow made even less sense. 1) I knew I was off to do some work. Would I ditch work IRL to spend time with a movie star? I mean, probably. In the dream though, I was resolute in heading for an office. Secondly, we decided to drive. We’d both had a bunch, but in dreamland our intoxication didn’t seem to matter. She had a rental, some smooth black convertible. It was her car, I knew this, but for some reason I jumped in the driver’s seat. We zipped along the highway and got caught up in traffic. Things in the car were steaming up. We were both pretty touchy and started working all up on each other. Hands darted down to laps and grasped hold. It was obvious we were both into it, but neither of us cared to go down on one another in the middle of the highway. My desire to get to work dwindled. Did we want to rent a hotel room? Find somewhere to turn off pull up the roof and get to business?
We stopped and tried to work out a strategy. I said that we clearly weren’t the only people who’d have these qualms. How often did people want quick and easy places in public to take some down time? What if, I posited, there were hidden locations you could access purely for having sex? She pulled out her phone and made some calls. We turned off the highway and headed to an office somewhere. We were in a boardroom chatting to the small team she’d assembled. There were engineers, architects, lawyers and accountants. I laid my plans out on the table. We talked specs and locations. There was agreement all around. This was not only a solid idea, but had long lucrative legs.
Cut back to the highway. We were both back in the car, but she was driving this time. We took a left exit that led down to a secluded swamp. I pressed a button on the remote and a hidden tunnel opened up. We drove through and saw a large cavern with hundreds of little alcoves. We drove into one of the alcove and a door closed behind us. Lights sprung on and we were in a private room with a bed, cross and a bunch of toys. I looked over to her and raised my eyebrow (it was a dream, so somehow this wasn’t seen as seedy and reprehensible) and asked her “so should we road test the equipment?” She grinned and hopped onto my lap.
If only this was as feasible in real life.