It has come to my attention for the very first time of my life that someone actually admitted of dreaming about me...in that way. That way. A way that no longer is unthought of. Let me add the fudge to the sundae of sexuality here. A woman, young lady whatever, had a dream about me. That just proves that as lonely as I may feel, there is someone with a heart of charity thinking of me.
I have not even had the chance to speak with her about this matter. I know she knows this blog exists so someday this could make for an awkward chat, if her parents of a priest are around. Otherwise, I am sure it will be summed up with the catch-all 20-something suffix of ...but I was drunk.
So it got me thinking, of what she was thinking. Does she know that I am not too flexible? Was the floor used? Hardwood? Yeesh, I hope padded carpet. Does she think that I am in shape? I certainly hope that pipedream is the least detailed. I know that I have made her laugh quite a bit and would only beg that all hilarity was not experienced while in the buff.
Now to you missy. Who told you to go tell people that you are putting yourself to rest with racey images of a lanky 6'5" freckled dreamboat? My own mind has gone to town and back over the thought of the situation. Your dream has now caused residual dreaming on my part. Unfortunately, when I confront you on the expectations from your dream in mine, I wake up.
Somehow even in REM I have become blue balled.