Monday, May 10, 2010

I should write a letter of complaint

My lack of ability to have dirty dreams cropped up Sunday morning, though this time it didn't end with me crying in a toilet cubicle. 

In this dream I'd gone to Brisbane for the gig at the Troubadour and I'd booked that 6am return flight that has been disturbing my peace of mind with it's bargain-ness.

As per dream rules I do not get to see the face of the man and I am thankful it is never anybody real - I would find that awkward as heck.  In the dream I know the person, but have never previously met them.  It was implied he was somebody I had talked to over the internet but not specified.

He makes his move and I am tempted, but decline his offer on the grounds that I don't want to have one-night stands anymore (in the dream he doesn't even live in Brisbane and there is no explanation as to why he is there so there and I am of course still living in North Queensland, so there is no chance it being anything more than one-off event) and I had a 6am flight to catch and I really wanted to get at least a couple of hours sleep.

So then the dream gets wildly improbably and the man says he wants to spend time with me and get to know me anyway and we go back to my hotel room and one presumes there must have been some chatting, but the dream skips that and we curl up and go to sleep.  All pleasant so far.

So then we get the closest to a dirty dream I have managed so far in my nearly forty years.  There is some sleepy interaction which leads further and we even get as far as that first slow penetration and then the alarm I've set in the dream goes off and I have to stop, pack and run for the train to the airport.

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