I had a dream … I think.

I found an odd combination of substances causes vivid dreams. Drink Coors Light and piña coladas in the hot desert sun while floating in a pool full of bath water. Add three or four sake bombs (depending on your weight), many rolls of sushi, tequila, and a tightly-rolled, dark-skinned cigar. Then, stumble home and hit the hay, preferably before you hit your nose on the pavement.

“Hey, cutie.”

“Huh? What?”

“Remember me?”

“Fuck. Where … what the … who?”

“From the pool? Melissa?”

“Yes, yes, right. Sorry it’s dark. Wait a minute. How did you get in here?”

“Your roommate gave me the key.”

“Kudos to him. He gets a wingman of the year nomination from me.”

“So. What would you like to do, now that I’m here?”

“Um, bake a cake?”


“Well, I do have the sweetest ingredient.”

“Don’t you want to kiss?”

“Why, sure. I must warn you, though, I smell of fermentation and burned leaves. My penis is also at the perilous stage between being unable to rise to the occasion and unable to return to its original state.”

“Whiskey dick?”

“Something like that.”

“Let’s see what I can do.”

The dream girl peeled down my boxer-briefs and began inflating her love doll (me). I had a tweener. I kept thinking, please, Willy, don’t let me down. Luckily she was quite skilled and Willy rose to the occasion. I never really know for sure if a woman wants me to finish, unless she tells me, which is extremely rare. When she sensed the point of no return was approaching, she climbed back up and whispered to me.

“Do you have a condom?”

“Um, yeah, no.”

“Which is it? Yeah or No?”


“Shame on you. What sort of man goes on vacation without a condom.”

“The fixed kind who is also a low expectation having mother fucker.”

“Hm. That’s a shame.”

“Damn. You just want to sleep now, right?”

“No. I meant it’s a shame that you don’t want to have babies.”


“Well, no, I’m not getting pregnant tonight,” she continued while sliding her thong to the side and inserting me, “because I’m on the pill. I came prepared, Mister.”

The sex was good, I think. Dream sex always is, isn’t it? There are never premature ejaculations in dreams. No people walking in on you. No broken penises or bruised taints. No wet dog’s nose in the mix. No “oops, my period started early.” Dream sex is always awesome, except for the part when you wake up the next morning and realize it was just a dream. Then you limp through a breakfast buffet of runny eggs, stale bacon, and blintzes, wondering if that sort of serendipitous sex ever happens in real life.

Have you defined your dream boy or dream girl?

If you don’t know what you’re after, prepare yourself for long nights of window shopping. Some people get off on that. Still, if you want a partner who fits, you’d better know your requirements. Each gender defines their mates uniquely, and each person within the gender has varied tastes as well. Most of these tastes change with age and experience.

For example, soon after my first boner, this was my dream girl:

  • Older
  • Experienced
  • Likes to play
  • Kisses with her mouth closed
  • Has bouncy little boobies I can play with
  • Will write book reports for me if I help her with algebra
  • Loves Whopper Minis like I do
  • Has a purse with candy, mostly the red, chewy kind
  • Can’t run as fast as I can or kick my butt
  • Doesn’t have any female friends who are mean

In college it changed to:

  • Likes to drink until she pukes
  • Smokes the occasional doob
  • Can write an essay for me if I write her Basic program
  • Likes to dance, with me only, to songs in my record collection
  • Won’t mind having sex with me if someone else is in the room and the lights are out
  • Has a nice roommate who walks around in just her undies often
  • Will attend sporting events with me and yell
  • Wants sex more than once a week
  • Won’t bang any of my hallmates
  • Knows how to give a blowjob without biting or squeezing my nuts too tightly


  • Earns enough money to avoid leeching off my struggling-to-make-the-rent butt
  • Has no more than one roommate, dog, or cat
  • Doesn’t mind sleeping over my place and leaving before breakfast
  • Can help me shop for clothing and teach me how to iron
  • Cooks something more than Ramen noodles, but doesn’t mind eating them
  • Is sometimes into deviant sex, but she never was with any previous lovers
  • Works on losing the college twenty and keeping them off
  • Wears bikinis, lingerie, and my shirts
  • Is on some sort of reliable birth control
  • Will keep the whining to a minimum while I do manly things


  • Drinks wine–almost as much as I do–and enjoys shots of fine tequila
  • Will be my designated driver at least half the time
  • Loves the penis often, especially in the morning without too much kissing
  • Has her own TV, car, and credit cards
  • Supports the democratic platform and legalization of marijuana
  • Does some exercise (without me) beyond the senseless elliptical machine
  • Is content having text-message conversations with me
  • Will at least offer to buy me breakfast or cover a tip once in a while
  • Hates condoms and has a well-kept whisker biscuit
  • Won’t correct me, shave me, or bring me to Jesus

My empty bed and cat-hair coated keyboard suggest my dream girl needs a makeover.