I found an odd combination of substances causes vivid dreams. Drink Coors Light andÂ piÃ±a 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.
“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.”
“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.