Dream, the Impossible Dream

Earlier this week I made the mistake of telling Adam about this little dream that I had.  This wasn’t your Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. kinda dream, but the kind you have when you are sleeping.  Generally the dreams I have and remember are akin to a David Lynch film and would receive an R rating from the MPAA, but this one surely would have received an NC-17.  Things were hot and heavy, and down and dirty.  Normally this kinda thing would be just fine with me.  I’m an adult male and am used to having dreams of a salacious nature.  But this dream featured body parts I don’t find myself wanting to interact with on a very physical level.  As I described it to Adam a few days after the sex nightmare, “I had to lick titties and touch vajajay.”

Unlike most gay men, I have gone down that road before.  It was okay.  But I just knew that it wasn’t right.  It felt unnatural to me and it was not fun.  Plus I was watching the Golden Globes over her shoulder.  Since then, award shows have always made me feel a little uncomfortable.

So why did I have this dream?  I searched for the answer.

I was watching the first season of “True Blood” as I fell asleep.  It was one of the the episodes in which Lizzy Caplan’s character, Amy, sexes up Jason Stackhouse.  There was a whole lot of booby on display.  And there certainly was a resemblance between the pert nipples of Caplan and those my mouth was pushed onto during my dream.  By the way, when I say pushed down onto, I mean the faceless chick in my dream pushed my head onto her rubber nips.  That was probably the inspiration for the physical form of the woman in my dream.  (No offense to Lizzy Caplan, but I don’t like her acting that much.)

Have I gotten it wrong?  I mean, I started to come out to friends 13 years ago this week, but maybe I was meant to chew on perky milk nozzles and use my fingers to spread the sacred carpet.

I don’t really think so.  Just writing that gave me chills (no offense ladies… and dudes who like ladies).

So what do you think this freaktacular sexfest was about?  Just random images thrown together?  Do I find Ryan Kwanten so hot that I want to be him?  Or does it represent some deep psychological compulsion I have to conform to societal norms?  I just don’t know… so I call upon you, my bloggy friends, to solve my conundrum before it becomes cunnilingus.  HELP!


9 thoughts on “Dream, the Impossible Dream”

  1. I fell asleep last night with the TV on and tuned to CNN. I woke up around 3am and heard that Sue Johanson (the old lady that talks about sex) had died. I Googled it this morning, and could find no mention of it … I guess that was a dream??

  2. Umm, I don’t know you, but I think Tam is probably right. Have you ever had a dream where you sort of switched perspective or point of view? I have.

    I do have to say that the phrases “perky milk nozzles” and “sacred carpet” did make me snort diet coke.

  3. I’m with Tam, it was a dream, don’t worry about it. Dreams aren’t meant to make sense, they are the brain’s way of blowing off steam.

  4. Well, just because you dream you can fly doesn’t mean you should jump off a building. I agree with Tam, Eyre and john : ).

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