I rarely remember my dreams. I'm not a big dreamer. I left my dream group because I wasn't keeping up my end of the deal.
Then, sometimes, I have a doozy.
Unfortunately, this morning, I was woken, startled by a dream.
It was vivid.
Very vivid.
Like what the hell is he doing here vivid.
Like this is a rather dodgy motel vivid.
Like I need to stay away. I spoke to my friend. We were there for a party. He remained in the background.
I needed to stay away from him. He wasn't supposed to be there. We mingled. He stayed within sight.
I returned to my room. A standard 1980's motel room. complete with a hatch for breakfast to be placed. The bed was made with sheets and blankets. Not a quilt.
He knocks on the door. I tell him I can't see him. He asks to come in. I tell him it's not a good idea. He's wearing cricket whites. No idea why.
There are people in the hallway.
I open the door and he comes in.
I tell him I shouldn't see him. I shouldn't go near him.
He sits on the bed. Somehow, his shirt is now off.
I straddle his lap, feeling his skin against mine. We kiss deeply.
-ooOoo-
I wake at this point. It's ten to seven. The alarm hasn't gone off just yet. I need to pee.
And this strangely realistic sex dream has put me in a foul mood for most of the day. The person involved is somebody I refer to internally as Voldemort - he who should not be named. I have nothing to do with him (other than he emailed me a happy new year, to which he received courteous one line back).
He is not to come back into my life.
But why am I shagging him in my dreams?
Go figure.
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