February 01, 2005
Nyquil = Awesome Sex Dreams
The Husband couldn't sleep last night, and I think I know why. It's because I was having the most AMAZING sex dream about Orlando Bloom, and the moaning and writhing probably kept him awake.
*sigh* So pretty...
And normally, I don't go for the pretty guys because I'm WAY too insecure to be with someone prettier than me (which is why my forbidden love of Heather will most likely go unconsummated**). But hey, when Mr. Languid Eyes & Curly Hair & Fetching Smile is standing in the bedroom of my teenage years in nothing but navy blue undies, I'M NOT MADE OF STONE!
And besides that, he was, for some inexplicable reason, totally into me, and seriously, I'm 35, married and carrying around an extra 20 lbs. I got no business being selective. Or scrupulous, apparently.
But as I said, it was the bedroom of my formative years, and I was in it, so I was single in my dream, and that makes it okay! (Hi, Husband! I love you! Kissies!)
So there were various petting and sex acts, and none of it was linear or cohesive. Kind of like a sex montage, minus the "Eye of the Tiger" soundtrack. But one part stands out in my memory.
Orlando totally farted. He was getting his clothes back on at some point, and I was in the bathroom fixing my JFL hair or whatever, and I heard him fart.
And I remember thinking, as I smiled dreamily to myself, "He's probably hoping I didn't hear that, and since he's so fucking hot and just rode me like a pony, I'm gonna pretend I didn't. But it kinda makes him more... human. Orlando Bloom farts. I don't think 'Tiger Beat' will be printing that headline anytime soon. It's just my little secret. He's a real person. And I did him."
Yes. So. Even in my fantasy sex life, I can't escape the escape of gas. Next thing you know, I'll have Bruce Campbell's dog watching us and licking himself.
[**As I was sketching out this blog in my head (as I am wont to do, constantly) the next morning, I was standing in front of a full-length mirror and putting on lipstick. This parenthetical sentence popped into my head, and I was struck with déjà vu.
I had to wonder when the hell, before now, I'd ever been putting on lipstick and thinking about the possibility of consummating forbidden love.
And then I realized, it's probably not as unlikely a scenario as I'd like to pretend.]
Does "Tiger Beat" exist anymore?