I had a lucid dream last night and it was lovey. You see, many of you were in it. And I played the part of a gypsy, wandering free, visiting each of you in the flesh. In this sweet dream of mine daily responsibilities existed not. Money wasn’t an issue, nor was time or not knowing actual destinations.
First I dropped by Hyacinth’s place, met the neighbor (Yes… his cock is magnificent. No… I didn’t dream anything naughty with him) and had some excellent sushi. I tried to talk her into tagging along on my adventure, but she has a puppy that requires walking so she only went as far as Coco’s house. We drank good wine, talked about boys and played dress up with her hats for while before Hy had to go home and I was off once again.
The next stop was Bird’s house. Birdhouse… get it? Hehe. Anyway, she taught me how to ride a motorcycle and because this was my lucid dream I got it down perfectly on the first try. We cruised the dusty streets of Oklahoma, which looked to be right out of the scene of an old western. The saloon we popped in for a drink even had wooden swinging doors!
Lady Jayne showed up just as I was finishing my third vodka tonic and magically produced two tickets to Australia. We hopped on the plane, both pinky-promising not to blog about where we were going. You see… we weren’t sure if we were brave enough to let Diirrty know were crashing his continent. But then he posted another one of his poems… yes that kind. And couldn’t help ourselves. He graciously showed us the entire country because somehow, in my dream, Australia was more the size of Delaware. Jayne stayed behind, dallying with Mr. Diirrty (they were so cute together!) while I hopped the next flight to France.
Dawn was waiting for me as I deplaned with her always welcome kisses. Paris with Dawn was as you’d expect… Paris with Dawn. The only downside was feeling a bit plain and rather like the boring American next to her French chicness.
Then I’m on a plane again. I touched down somewhere on the eastern coast of the United States and spent a pleasant time recovering from jet lag and watching the ocean from Rich’s porch. He behaved himself, except for when he went off to read some of the naughtier posts a few of you lovelies put out.
North I went, and Kyzzie (she lets me call her that) with her faithful camera made me fall in love with O’ Canada. I bought a pair of aviator shades to match hers and, even though they didn’t work very well with my face shape, I wore them everywhere.
The South beckoned and on my way Unrequited zipped me through the Appalachian Mountains in his Miata. I thought I was going to toss my cookies! Thankfully Gillian rescued me and whisked me off to a bar in Columbus where Cynic talked in circles and every time I got lost I had to do a shot. Three shots in, CC Others, Blonde, Classy and Post Modern show up. So there sat the six of us, begging Gillian for stories, sipping our chosen cocktails and having a lovely girls’ night. Of course we all text Hy for being lame (wait… has that woman ever been called lame? No. And I’m proud to be the first and only) about skipping out on my gypsy adventure. She texts us back pictures of massive cock and we all bury our mouths on our straws, sucking with all our might. Blonde and I try to pose lip to lip so Gillian can get a picture, but we’re both laughing so hard none of them are ever in focus.
The next morning I go on a nice long run with Boomie. (I’m not hung over and I’m running. YES. This is definitely a dream) We drink in the sweet early dawn air and talk about how she’s going to change the world. I look down and I’m in my old cheerleading uniform and it’s completely appropriate because that’s what I’m doing… cheering her on.
Ahhh… brunch, that perfect meal that makes it acceptable to drink before noon. Of course Theo and L brunch. We share a pile of strawberries Romanoff while waiting on our custom omelets. Where are we? At this point my gypsy ways have caught up to me, but it feels like the Hotel del Coronado. Except on the east coast. Theo and L are everything I had hoped for and more—hospitable, charming, beautiful, funny, humble and in love. Sigh.
Then it gets weird for bit. Ernest shows up with bouquet of bacon roses to bribe me into helping him solve a mystery. I don’t remember who-dun-it, but we solved the case wearing matching trench coats with strands of Chopin always in the background.
Suddenly I’m surrounded by old doors and Mike is telling me to move so he can get a picture of the next one, but Blissful keeps trying to open the doors because he’s convinced there’s a treasure trove of priceless wine behind door three, nope. Door four. At this point I’m getting dizzy and just want to be held.
Strong arms wrap tightly around me and I’m secure. And dizzy, but in a completely different way. Oh… he feels good! His hands own me, stripping me as if he’s done it a hundred times before. He’s hard in all the right places. I open my eyes to see who’s making me melt and alas. I’m alone. Awake. In an empty room.