When I dream about someone, I often let him or her know. I think it's only fair. So this morning I emailed my friend M. this (names have been changed; "Mitchell" is her husband)....
You, Mitchell, and I were traveling, doing lots of talking, and then we were in the backseat of a car. You were tipsy; maybe we all were. But when Mitchell implied that he was going to make love to you as soon as we got where we were going, we all sort of realized that if you were wearing a skirt it was nowhere to be seen. You were like, "Oh, ha ha," and pulled a towel over your Brazilian. (I only caught a glimpse.) Then we were at your parents' apartment, in a very modern glass building, with lots of wood, sort of as if the house in A Single Man were a tall apartment building. It was on the beach, and the light from the water made gorgeous patterns all over certain rooms' walls. Mitchell really started to indicate that you were about to get a boinking, so I made to leave, when Rob Silverberg [someone from our past] said he'd leave too. I guess we knew he was there, because we weren't surprised to see him appear. We were making our way out—you had disappeared—when he started talking a lot about exploring the basement. He was obsessing over the basement—so much so that even you (having come back, looking very satisfied) were wondering if he was a terrorist intent on doing some sort of damage.
You could be next.
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