Michael Grieve – Porn shoot, Cuffey, UK from No Love Lost series (2006)

This reminds me of a dream I had a little over two months ago.

Really? You remember a two-month old dream?

Well, I’m fairly sure I dream most nights but it is a truly rare thing that I remember my dreams upon waking. On the rare occasion when I do–it’s like water to a man dying of thirst in a desert. As such a make a point of jotting them down in my dream journal.

In this dream, Carin* was in my room. It wasn’t really my room but an amalgam of my current room, the second apartment I had after graduating from college and the room I lived in from 1998-2000.

I can’t remember why she was there but it had that sort of seamless dream logic to it. There was a reason she was there and I had at one point known what that was and as such it had ceased to matter.

[A little contextual background on non-dream Carin: she worked for me for like seven months. She was hand’s down the worst employee I’ve ever had–not because she was incapable of doing the things asked of her (if anything she was overqualified); she just had a piss poor attitude and constantly complained about everything. In hindsight, I realize that her performance reflects worse on my ability to motivate her than her ability to be motivated. Now that she doesn’t work for me, we get on famously.]

Also, I have no idea what color her natural hair color is. In the dream it was blue with bleached streaks.

She was in the middle of the floor seated in a frog like position (Diagram 1) with her pleated skirt in a perfect circle around her. For some reason, this didn’t strike me as the least bit odd even though Carin wouldn’t ever be caught dead in such an outfit.

She was doing her usual simpering bravado routine–which is charming when you aren’t her supervisor. She informed me she’d hidden something somewhere in my room and I needed to find it.

I looked around half-heartedly at first and then began tearing my room apart.

The BB gun I used to have but have long since disposed of (I have an outsize problems with guns) was buried in my closet wrapped up in a towel. I asked her if that was the thing she’d hidden. It wasn’t. She thought it was dumb and even dumber that I had it but that she gave me credit because at least it wasn’t tacky looking.

I realized that she’d clearly gone through my stuff. I thought about all the things I was mortified she’d certainly seen. Only I wasn’t mortified. I asked her if she thought I was a pervert. She said she’d always expected as much but now had the goods and wasn’t disappointed.

I turned around and saw that she was holding her skirt up with one hand and was applying lube to the head and shaft of a truly dauntingly sized white marble strap-on. Taking a step closer, I noticed she was wearing powder blue boyshorts and that she’d wedged a small purple vibrator between herself and the floorboards.

There was an expectant pause accompanied to the buzz of the vibrator resonating against the wood.

This is okay, right?

Before I could whisper yes, I woke up.

*Close to but not identical to her real name

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