There’s really no way to beat around this (heh) bush, so here goes: I had incredible sex with one of my colleagues last night.
I don’t remember much about it (which means it probably wasn’t great) except that I was on top (which is *so* not my thing) and that he’d shaved his beard. And before you start judging me, I’d like to state for the record that our libidinous activities were the direct result of the heinous actions of a rogue hog. There was also a white shirt (very strange, indeed; I’ve never seen him in anything but black) and a ferris wheel and a funky heated vibrating chair adorned with flashing lights.
I was concerned for a moment about how his wife (also a colleague) would handle the news of our copulation, but she was equal parts encouraging and oblivious. Probably because all of her attention was focused on adjusting her head gear so she could get on about the business of boosting a helicopter.
Which is just as well. Because the swooshing of the chopper’s blades reminded me of the thundering of water rapids, which reminded me I had to pee, which promptly caused me to wake up.
And wake up, I did. Disturbed.
It is incredibly rare for me to remember my dreams (which can sometimes be frustrating, considering that more often than not, I wake up aroused), but I think ~ in the best interest of the participants ~ this is one dream I’d prefer to forget.
I mean, seriously. Would YOU want to remember a sex dream that included a hog?
I think not.