I woke up this morning pretty well-rested, despite having stayed up late reading a book on internet relationships. I was feeling a bit glum even just shifting into consciousness, though, as the knowledge I would have to go into work for a few hours on a Sunday was at the forefront of my mind. Everything sucks, was probably my first articulated thought, which is really no way to start any day, much less a weekend day. Negativity! But there was something else, some vague feeling of discomfort and the sense that something was slightly off, something making me feel just a little bit nauseated as I summoned up the hazy recollection… what… Oh. I had a disgusting celebrity sex dream. Again.
These don’t happen to me all the time. In fact, if I had my druthers, I would have far more sex dreams, provided I could pick the subjects. Sadly, that’s not the way my mind (and probably yours) works. Most of my sex dreams tend to involve people from work (unavoidable, kind of awkward, sometimes quite hot). Then there are the really traumatizing ones where family members or friends are somehow involved (after which one wishes to open one’s skull and apply bleach directly to the brain – these are in no way amusing and should never be discussed).
The best sex dreams, in my experience, involve either an object of affection, lust, or the occasional pleasant surprise, like when the UPS guy you hadn’t really paid much attention to makes an unexpected cameo and the next time you see him you blush and realize he actually does have great calves. Often times sex itself isn’t even involved; one of the most intense dreams I ever had consisted of little more than me sitting on a deserted beach with the boy I was in love with, gazing straight into his green eyes and watching the waves crash behind them, in a little bit of a dream cinemascope in which we were simultaneously on the beach and yet I was the sand and he was the water. It may not have been original, but I woke up with that same delicious, toe-curling warmth and tranquility that follows a particularly enjoyable sex dream, that feeling you try as hard as you can to prolong while your alarm blares beside you and you think, just a few more minutes here, please! It’s just getting really good! I also once had a three-dream arc with an actual dream lover, a blond Scandinavian guy in a black turtleneck happily conjured up by my subconscious. I know the turleneck sounds lame, but he was kind of a beatnik character and trust, it was working.
So, there’s a wide variety of sex dreams and I generally regard them as little treats, annoyances, or my id trying to fuck me up. One of these types of sex dreams are the random celebrity ones, which I find especially perplexing. Never has George Clooney, for example, stopped by my REM for a little heavy petting, and yet Chris Farley came over to get in on the action. WHY IS THIS? I never watched Saturday Night Live, suffered through one viewing of Tommy Boy a zillion years ago, thought his death was very sad, as deaths are, but otherwise never paid him any attention. And yet in college, I woke up one morning with that mmmmm, toe-curling sensation, until the bleariness subsided enough that I realized I was still grooving to the memory of oh, my GOD.
While there may have been one or two pleasant Skeet Ulrich sex dreams following a viewing of Touch in the late ’90s, most of my celebrity sex dreams have been bizarre if not downright unpleasant. Chris Farley was obviously memorable for the shock value, as was the Lindsay Lohan dream in which I was a man and she twisted off my penis. Maybe that counts as a nightmare, actually. And then there was last night, which I could barely bring myself to tell my boyfriend about this morning. I didn’t tell him about it in detail, actually, because I am in the process of actively trying to forget, but it involved this woman:
Yeah. That’s Phyllis, from The Office. The actress who plays her is very funny, and I’m sure she’s a lovely and sensual woman, but Phyllis is not wanking material. I did watch an episode online last week, but otherwise I am completely flummoxed as to why I was visited with this vision. And it was not a sexy sex dream, but an excruciating one I was trying to escape as I had been forced unwillingly into a horrible situation. Afterwards, I ran to my boyfriend for comfort, only to find him receiving oral pleasure from one of my male coworkers (yes, in the dream), which was still less upsetting than the whole Phyllis debacle. I’m so embarrassed and honestly stumped by it that I had no choice but to put it on the internet in the hope that some of you will soothe my tortured psyche with confessions of your own odd, unexpected, or mortifying sex dreams. So please help a sister out.