As I walk’d through the wilderness of my bedroom, I lighted on a certain place where was a Bed, and I laid me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I dreamed a Dream.
I dreamed that I was in some kind of community class on drama, and as I entered the room, I saw that the classroom was full of attractive ladies. “Oh ho ho!” I thought, “I know what kind of dream this is!” I made my way to the back corner of the room and sat down. You always sit in the back row, even in a sex dream. Perhaps especially in a sex dream.
I was carrying a sleeping bag with me. You’d think that would come into the story later, but it doesn’t. Just a little bit of scene-setting to add verisimilitude or something. Maybe dream-me was coming straight from the sleeping-bag making class down the hall.
The girls in my corner turned around to look at me. I apologized about the sleeping bag. Even dream-me didn’t seem to know what it was doing there. They were both hot, but in that amorphous dream-hotness kind of way–you can tell they’re attractive, but you can’t actually make out any details.
I introduced myself and asked their names. The girl in front of me said she was named after her father. I said that I hoped her father had a gender-neutral name like Alex, Morgan, or Francesca. She laughed, and said I was funny. Even dream-me thought the joke was weak, and silently questioned her sense of humor.
She said her name was ‘Seaveze’, which I suppose was gender-neutral in that it was equally not a real name for either a man or a woman. Later internet research, after waking, would show that ‘Seaveze’ was, however, the last name of a man born in Rigolette, Louisiana in 1882. Now you know.
The chick to my left said her name was something with an abundance of vowels and an insufficiency of consonants. She smiled and put her hand on my shoulder and I flinched.
In my own sexy dream, I flinched at unexpected physical contact from a pretty girl. This sort of thing worries me. She gave me a ‘What the hell’s wrong with you’ look and turned back to the class. The remainder of the dream was two hours of learning about fictional outdated acting techniques. I forgot to take notes, so not even the knowledge learned about the Bernoulli Technique or the Anshmer Hopkins school of method acting was retained. I just hope there isn’t a test tomorrow night.