So there I am, dreaming that I'm the Cristopher Nolan version of Batman, all scowls and anger, stalking through some deserted warehouse when everything changes in one of those seamless fades that only dreams manage (the one time I saw this replicated effectively was in an episode of Buffy).
Suddenly I'm in a bedroom which looks vaguely familiar, in a discussion with one of my friends' ex-girlfriends (who apparently enjoys taking it up the bum from 40 year old men) although now I'm the boyfriend. The girl's in the mood to confess something, and launched into a monologue whilst she smoked a cigarette.
And it went something like this,
"You ask about what happened that night. I know I always tell you I don't want to talk about it and I guess I can't keep doing that anymore. Things happen, people change."
She takes a drag from her cigarette, doesn't even look me in the eye.
"There was about four of them and me. We were in the hotel room. I knew some of them, not all of them. One thing led to another."
Another drag, another sigh. She turns her gaze to me.
"You have no idea what it's like to have sex with four guys at the same time."
Errr... what the fuck?
"It's all your fault."
Why?
"I'd never felt anything like that before. I felt... so fulfilled."
Are you sure you don't mean 'filled'?
"I hope this doesn't ruin things between us."
Can someone please wake me up?
"I had two of them in my BRRRINGG RRRINGG RRRRRIIINGG!!!"
Saved by the bell.
Psychiatrists interested in disecting my subconscious can get in line.
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