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"I Dreamt About You Last Night"

Like a lyric in the Smiths’ brilliant Reel Around the Fountain, “I dreamt about you last night and I fell out of bed twice…” Friday night I dreamt inappropriate dreams about two really good friends.
I don’t look for hidden meanings in my dreams but I do own a dream dictionary. Dreaming about carnal intimacies with good friends isn’t covered by this particular reference guide.
Picture the scene: I’m at my favourite aunt’s old house. Why there? I don’t know. The house was a memorable ranch-style abode that I loved to visit when I was a wee lad. My first co-star, we’ll call her Di, and I were were up against a wall, next to the closet my uncle would measure our height over the years, snogging like it was our last day on earth. It was passionate. It was hot. Our tongues intertwined in a very sensual & wet kiss. I caressed the back of her head with one hand, the other somewhere more southern. Then, all of a sudden, we were horizontal in a really big bed. And just as she raised her hips to allow me to undo her jeans… I woke up to check the time. 11:20pm. On a Friday. Yeah, that’s how I roll.
I laughed at the improbability of being in a situation like that with Di. We share a lot in common: music, art, books. But she ended up finding a beau, I ended up getting married. We still keep in touch. She’s definitely one of my besties. And that’s a short list of people.
Drifting off back into dream world, I found myself still at my aunt’s place. More people were there, it may have been a party. Outside by the swimming pool and screened-in porch, I was locked in another passionate kiss with a friend called Lynn. Mutual acquaintences would pop around the corner, saying “whoops,” making our lip-locking session even more intense. As we’d pause for air, Lynn stated, “People are going to find out.” I replied with a nonchalant, “Let them.”
Am I alone in thinking kissing is so much more intimate than penetration?
At this point, it’s still pretty early in the a.m.–most night owls would still be up. My dreaming wasn’t as vivid. I wish I could recall more details, but all I remember is the kissing. Lots of it. And did my body react physically? You’re darn tooting it did. And it wasn’t even wood of the morning variety. Did you read that correctly Di & Lynn? E-mail me…
Dreaming is one thing. Telling a close friend you’ve got a thing for ’em, playing Russian roulette, dear reader.
Here’s a simple rule, if you’ve seen a girl naked because you were there when her diaper was getting changed… she’s off limits. If a girl knows your reputation and still thinks you’re cool to hang out with, game on!
For the regular readers of my ramblings, I’ve hinted at my previous Dionysian lifestyle. Am I any closer to revealing facts that would surprise you? Getting closer.
Sex? Check.
Drugs? Check.
Rock & Roll? Oh hell, yeah!!!
Put it this way, if we sat around a table playing “I Never,” I’d be the first one on the floor, taking all the shots you couldn’t or wouldn’t admit.
If I got hit by a bus tomorrow, the Lizard King & Cobain would give me high fives as I passed them through the pearly gates (or would that be the fiery furnace?). The difference? I’m on the verge of 39. When I was 27, I was just scratching the surface on the debauchery that did that “club” in.
There are stories in various places: back stockrooms, the back of a store, balconies, cars, car hoods, parking garages, moving vehicles, women’s bathrooms, men’s bathrooms, swings, swinger’s parties, greenrooms,  and other places that would turn your hair gray–kinda like the ones I try to hide now by shaving my head down pretty closely.
I’ve got stuff on people and I know they’ve got details about me that would shoot down any political aspirations.
But like Scott Weiland sang in Big Bang Baby, “I never kiss and tell.”

2 responses to “"I Dreamt About You Last Night"”

  1. Avatar Emilybb says:

    It can be fun having an, um – adventurous past, even more fun getting out alive!

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Jumpstreet About Jumpstreet

Brian W. Castro's immediate needs are simple: his iPod, a good novel and a bottle of wine. He is a born-again New Yorker living in the Sunshine State whose self-deprecating viewpoint confuses even himself. Once a fan of "sex, drugs & rock and roll," he only revels in one of the three openly. When he's not looking for deep lyrical meanings in Duran Duran's discography, he can be found staring blankly at his laptop--hard at work on his great Filipino-American graphic novel. Incidentally, this stare doubles as an intimidation tool when his children are unruly. Brian prefers to write under pressure, acknowledging deadlines bring out his creativity. But he admits, "Like masturbation, procrastination only ends up with me screwing myself."

Read more by this author on 30POV .


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