Whatever, I’m carrying it out. Here’s a confession: We have only had one intercourse dream in my own life.

Whatever, I’m carrying it out. Here’s a confession: We have only had one intercourse dream in my own life.

Is it a safe space?

(Caveat — that I am able to keep in mind, which I’m notorious for perhaps maybe perhaps not doing). We ended up being… enough years of age, as well as for some reason why evening, once I lay my weary mind upon my pillow, we drifted into slumber subject to some X-rated thoughts about… Robbie Williams.

Yes, the bawdy, slick-haired, ‘00s British crooner — “I’m loving angels instead” and all sorts of that — ended up being the topic of my first and just sex dream. We don’t even like Robbie Williams that much. He’s maybe maybe maybe not, like, my man. We don’t understand what strange, topsy-turvy annals of my brain called forth their face and in addition, um, their human anatomy into my fantasies that as if summoned by the horn of Gondor itself evening. But come he did and, to borrow the phrasing of Vulture’s Hunter Harris, I dreamt all long about Robbie’s redacted and how we redacted and redacted before I redacted repeatedly night. Continue reading “Whatever, I’m carrying it out. Here’s a confession: We have only had one intercourse dream in my own life.”