"And every stroke a bucketful," indeed.
Dear Naamah's Subconscious,
I am aware that we have had kind of A Thing for James Purefoy ever since we saw him in A Knight's Tale, and that recent events including but not limited to finally seeing the Solomon Kane movie and casting him as our current player character.
You do not need to remind me of this on a nightly basis, as you have for the past four days.
It is uncomfortable, rude, and aggravating.
Last night's dream was especially flagrant and lust-engorged, so much so that when I went back to sleep, I immediately told someone in the next dream what an awesome dream I'd just had.
I appreciated the set design of the retro-future-tech hortus conclusus, and I especially liked the symbolism of me upending enormous jars of fragrant earth onto the garden floor, into which lizards and snakes and all manner of other crawly animals joyously burrowed. I'm glad that my cats seemed happy with the arrangement as well.
Sending James in wearing nothing but cloven hooves, silver horns, an enormous hard-on, and a cat-chasing grin was just unnecessary and cruel, as was the ensuing sex. I appreciate your desire to make dream sex really fucking spectacular sex, but the fact remains: my orgasms require physical touch, you fucking asshole.
Pretty quasi-mythological imagery doesn't come with 6,000 rpm if you know what I mean.
Understand this: drugged on Seroquel, I am not even coherent enough to snap my fingers when I wake up after an hour and a half of sleep, let alone summon and utilize Hitachi Cat. I am probably not qualified to find my own underwear in that state. I will just roll right back over and fall asleep again. That is quite literally all I am capable of doing.
At least it was better than the Tom Jane oral sex and ice cream dream. I am still pissed at you over that one. Stealing my goddamn ice cream was just mean. Still, thanks to you I spent a restless and frustrating night continually nagged by the feeling I was forgetting something important. Like the cock of Cernunnos. Or something.
In short, keep up the good work. That was fucking awesome.
-- Naamah
P.S.: THROW JASON ISAACS IN THERE NEXT TIME. THEY'RE FRIENDS IRL, SURELY A THREESOME CAN BE ARRANGED.
I am aware that we have had kind of A Thing for James Purefoy ever since we saw him in A Knight's Tale, and that recent events including but not limited to finally seeing the Solomon Kane movie and casting him as our current player character.
You do not need to remind me of this on a nightly basis, as you have for the past four days.
It is uncomfortable, rude, and aggravating.
Last night's dream was especially flagrant and lust-engorged, so much so that when I went back to sleep, I immediately told someone in the next dream what an awesome dream I'd just had.
I appreciated the set design of the retro-future-tech hortus conclusus, and I especially liked the symbolism of me upending enormous jars of fragrant earth onto the garden floor, into which lizards and snakes and all manner of other crawly animals joyously burrowed. I'm glad that my cats seemed happy with the arrangement as well.
Sending James in wearing nothing but cloven hooves, silver horns, an enormous hard-on, and a cat-chasing grin was just unnecessary and cruel, as was the ensuing sex. I appreciate your desire to make dream sex really fucking spectacular sex, but the fact remains: my orgasms require physical touch, you fucking asshole.
Pretty quasi-mythological imagery doesn't come with 6,000 rpm if you know what I mean.
Understand this: drugged on Seroquel, I am not even coherent enough to snap my fingers when I wake up after an hour and a half of sleep, let alone summon and utilize Hitachi Cat. I am probably not qualified to find my own underwear in that state. I will just roll right back over and fall asleep again. That is quite literally all I am capable of doing.
At least it was better than the Tom Jane oral sex and ice cream dream. I am still pissed at you over that one. Stealing my goddamn ice cream was just mean. Still, thanks to you I spent a restless and frustrating night continually nagged by the feeling I was forgetting something important. Like the cock of Cernunnos. Or something.
In short, keep up the good work. That was fucking awesome.
-- Naamah
P.S.: THROW JASON ISAACS IN THERE NEXT TIME. THEY'RE FRIENDS IRL, SURELY A THREESOME CAN BE ARRANGED.