I realize this might not be the best way to win back the nice people who've read my genius writing over the last few years, but it was one of those dreams which define my utterly twisted sense of subconscious morality. I know. This doesn't sound interesting. And it may not be, but bear with me.
I was driving somewhere with my friend, Jen, in another state besides Texas. I think it was Vermont or something. We were there with our husbands and Jen and I decided to run out quickly to get something. We were pulled over by three cops in a van. The leader of the cops was achingly hot in a Harrison Ford in Blade Runner kind of way.
Looks-wise, very much my type.
His two side-kicks were a thin, gray, silent-looking guy, and a young, fat kid with a scraggly goatee.
The way they approached our vehicle, I knew we were in Big Trouble.
(Que bowm chicka bowm bowm)
Turns out Jethro had left his AR 9,557, 36,000 caliber, Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator gun in plain view in the back seat, and this kind of weaponry doesn't fly in Vermont.
Hot Cop made that menacingly clear to us with echoes from his chubby friend. They made us both get in the cop van while they inspected the weapon and pretended to shoot it. Then they all got into their cop van and explained our legal situation to us while Hot Cop ran his hand up my leg, igniting every nerve ending.
Jen's arm was being similarly mishandled by Silent Cop, and Chubby Cop was making funny, giggly noises.
I wriggled chastely away and tried in vain to explain that it was my husband's and he'd just forgotten to take it out of the car while Jen said she had no knowledge of the gun whatsoever and that it wasn't her fault that her friends were stupid redneck morons and that if Silent Cop didn't stop touching her she was going to weld his badge to his face.
Hot Cop asked if I was going to cooperate, and I (virtuously) proclaimed that I was married and would rather go to jail. He said that wasn't a problem, got in the van and sat right beside me while Silent Cop drove off.
I was feeling kind of sick because my friend was going to end up in jail because of my husband. Hot Cop was grinning right beside me, so I knew the offer was still on the table.
So I said, "Fine. I will kiss all three of you if take us back to our car and give me back the gun."
He raised an eyebrow and said, "Kiss?" And I said, "Tongue and the whole works for 5 minutes apiece."
I gave him a look that said, "I'll fuck you, and I want the other two to get their hands dirty, but I don't want to fuck them."
Because in dreams you can do that.
That was fine with him, so Silent Cop pulled over.
Now here's where things went wrong.
I decided that Hot Cop would have to go last since I didn't want the others thinking I would have sex with them too.
I pointed at Chubby Cop. "You first," I commanded, imperiously. "You look like you need the practice."
He was clumsy and stupid, like a giant dog. After a few seconds of being smothered, I told him to let me do everything. And I did. I gently sucked on his upper lip first, then parted my lips, slipped him the tongue, and guided his into my mouth where they played a tongue version of tag. He was slobbery and gross, he had just eaten a meatball sandwich, and his goatee was scratchy and fragile, but I put my hands on the sides of his face and made out with him like it was air and I had to breathe.
When the 5 minutes were up, and it actually seemed like 5 whole minutes in real life, not dream time, I pushed him off me and went to the bathroom (there was a bathroom on the bus) where I spit out a gallon of slobber, bits of meatball, and a loosely constructed ball of facial hair.
Then I woke up.
It was unbelievable. My subconscious set it up perfectly. I wasn't trying to save my own skin. I was trying to save my friend's as well and recover my husband's property, and the situation was all his fault.
I was too consumed with lust NOT to get some, but did I have hot porny dream sex with the blisteringly hot Harrison Ford in Blade Runner cop? Did I even make out with him? DID I? Noooooooooo. I dream cheated with an absolutely disgusting looked-like-something-that-fell-out-of-Michael-Moore's-underpants-fat guy.
I loathe myself.
Next time there will be only one cop. ONE. And it will probably be a hairy, carbuncular woman.