Never eat just before bedtime. You have long, involved, vivid dreams. A couple of nights ago, I had one for the record books.
I was delayed, and didn't eat dinner until 9:00 pm. At 10:00 pm, the dream began.
I was at a party in West Hollywood: 20 or more guys sitting on couches and divans in a vast living room. No one I knew.
I went into a spare bedroom to change into my Superman costume for a skit we were performing. But I forgot my tights, so I had to go out to the main room naked from the waist down.
No one noticed.
While waiting for the other performers to arrive, I sat next to a cute twink, college age, with short brown hair and a round friendly face. He was wearing a formal white shirt, unbuttoned a few buttons so I could see the cross around his neck and an outline of a smooth hard chest.
He gave his name -- I don't remember it, so I'll call him Gene. He was visiting from Saskatechewan, in town for only a few days: "West Hollywood is fun, but I miss Regina. People are real there."
I said "Regina is only two hours from the Plains. We can visit." [It's actually more like ten hours]
We started kissing. I fondled his crotch, and a Bratwurst+ sprang to life. But when I tried to push his head down onto my crotch, he resisted. "Not here. There are too many people."
I looked around. The living room was deserted. The last of the lights went off, leaving us in darkness.
"They all went downstairs," Gene said. "This is a sex party. Do you want to go down?"
I didn't want to lose Gene to a bunch of other guys, not so soon, so I suggested we take a walk instead.
We walked down a strangely empty Santa Monica Boulevard, past the Greenery and the Rage, and even the Different Light (which closed long ago). We stopped to sit one of the little tables outside The French Quarter.
It was closed. The street was deserted. We started kissing and fondling again.
Soon we were both fully aroused. He knelt to go down on me.
But the street wasn't deserted! It was bustling with after-theater crowds. A waiter came out of the French Quarter and asked "Can I take your order?" A police officer glared at us suspiciously.
We quickly stood and left. We returned to the house, and up to the bedroom where Gene was staying. "Do you want to watch something on Netflix?" I asked.
"Sure. Whatever you want." He went into the bedroom, and returned naked, his Bratwurst+ standing out straight in front of him. He started kissing and licking my chest. I pushed him onto his knees.
And woke up!
Ok, an erotic frustration dream, combined with the standard "nude in public" anxiety, but so vivid and detailed that I wrote it down.
After dinner (at the usual time), I went on Grindr, and Gene was there.
Only 1,000 feet away!
Well, the guy with the tagline "Visiting" looked just like Gene, except he had slightly darker hair and no cross around his neck, and he was a little more buffed. His profile photo showed him lifting weights.
"Hi, we're like half a block away!" I typed. "Why haven't we met before?"
He responded immediately: "I'm visiting my brother and his girlfriend for the week."
His name was Kyle, not Gene, and he was from Lincoln, Nebraska, not Saskatchewan. Still, that dream was eerily precognitive!
We actually didn't have a lot in common, other than a shared interest in bodybuilding. He was a business major (ugh!) at the University of Nebraska, and a fan of video games and Pokemon Go (whatever that is).
But he was ungodly cute, and it seemed like we already knew each other. I remembered feeling his body pressed against me, kissing him, watching his Bratwurst+ spring to life. And constantly being stymied in my attempt to have sex with him.
I had to get him into my apartment, to see if he really looked and felt like Gene from my dream. And to finish the job!
"Do you want to come over here," I typed, "And watch something on Netflix?"
"Sorry, I'm hanging with my brother, as soon as he gets off work."
"Ok. But we should meet in a public place. You have to be careful, right?"
We met at the gay-friendly coffee house. Kyle looked less like Gene in real life: younger, taller, and deeply tanned, an outdoorsman, into hunting and fishing and whatever else one does in Lincoln, Nebraska.
We talked about growing up in small towns. I told him my best West Hollywood dating-celebrities stories, and he told me about the time he met wrestler John Cena. We held hands under the table, and groped surreptitiously. He definitely had a Bratwurst+.
"How about that Netflix?" I asked.
"Um...I like to takes things slow, and get to know the guy."
I started getting annoyed. It felt like the sex been postponed about six times already. "Yeah, slow," I sniped.
"Are you free Saturday? We're going to a party down in Sioux Falls. You can be my Plus One."
"Mostly straight people. Is that a problem?"
I hate straight parties! But if it would seal the deal.... "Sure."
"Great. We just need to coordinate our costumes."
"Didn't I mention it? It's a costume party. I was planning to go as Cupid, but we should do something as a pair, like Batman and Robin."
I think I'll go as Captain America. Less chance of losing my pants.
See also: The Late for Class Dream