Not that I get the pleasure of sex dreams very often, there’s years between my celestial romps in the clouds it seems. But I was lucky enough to venture into one a few weeks ago and woke up feeling disappointed and disturbed. With the plethora of wonderful Hollywood eye-candy, with the lists of rock stars that could do the dreamland job quite nicely, I got William H. Macy.
Seriously? That’s who I get? So, this is free rein sex, anywhere with anybody – the only time you can get away with that kind of action outside of your 13-year marriage – and I get William H. Macy?
As a writer I decided I would do what I do best, and plot the story line for the next one. I do this all the time for upcoming chapters, new book ideas etc. Plant the seed for future use. If my ill-starred sex dream taught me nothing else, I’ve learned that even inside your own head you have to be organized and prepared for the rare occasion of slumber sex. In anticipation I’ve gone ahead and put in my request for an appearance by David Beckham.
Now that one might give me something to write about.