Aaron's Dream

Last night Aaron called to tell me that he’d had a sex dream about me the night before. We were in a house, but it wasn’t his house and it wasn’t my apartment. I was lying on my stomach and he was on top of me, with his hand wrapped around me, gripping my cock, which, according to him, was “really, really wide.”

That made me smile and I felt all warm and glowy, like there were Christmas lights all curled up in my stomach.

I like being dreamed about in the same way that I like it when I find out people have been talking about me behind my back. It makes me feel important, like the fact that someone has taken the time to actually discuss me means that I matter, that my legend is beginning to spread. It feels a little like immortality. The fact that Aaron had a dream about me means that I have entered his subconscious, and once you’re there you’re permanent. You’re with them forever, even if you have a falling out and you never speak to or see each other again. Someone can’t kick you out of their subconscious.

Years from now, Aaron might dream about something, a bank robbery, and someone will be telling him that he can’t set his watch at a time like this. And he’ll know that there’s someone out in the getaway car with video tapes that need to be returned, and that he loves this person very much, but he has no idea who it is, and that will be me. He’ll wake up feeling sort of embarassed and hopeful, like he has a crush on someone, and wondering who it was waiting out in the car.

I feel like a virus. I’m inside, which is something I don’t think I’ve ever been before. I’m in there, in Aaron, and I’m gestating.