Dreaming of Elizabeth Hurley
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Being ill continues to prove a source of entertaining dreams. My feverish nights brought me this, disappointing as it is.
I was hanging out with a group of dominatrices (dominatrixes?). One of whom was Liz Hurley. Hurley is one of those rare women who override my mostly gay sexuality towards womankind. Why? The English accent? I'll confess in guys and women that sound, posh, BBC, cockney, whatever often has a strongly sexual effect on me. And she really is handsome instead of merely pretty or cheaply sensual. Anyway she was the star of the dream.
Elizabeth Hurley as a dominatrix seems promising fantasy matter for those with certain kinds of erotic daydreams. I never have those kind of sexy dreams. I've long remembered the cute redheaded boy who jumped in my lap at a Dairy Queen in a dream long ago (redheads: another fetish, a henna'd boy from the UK is my idea of pure sex appeal). But all that dream boy did was kiss me.
That beats what Liz and I did. I watched her makeup a bed, then we went to rent a video. Talk about making the least of the possibilities.