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Often I’ve regretted that haven’t had (or at least recalled) more erotic dreams.
A few I’ve remembered for many years: the boys were so pretty and very sweet. My erotic dreams tend to be as romantic as pornographic.
Almost all of them have been of some stranger I’ve passed on the street. David Bowie and Madonna are the big exceptions that come to mind. Bowie I once had the hugest crush on, common affliction back then.
Dreaming about Madonna shocked me. At the time she was just one of those celebrity names you know but are mostly ignorant of because they don’t do anything that interest you. I did respect her as a technician who managed to refashion herself repeatedly. Admittedly that kind of variousness is something I’ve always found sexually attractive. Maybe it had some odd trigger of which I wasn’t aware.
Looking at the yaoi titles in a distributor’s catalog was certainly the source of my most recent cheerfully dirty dream.
I’m not a rice queen but I’m glad the yaoi stuff wasn’t around when I was a teen. Easy to imagine it becoming an addiction, perhaps even distorting my sexuality.
I was visiting Japan regularly to spend time with cute and complaisant Japanese youth. The sex was tender, uncomplicated. Unlike some of the fantasies I’d been having not that long ago.
Hopefully another sign that the evils Charles wrought on me continue to fade.