So, apparently there's a conference for sex bloggers next year. Not before bloody time. Okay, yes, I have yet to register or do any serious investigation int the matter, but it's still lodged in my brain somewhere, because I dreamed about it last night.
Well, maybe not the sex blogger conference. A sex blogger conference. Maybe not even that. Just somewhere where people who write about sex were. Well, maybe not even that. I... I was having sex, okay? That's what I dreamed about.
In all seriousness, the dream was set in some sort of sex-positive convention. I was in a room, lying in my back (on a bed, or some sort of structure), when one sex blogger - yes, a real one, and not one you'd expect; someone who hasn't blogged for a long time, yet I happen to know what she looks like - climbed on and, despite my questions (although I wasn't exactly protesting, just questioning), started riding. I also remember enjoying it. An older, taller lady - who organised the event (the event itself, not the random sex) - was standing there watching with a smile. I thought it wouldn't be polite. It was.
Why this random girl in particular I don't know. As I said, it's someone who hasn't been seen for years. I haven't talked to her for years, either. But she was identifying herself by name and I do happen to know her face, so there's no confusion as to why that is. Nevertheless, why her? Not that I complain, but why?
Sex in my dreams is always like soft porn. There's never anything really explicit. Bits are in the right place, but you never see any explicit pentration or genitalia. Not that I complain about that, either. But I wonder why, exactly? Stick with what you like, I suppose...?