Tuesday, 17 November 2015

Why can't I have nice sex dreams?

The dreams I have which feature my former girlfriend, the girl who drinks and sews, all seem to follow a vague pattern. We are together; things are harmonious. And then, at one point, she betrays me, sleeping with someone else we both know - although it varies as to who this may be - and is completely unrepentant about it, even gleeful. I am hurt, possibly in penance for one of the few sex dreams I've ever had where the transgression was my own (although I hurt myself enough over that one).

I don't understand how one could be so disloyal. The irony being, of course, that the drinking girl was about as unlikely to cheat as I was - my first girlfriend, of course, did so; I have in the past believed that it was happening to me again: hence my fear manifesting itself in dreams, I suppose.

I last saw the drinking girl in early 2011 just after she cast me adrift. Since then, she has moved on, upwards and onwards (and married, no less); I have had two long-term relationships since then - one tempestuous and unsteady (because, to be frank, I was still not quite over the drinking girl), and one that's still in progress now. To my immense relief.

I'd like to think that I, in my own way, have moved on - threw myself headfirst into the emerging world of sex blogger real-life events; started saying "yes" more to things á la Danny Wallace; changed career a couple of times - once into an industry I then left (and to which I later returned); turned 30 - all while holding on to things which have always mattered to me: my friends, my family, my favourite music, books, shows and games, plus my blog, the increasing identity of ILB that I have helped grow throughout all these years, and my little toy rabbit, who I cradled in my arms while the tears cascaded onto my pillow on the evening of January 1, 2011.

Last night, I saw her again. This time, we were working together, in (of all things) a mystery detective adventure. I forget the details - as one does with dreams - apart from the fact that, unusually, it was a cohesive, linked and intelligent narrative, with a beginning and a middle and an end; the detectives we were working with managed to solve the crime (because of something I did), and with that, everything was okay... and then, just before I awoke, one of the detectives realised he had left his radio on, and through it I heard the unmistakeable moans and cries of someone enjoying sex...

...and it was her.

She had left. She was now having incredibly loud sex with someone else - possibly her now significant other, although I've no idea who that is; we weren't a couple in the dream so she's allowed - but I was suddenly horrifically distressed. I burned with envy for whoever it was making her moan, my mouth open in a silent scream as everyone else laughed, as if it were the end to another cop show (with an ending theme tune!), all my previous hard work crushed underfoot as here was my ex-girlfriend pressed under the weight of another man, her sultry cries the only evidence thereof (although that made me try to visualise it, which makes it even worse).

I woke up in considerable disarray, full of jealousy and madness and despair, grabbing my BlackBerry to write a tweet in capitals about what I'd just seen... at which point I woke up again, aroused from my dream within a dream within a dream...

...ascertaining, once I was truly awake, what I was feeling: confused, hurt and upset.

Everyone has an albatross. The image of the drinking girl is mine - someone who went away years ago, but whom my brain refuses to let go of, who appears, then betrays and forgets me at night, and then gleefully sleeps with whomsoever takes her fancy at a moment's notice.

This has got to stop.

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