Ugh.

I need to talk about this dream I had last night centering around this guy ('boy A') who completely ripped my fucking heart out (not the alcoholic 'nearly died cos of his drinking' one. A different one.) (There's a few). To understand my need of discussing this dream, first you need to understand the protagonist and what constituted our 'relationship'.

I was gonna say 'we dated' then but we never actually did (as embarrassing as that is to admit). We met, we emailed a few times, but 'dating' never really came into it. What did happen was having met and enjoyed a rather jolly email correspondance for a month or two I decided he was potentionally 'the one' ('the one' what god only knows) so having got off my tits on MDMA at 3 o' clock in the morning I did what any girl with a credit card and a false drug-induced sense of confidence would do and booked myself and a friend a mini-break to his town for the Wednesday after (with the sole intention of seducing him. HA! Seducing never happens on a Wednesday! Scientific FACT). As I drunk milk out of the bottle and we attempted to correctly navigate our way through the internet booking system my friend assured me 'It'll be fun!' (pro-tip: people on drugs always think everything will be fun). Five days post hence and sober, with enormous trepidation, I texted him on the day of arrival and invited him out that evening. Then (cos I is classy like that) made him go to a chain 80's club with me and my friend. To the sound of the theme song from Baywatch (was that even around in the eighties? FALSE ADVERTISING) we sat with our thighs touching on the slouchy sofas with mysterious stains and duct-taped holes places like this tend to have (the sofas not the thighs). Just as I was desperately trying to repress the urge to mouth along to the 'I'll be there' bit he very suddenly starting nuzzling my neck, then my nose with his nose, and slowly went in for a rather delightful drunken kiss while my (very attached) friend amused herself with two randoms who were going to end up disappointed when she didn't deliver on the unspoken threesome deal that appeared to be brewing between them all (the morning after she berated me for leaving her with strangers while I got off with boy A. I was like 'but we booked this trip when high on drugs with the express purpose of me getting off with boy A! All I did was hold up my end of the bargain!' Which, I still maintain is a pretty watertight defence. If you want my undivided attention don't agree to a zany roadtrip where we go see the boy I've decided is going to save me from myself. Another pro-tip). I was delighted and shocked at this kissing development thing, despite the fact that that's why I'd spent £80 on a mini-break in the first place. 'This. This here. This is it' I (*spoiler alert* mistakenly) thought.

As we said our protacted sloppy-snog goodbyes he said 'keep in touch yeah? And let me know about the festival thing...', 'yeah. Sure. See you...' I breathed eloquently as I reluctantly let go of his hand and he walked off home. Here was my first mistake: I had assumed that the kissing (his initiation), the vague invitation to see him again, this all meant that it was all a done deal. We now just had to go through the motions of eventually ending up deeply in love and happily ever after. The bit between now and this undefined ending was all a formality I figured. So when I got back home and immediately booked myself a ticket and a hotel room for the (one-day) 'festival' (feat. Snow Patrol and The Pippettes I do believe) it just seemed like I was, once again, holding up my end of the deal. It didn't seem utterly ridiculous and somewhat stalkerish at all (why didn't someone mention it was utterly ridiculous and somewhat stalkerish to do this on the back of a drunken snog - that had already cost me £80 remember - and some funny emails? WHY??) (not that anyone could have stopped me at that point. I was on a boyfriend hunt and by 'eck I wasn't coming home without one trussed up and ready to stuff) (so to speak). However, things didn't really turn out like that. That weekend, full of vim and vigour (and liquor. Mostly liquor) I tried to kiss him again. 'I don't think that's a good idea' he said. I begged and pleaded but apparently that's not as much of a turn on as it sounds. He escorted me to a taxi and I went back to my hotel, alone.

Cut to: Years later. YEARS (maybe two). Stood outside a pub he declares that we 'belong to one another'. Now here, here is where I believe maybe a bit of what I thought previously of what might happen between us is implied. I had thought, upon receipt of this declaration, that maybe, possibly, perhaps, the years before when I'd spent upwards of £150 on hotels and festival tickets (classic, classic pulling technique) this ending I'd half-heartedly imagined ('half-heartedly' because I'd never really got past the bit where he states how in love with me he secretly is. The logistics and practical considerations - silly little things such as 'do you even want to go out with him anymore?' - weren't part of the fantasy funnily enough) would now all materialise. All the formality stuff was really, genuinely now just a formality. If I'd been a dumbass to expect these things before I really don't think I was a dumbass to expect them now. I think, in this particular case, it was a bit of a given. Happily ever after was inked in. No tip-exing allowed I had thought. The morning after this declaration (and some pretty serious snuggling), he made sure he had my number; 'keep in touch yeah?' he said.

I didn't hear a peep out of him for the next six months.

So. The dream. It was nice and it was horrible. Nice in the way a sex dream is always nice, horrible in the way that he is the last person I would ever wish to have a sex dream about (I never even got to have sex with him in real life!) Plus the dream-sex wasn't even that good. I remember thinking, as he was pumping away at me, 'oh, he's never had a girlfriend before. That's why he's a bit rubbish, I'll have to teach him' (reader sidenote: here's where we know it's dream-logic as I should not be in charge of educating anyone about anything, least of all sex). In the dream I noted down on a scrap bit of paper all the times we fucked over the course of a weekend for my files and then I awoke, feeling dirty and sickened.

A scrap bit of paper?

My dreamiverse sex files deserve better than that.