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In retrospect, something deep inside me knew that something was coming.Some major change to my very being. The whole thing started with a dream, but the funny thing was, I could never remember the details of the dream. Four hundred years ago, I would have blamed an incubus.Demons. Witches. A curse. I would have gone to confession, at the very least.

But this was the new roaring twenties. Instead, I blamed the edibles. 

I don’t normally take edibles because most forms of marijuana (including edibles) give me panic attacks. Sometimes, when my thoughts are too loud, I will partake of a tiny, minuscule amount of indica in order to smother them into silence. That night, I had a bite of an edible that my best friend, Dee, gave me. 

It was a mistake, of course, as I should know that edibles and me at all times are. My heart began to pound. The nighttime sounds of the suburban neighborhood where I lived – summer bugs, the occasional car, a dog here and there barking at suburban threats – became a combination of too far and too close. The worst and most pervasive effect: imposter syndrome. I began to think about all the methods in which I did not even marginally measure up to the standard of a normal American woman in her early forties.  

Which made the dream all the more surprising. I can’t remember the specifics, at least not fully. They say that you never dream about people you’ve never met. This is not true. That night I dreamed of Jack.Time blurs truths, especially those from dreams. But I can almost guarantee it was him. 

It was a sex dream, but he never touched me, never kissed me, nothing.Just existed. His proximity alone sparked the familiar tingling between my legs and into my lower abdomen. I squeezed my legs together in my dream to increase the sensation, desperately wanting to orgasm. Chasing orgasm. Somehow, this stranger who caused me to react in this way,stayed just beyond my grasp. In the dream, I rubbed myself furiously against the arm of a couch where this man, this gorgeous, young, bad boy with long hair and tattoos and ripped jeans sat, completely unaware of me. At a certain point, I gave up trying to get his attention, and instead rubbed faster. I awoke in the most delicious orgasm I’d had in years. 

In hindsight, that’s where my life changed. Four hundred years ago, I would have blamed dark magic. Now, I thank it.

NSFW: yes

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