The alarm clock blaring its 5:30 a.m. wake-up call rips me out of my sleep. In a hurry I rummage through the night stand for my pen and pad I keep nearby along with the usual condoms, lube, and sexual aids. The room is still dark since the blinds and heavy curtain made certain that any late night partying wouldn’t be interrupted by the rising sun.
Finally fingering the items I was searching for was a pen, college ruled notepad with the words “Dream Journal” on the front cover, and with eyes barely open I begin to quickly thumb through the pages to the last entry. Judging from the date of the last entry it’s been quite some time since I last wrote in its pages. What started out as an 8th grade exercise has evolved into my own personal “red shoe diaries”.
Finally reaching the last entry and first blank page I began to scribble down what I could remember about one of the most vivid wet dreams I’ve had since 8th grade. I could feel my hands becoming sweaty as I tried to remember every detail of the dream. With each formation of the letters they connected to form words and then sentences. I could feel my erection pulse between my legs.
The words began to mount forming paragraphs that had my hands so sweaty that the pages began to get soaked. I dared not stop writing because with each passing moment the dream itself began to fade from memory. I wrote and wrote and wrote for what seemed to be six pages of run on sentences. It wasn’t til I glanced over at the alarm clock that I noticed I spent more than 50 minutes writing.
“SHIT, IM GONNA BE LATE”!
I couldn’t believe how much time I spent writing and frantically jump up to run to the bath room to shower for work. As I made my way to the bath room I passed the bedroom mirror and in it's reflection I saw my raging erection dancing to my heartbeat. Normally, such a sight wouldn’t have caused a second look, however with the dream I had been abruptly torn from wasn’t one of my usual dreams. I found myself mesmerized by my dancing member. The beads of sweat that covered my hands now began to form on my forehead and chest.
“DAMN…” I sighed.
I sat back down on the edge of my bed overcome with the sight in the mirror. I found my hand automatically reaching for my pulsating dick and using the sweat as lube I reached for my journal. I began to read aloud the pages and like a movie, the dream replayed in my mind.
“DAMN, IM GONNA BE LATE”!