Another Time, Another Place

“Connie, WAKE UP!” I feel Keith shaking me vigorously, snapping me out of this exhilarating, highly implausible yet probable fantasy.

Slowly, my eyes open. I look around the room dazed and see Keith sitting beside me on the sofa with the most perplexed look upon his face. I say nothing because I’m not sure what all I revealed in my sleep. But he does and he’s staring right at me.

“Baby, that must have been one bad-ass dream. I ain’t never seen you do no shit like that before. What the hell were you dreamin’ about?”

I gaze out of the window and see the black blanket across the sky and the diamonds that lay upon it.

“What time is it?” I look past Keith at the clock on the wall, trying to change the subject. But before I register the numbers, he answers, “Twelve-thirty.”

“Wow, I’ve been asleep that long?”

“Yeah. You’ve been knocked out since you changed clothes when I was grillin.’ Judging from how much wine is left in the bottle, you had a little too much. But squash that. What I still want to know is, what the hell were you dreaming about?”

I orient myself and sit up on the sectional sofa, pulling my knees to my chest, recalling my dream. I look at Keith and wonder what does he really know.

“Keith, sweetie, come here.” I pull him into my 36DDs and whisper, “It was just some midnight madness, that’s all. Nothing to worry about. Just a crazy-ass dream.”

“Oh really. Well, who the fuck is Bishop?”

I laugh to buy time in order to try to figure out my answer. Calling out another man’s name is not something Keith, or any man, would take kindly to. This is a delicate situation. I must be victorious or the night is going to get real ugly, real fast.

“What the hell is so funny, Connie? I don’t see anything so damn humorous.”

“Sweetie, don’t get mad. I was just dreaming, okay?”

“No, this shit is not okay, Connie. Who the fuck is Bishop?”

“All right, I’ll tell you but don’t judge me for what I say.”

Keith sits at attention like a Rottweiler ready to pounce.

“Bishop was…” Keith leans toward me, eyes fixed and ears alert.

“Bishop was a man at my job that I was having explosive sex with because he had a huge dick.” I look at Keith in a matter-of-fact way to get him off balance. He leans back and looks confused.

“What the—”

“I told you it was crazy.”

“Connie, you had a dream about another man and his dick?”

“Yeah. That’s why I said don’t judge me. I can’t help what I dream about.”

“So that’s why you were moaning, ‘Oh Bishop, yes.’”

“Yeah. I gotta admit that it was the bomb, too. And sweetie, it was weird. There were these people in my dream that I don’t even know, like this nosey lady who kept popping up, and a nerd who carpooled with me.”

“Ain’t that some shit,” Keith announces, looking off into the distance.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, either you’re dreamin’ about another man’s dick because you’ve been involved with someone or you’re not satisfied with me. Maybe you’re dreamin’ about it because you want something or someone different.”

“Keith, I assure you that I don’t want anyone else. And sweetie, you please me like no other.”

“So, why is Bishop’s dick on your mind?”

This is the one time I wish he would be less analytical and just accept my answer that it’s only a dream. But no, he’s pushing, and I know he’s not going to stop until he’s satisfied.