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Last night I had the most amazing dream. I found true love with a man who had no name. He was casually dressed in jeans and a T and smelled incredible. 
We were at a house party, me sitting next to him on a couch, very aware of his magnetic aura. He passed a mirror with a small line of cocaine across it. 
‘Want some?’ 
‘Sure,’ I said. 
I leaned in and sniffed the line like a pro. I should have known at this point that I was dreaming, as I don’t party like that anymore. 
Next thing I know we are dancing real close. I am rubbing my hands all over his back, discovering his muscular torso beneath his T with the tips of my finger. I was hungry for this stranger, insatiable. 
He tries to kiss me, but I turn my head, conscious for the first time that I have a husband. I would never cheat on him. I feel the strangers hands tentatively trace the lines of my back, from nape to waist. I am electrified. I feel safe, happy, loved. 
Then the bed moves as my husband places a hand on my butt…his butt for thirteen years. Maybe he felt my passion and it woke the animal in him. 
Now I realize that I was dreaming. I peer at the clock: 4:34am. I don’t want to wake up, not yet. I can have sex with my husband anytime, but this was the first time I had ever had such a dream. I was determined to return to my fantasy lover’s arms. 
You can’t cheat in a dream, right? 
So I push my husbands hand away from my backside and I lay still, my face buried into the tempurpedic mattress and wait for sleep to come. I don’t hold much hope, as it is rare for me to enter the same dream twice. 
But there he is again. This time we are alone. He is dressed in a sharp grey tweed suite with shirt and tie, and silver cufflinks with my initials. I am blown away by his perfection. 
We hug and I am now ready to kiss, go all the way, as I am now fully aware that I am dreaming. I wanted to devour him quickly as I sensed he had to go somewhere. In the heat of passion he peels me off of him and says. 
‘I have some more cocaine in the car. We will party later.’ 
I smile and then he’s gone and I am back at the party sitting on a sofa. I feel lost and confused. 
A policeman sits next to me, smiles and then put’s an arm around my shoulder. He shakes his head and I immediately know. 
‘He’s dead, isn’t he? That’s why you brought me here.’ 
I feel the warmth of a single teardrop slowly rolling over my cheek. 
I wake up sobbing, no tears, but full of genuine sorrow for the loss of my one and only dream man.
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