"Green, Black & Sassy: my sex dream with Nicole Kidman"by Jake KilroyAN EXCERPT:Last night, I had so many epic dreams, I think I drank melted LSD. Not the heroin water I had right after brushing my teeth.
But I remember one dream in particular. I was with my friends hanging out at my house. And that's how the dream begins...
It's a nice get-together kind, like the afternoon backyard parties my mom throws. It's daylight and there's a lot of people, in and out of the house, but mostly in the backyard. I mainly recall me at the computer showing some friends my new band. I forget what it was called (but the letters were green and the background was black) and I'm not sure who was in the band with me, but I played guitar in it and sang. It was a post-hardcore band, I think. And my last name might have been in it, because an old musician friend laughed and called it "Kilroynger Escape Plan" or "Killinger Escape Plan."
Then, it's night and we're at this Orange County Fair thing, but mixed in with a creepy carnival, overgrown haunted marshy forest kinda thing. It's mostly shades of green and black. It seems everyone that I have ever known is there. We're having a really great time, but still know something bad is going to happen. I mean, just look at the surroundings. It's totally creepy.
Before long, we all start hearing whispers that the murderer from Scream is there, trying to knock off my friends and I. Some of us end up in an Indiana Jones jeep and we're driving off to this other area that's shaded well, but behind the carnival. The Scream killer comes. Then there's a flood!
After the flood, somehow, I'm a movie director, but still know the carnival has happened or is happening, but everything is cool with that now. Like it was a joke of some kind. No one died, and the creepy vibe is just for some fun Halloween effect. The rides are free and it's a good time.
Now as a movie director, I'm wandering around trying to finding my actors. I end up in a dirty make-up room / bathroom. The lights are flickering, the faucet is leaking, the walls are smeared with black grease. The walls have a tint of scary movie to them. Nicole Kidman is there. She's in my movie (good job, casting). She's looking young and wearing a black corset kind of deal with sexy underwear, leggings, high heels and clippie things (yes, I still have no idea what those things are actually called).
She's like a portrait that talks, a film that walks, a sculpture that frolics.
And, I have never wanted anyone...
So.
God.Damn.Badly.
Instantly, we both know what we want: each other. Like mad. Like rabbits pumped full of bad vitamins. Before I know it, our faces were an old ballroom and pushing each other's body against the wall like professional wrestlers (I seriously can't think of a better analogy).
Side note: Nicole Kidman has the softest, wettest lips, and she uses a whole helping of tongue. My sweet botched eastern god, does she use a lot of tongue. And I'm into it.Everything is moving fast. I've never moved so fast for anything as I do for this. I want every inch of her. I can't move fast enough to have it all at once.
I want to finish her like a meal, conquer her like a civilization and know that every part of her is part of me at once, like a mooch ghost.
I have never lusted like I am. I feel almost god-like for what I am receiving. It is superhuman how much this lust is pinning itself to my loins. There is some feeling of me melting in the room's air, like her perfume was floating off me and that was the scent of my sickly and death-defying desire.
It's too hectic for me to keep going. I look around the room bewildered often. I remain surprised that the room is not, in fact, on fire. Everything in flames, it feels.
And she's not this classy sort of Nicole Kidman you see in the tabloids. She is sexual youth, greasy, soulful and gutless, with a more addictive sweat to sex than most rabbits or robots programmed for that sort of thing in the future. She would crawl around in dirt just to wrangle you down for ten fast minutes. She is begging and in charge at the same time. She owns you and wants you to be her master. Controlled control.
Plus, Nicole Kidman winks at you a bunch. And it scares you. It terrifies you. You don't know what to do almost every time. No matter how many times she does. You don't know what to do. Every hair on you feels like a fort on patrol. Kill, kill, kill, your body aches. What savages are here for us? You wonder.
Also, you worry the entire time she's kissing you that she could become a snake and swallow your body whole. At any given moment. That's what it feels like. The pleasure of knowing and the panic of not. Your brain remains deceased.
And I'm taking the liberty of excluding the really rough stuff. Yep.
This is where I become a gentleman, because it gets to be so pornographic that the imagination is better than me evolving into an erotic writer. I've written erotica before, sure, but this is beyond that. This is beyond casual sex.
I mean, this wasn't poetry, it wasn't pretty and it wasn't filled with words.
I can't write it. It would cheapen all of it.
It was gross stamina: pure, dirty, feisty, fast, saucy sex. Hands were flying everywhere, clothes kept being ripped off (and because it was a dream, they would reappear) and so much making out, you think your lips don't belong to you anymore.
Nicole Kidman can make you feel like she's going to grind your body into a snortable powder and get your nerves to go AWOL on a roller coaster. It was so antsy and motion-driven. It was like race cars. It was just motion after motion for a destiny right in front of us. I couldn't get enough of her and she seemed like she had hardly started.
She moaned throughout and I blacked out occasionally from ecstasy.
Finally, it slows down enough to where we have feeling in our legs again, but we're still moving faster than humans should. We're standing, and one of my assistants (I have many) enters with a clipboard and a walkie-talkie to tell Nicole that she's needed on set. She kisses me once again with an overwhelming and superhuman amount of lips and tongue and struts away like she just left me for dead.
Which she just did, in some form. I can hardly breathe.
I leave the set to come back to my friends, and I wait for the best moment to tell them. I am so excited for this to be a story I tell, and it is so real in the dream that I thought of real places with real people I could retell the story. I tell some of the friends there at the carnival. And they accept it. No convincing.
Then I woke up. And I was unsure what was reality. In the first fleeting blinks, I wondered how I got home from the carnival and movie set, and when I could feel this alternate universe Nicole Kidman on me again.
And when I realized it was a dream, I was heartbroken. Seriously, absolutely, just...heartbroken. It was awful. Just awful. I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted it all over again. I was robbed, I tell someone (I don't recognize) in the mirror.
I looked at Nicole Kidman's picture in the paper before school and felt awkward, like I was waiting for her to wink or ask if my body was ready to be broken again. Maybe I should take some time off, I thought.
But we'll meet again, Nicole. We'll meet again.
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