Today I’m going to blog about Post-Apocalyptic Sucker Fish. This was probably the absolute, hands down most bizarre, funniest conversation Brad and I have ever had. Period!
(Warning – this probably goes under the category of ‘oh my gosh is she really posting this on the internet? Let alone sharing it with everyone?’ Not the same as my last confessional, the whole, ‘I’m Fat’ blog…I’m over that on. This is an off the charts non 1950’s homemaker related blog that, in my opinion was too good not to share. Be warned!)
Ok, so this whole thing steamed from a dream I had during nap time yesterday. I remember my dreams in extreme detail, always have, and can usually recount them for days afterwards. This dream was no exception.
It started out with me, on earth, looking up to the skies to see alien ships overtaking the skyline. Obviously, this evoked fear in everyone. Panic ensued and somehow I ended up in a forest setting running for my life from floating egg shaped mini-space ships abducting various humans. I darted into the forest, under the canopy, swerving around trees, ducking under branches and avoiding various other hazards. Beside, in front and behind me were hundreds if not thousands of other people running as well. Screaming, whirling sounds of the space ships and the transporter sound from Star Trec were permeating the dense forest. Slowly the group I was running with was thinned out and the sounds of the alien ships died away. We gathered together, found shelter for the night and slept in shifts, resting our overworked, overexerted bodies and contemplating where we were going to hide next. (There were no children, no husbands, no wives, no girlfriends, etc. Just a group of total strangers banding together for our mutual survival.) This continued on for two or three days during which the skyline (when visible) slowly cleared of all the ‘mother ships’ and the swirling sounds of the mini-ships disappeared completely. The only sign of the aliens was this excessively large drill looking thing that was hovering way off in the stars. At first we were all relieved, thinking we’d escaped abduction. Then, somehow, it dawned on us that the exodus of aliens could only mean that they abducted all the humans they needed/wanted and the rest of us were about to be annihilated along with the entire planet by a globe killing alien laser. Think – Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy – planetary demolition crew paving the way for an intergalactic super highway. (Huge jump I realize but it’s a dream folks - work with me!)
This brings me to the interesting point in the dream. (Yes, this is the interesting part) We, the ‘survivor-esk’ group of people realize that we’re doomed to die any moment and there is nothing we can do about it. Someone (not me) decides that the only thing left to do is enjoy ourselves! So, everyone starts to discuss ‘hooking-up.’ Now, at this point we’re in a group of about 100 or so, maybe more, I forgot to count. One guy (cuz there’s always that guy) stands up on a nearby log and shouts out his exact sexual preferences and proclivities. In detail. The theory being, if we’re all doomed to die, we’re all single and unattached (again, work with me, it was a dream) then our last romp should be exactly what we want. Person by person, we start to stand up on the log, list with an unabashed bravado exactly what we want for our last roll in the hay. People start matching up on whose list matches who’s. Kind of an end of the world sexual speed dating meeting.
The rest of the dream is irrelevant to the rest of this blog. Sorry folks, I just checked the skyline, all’s clear, no space ships in sight and the blog-o-sphere is too large of a survivor group for me to stand on my metaphorical log and announce my sexual preferences. We’ll just leave some things private. Besides, my parents read this.
Fast-forward to last night.
Brad and I are lying in bed talking and I recount my dream to him. Of course, his first question is “what did you proclaim?” In an attempt to evade the question for a bit while I ponder the ramifications of point blank stating my preferences list style, I asked him what he would say. Now, I’m not shy and nothing I listed in the dream would be new information to him but for some reason, it’s an entirely different situation to list out your sexual proclivities like a bucket list. Plus, this is a man we’re talking about here, if I listed the things that I dreamt about in a sci-fy end of the world dream, he would take that as a list of things to try and, to be honest, dreams shouldn’t always equate to reality, at least not without copious amounts of liquor. Enough said.
Moving on: Brad’s answer (and yes, he knows I’m posting this and is rather proud of his answer and confident that any guy will understand it) was that he would stand up and say he wanted 3 women to pleasure him until his brain disengaged and he was just a body of sensation leading to a fantastic orgasm or two.
That’s it. No further description, no more instructions, no explanation of what “pleasure him” means. I don’t get it. So, I asked for clarification. What does “pleasure you mean? How would they pleasure you? Would it count as pleasuring you if they kissed or is that considered their own pleasure? Would you want to do any ‘work’ or just lay back and receive? “
“Jen, you’re way overthinking this, that’s the whole point, I don’t want to have to think about it, I just want to stand on the log and say – I want 3 women to pleasure me.”
“But, wait.” I continued my argument, “How would they know what pleasures you? What if they did something that didn’t fall under your realm of pleasure? Why 3? Why not 4? Why not 2? What is it that the 3rd woman would be doing that the first two couldn’t accomplish?”
“Jen, let me repeat: You’re overthinking this!”
“I am not! I just don’t understand what you mean. How can they pleasure you if you don’t tell or teach them how?!?”
“That’s the point! I don’t want to have to think about it I just want to surrender my body and mind to them to pleasure.”
Long, silent pause…..
“Brad, if you were in my end of the world survivor group… I’d go into the ocean get two sucker fish, throw them at you and take you’re women.”
Ensue 20 min’s of hysterical laughing on my part.
(Did I really just say – I’d throw sucker fish at my husband?)
Why only two sucker fish? Well, I assumed at first that I would be one of ‘his women’ but, upon further reflection, if the world was about to end the last thing I want to be doing is educating two other women on how to pleasure my husband. Why, if his goal is to disengage his brain, should I have to take up the slack and feel responsible for him having a mind-altering experience?
Let me rephrase: “Babe, if you were in my survivor group, I’d throw three sucker fish at you and take your women!”
Now, this is not to say that I’m particularly interested in women, don’t go there. I’m just saying, again, why should these 2 women have to guess at what pleasures him and what about their pleasure? It sounds to me like a few strategically placed fish could do the job given his lack of specifications.
I laughed so hard at this discussion. Like I said, it has to be probably one of the most bizarre we’ve ever had! I’d love to say we had a few cocktails under our belt or, give then complete strangeness of this conversation it would even be possibly reasonable to think maybe there were other mind altering concoctions in effect, but sadly, no, this was just my ‘woman brain’ over thinking, as Brad put it.
I was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down my face and I was snorting every other guffaw. He was laughing too but not to the same extent. He said to me: “Just for the record: I’m not laughing with you.”
At this point, I turn on the bed side lamp and grab my Ipad.
“You’re going to blog about this aren’t you?”
“Yep! It’s too funny not to!”
So, I type up a few key notes to help jog my memory in the morning. Things like “Dream about end of the world” “Sexual bucket list” “Brad wants: 3 women to pleasure him – no instruction” “Sucker fish” “Why 3? Why not 2 or 4? What is it exactly that the 3rd women for”
Brad then chimes in: “Can you imagine the discussion this could cause? At dinner tomorrow night I could just tell everyone I’m going to say a phrase and everyone has to think up a story to go with it. Ready? Here’s my Phrase: ‘Post-Apocalyptic Sucker Fish.’ I guarantee no one would go where you did with it!”
Ensue 20 more min’s of uncontrollable laughter on my part and oh my god my wife is crazy laughter on his.
(In my defense, it was 1 in the morning; I didn’t sleep hardly at all the night before and spent most of the day in the sun. But seriously, this was funny, no matter the time!)
The lights are back off and I’m still laughing enough to shake the bed. After a few steading breaths, I can feel Brad shaking his head at me at this point and thru controlled bite-my-cheek-so-I-don’t-go-hysterical-again breaths I say “I can only imagine what your blog post would look like if you were a blogger!”
He says: “My blog would be simple: “I woke up this morning, took a shit, drank coffee, went to work. Side note: My wife is crazy. End of blog”
Crude but it totally sums up the differences between my husband and me. At this point I’m on page 4 of my word document recounting this story using my shirt sleeve to wipe the tears that are still leaking out as I chuckle recounting this story. He’s fast asleep still as it’s his morning to sleep in and I guarantee when he wakes up he’ll look at me and shake his head in that same tone of voice he shook at me last night. That’s it, no further discussion on his part. I on the other hand, will probably have this conversation or retelling of conversation, conversation, at least 3 times today. Laughing each time. Coming up with new, in depth questions. Hitting him at the most random, inopportune times with a request for further clarification.
Back to last night…slowly the silence creeps in. Sleep starts to take over and we lay cuddled in each other’s arms drooping into that slow steady rhythmic breathing of pre-sleep.
“Brad?”
“What?”
“Wouldn’t it be Pre- Apocalyptic sucker fish? I’m pretty sure by definition, Post-Apocalyptic means that everything’s dead.”
“Jen… shut up.”
Queue snores
No comments:
Post a Comment