Wet Dreams

I can remember a time when these dreams were exciting. Those pre-sex nightly flights of fancy that included the cheerleading corps., that flautist sitting in the 3rd chair from the left in the marching band, or the student teacher that liked to lean over one's shoulder as she answered questions about homework...don't even get me started on the young ladies who ran track wearing white t-shirts or shorts during practices, in the rain...

Yessiree, those flights of fancy racked up many, many frequent flyer miles.

Speaking of flights of fancy, I was dropping my dad off in Zanesville (he was meeting his brother for work) at the Bob Evans parking lot. In the lot across the way there was this elderly gentleman who stalked the lot by himself. Well, technically he was stalking the lot with his invisible friend, Lenny.

I like to call him Lenny because he looked like a Lenny to me. Yes, I realize that I stated that this person was invisible and no, I could not see Lenny. I just know that this was his name because while watching the elderly gentleman gesticulating and yelling, I thought that he was being awful hard on good 'ole Lenny. However Lenny stood up to the abuse rather well and did not seem to really mind all that much.

Another memory crossed my mind while watching Lenny's public humiliation. I remembered that one year while a member of the high school concert band I had my own group of invisible friends (re: Distractions). The thing with high school concert bands is that if one plays a 'low brass' instrument (trombone, tuba, baritone) then one's music is rife with silence. Yep, we often played music where I had a series of long notes followed by interminable stretches of NOTHING.

NOTHING. Just sitting there and holding my instrument in the ready position. So, during practices I would let my eyes wander. During one of these interludes a fly kept buzzing me and after it was gone (as I had gathered an audience) I pretended that it was still around and that eventually morphed into my staring at corners of the practice room at odd times. Eventually I was asked (by those sitting near me) what I was always staring at. As they were sitting near me and knew there was no fly, I had to make up something plausible. So, I introduced them to my invisible friends 'Ma and Pa Kettle'. The Kettles, it seems, recently moved into the band room and were setting up house and I was always catching site of them in the midst of unappropriate activities...Band practices just flew by once the Kettles moved into the neighborhood.

But I have digressed. I had originally wanted to discuss Sex...No, that is wrong. I was discussing wet dreams.

As a lad, wet dreams consisted of sex with any girl that caught my fancy. And as I fancied any girl that wore skirts (and most girls wore skirts at one time or another I had lots of dreams)...

But wet dreams now are slightly more insidious. Yes, I still do dream about bare legs and skirts (sorry dear, I am still a guy..) but mostly now these dream involve me and another activity. Yes, during these dreams I am running around looking for a place to pee.

Your eyes are not decieving you, I am trying to pee in my dreams. This in and of itself is would not trouble me, but I have discovered that I am having these dreams because I really do need to pee, but have not yet awoken. The really troubling aspect of these dreams is that I am constantly waking up on the verge of having a real good pee (and yes, sometimes when one has a real good pee, it is as good or better than sex). Then upon waking up I have to run, not walk, not dawdle, but run to the bathroom.

So, I guess what I am trying to say is that I am starting to really, really be concerned about constant repitition of these (presently dry) wet dreams.