I laid down for a short nap right after enjoying a tasty breakfast of french toast prepared by my friend Joyce. I slept, and I dreamt.

I was living in an artist's colony, something like an old college dorm where everyone has their own rooms, but share a kitchen, bath and a common room in the middle. And we were having a party.

One of my dorm mates lived down the hall, and i well, sorta liked her. She had long straight blonde hair, an impish smile and the voluptous curves of an R. Crumb woman. Your basic earth mother in jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt. I started looking at her, and she looked back . She smiled back.

The party swirled on and I came across her sitting on the end of a couch. She sipped on her drink and asked my help with her walkman. I helped clear the jam and as i gave it back to her traced one fingertip down the length of her forearm. Our fingers touched. With a soft, sultry voice she said: "So when are you going to C! my body?"

Just as our lips met I awoke. Joyce's husband Mike knocked at the door, reminding me we had to leave for a 4th of July cookout. My dream lover was gone.

Damn! Why do dreams like that never get finished?

The other question I have is where did my subconscious come up with that piece of dialogue, so perfectly delivered? And why?