I had a weird dream about Leighlani Red last night.
We were in the middle of a scene. I went in for a kiss. She hesitated. I asked her if anything was wrong.
Then the lights and the cameras disappeared. The crew faded from view. It seemed like the world around us darkened. It was just the two of us sharing an intimate moment on an oft cummed-on couch.
She said in a tender yet professional tone that she would rather not. She just doesn't like kissing the men she films with.
But you've given me the girlfriend treatment before, I said.
Yes, because I like you and I enjoy kissing you but not in this setting. Besides you're a nice guy; I know you'll respect my wishes.
I did. I completely understood.
The rest of the room returned from the Netherworld: the lights, the cameras, the wiring snaking the floor, the derivative Abstract Expressionist painting above the couch, the crew, the directer watching the monitor, the other performers waiting on the wings, the table with the Wet Naps.
We went back to fucking like nothing happened. Minutes later I pulled out and blew a load that went splat against her pretty, pockmarked face, thinking maybe after this is over I'll ask her out.
Weird, huh?
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