My dream early this morning was about a device called an Orgasmotron. It was a real dream; I am not making this up.
I was still in San Francisco and, inexplicably, went to someone’s house to get a demonstration of the Orgasmotron. It was a wand-like vibrator (like you see in Brookstone or Sharper Image) and it had a smaller wand sticking out of the side for clitoral stimulation.
The demonstrator was … an old lady. Again, inexplicably. She showed how to use the thing, noting that it kept track of how many orgasms you had via a digital readout on top.
Very weirdly, the thing also recorded voices … in her case, it had the voice of her dog and cat on it. (Don’t ask for explanations, I didn’t make this shit up.) The dog was an old Airedale and he and the cat were curled up on a doggy bed.
Suddenly, things shifted. I was in the same house and everything, but for some reason I wasn’t wearing shoes or socks and the old lady had morphed into a thirty-something gay boy who was asking if I was okay and didn’t I love the Orgasmotron. I said I did and started looking for my socks and shoes. As I put them on, I saw another couch underneath the front window of the room and, wrapped up in a blanket with just some blond hair and a blue eye and a nose sticking out was the gay boy’s partner, just lying there looking at me.
At that moment, the phone rang and woke me up.
Freaky-deaky.