Erotic dreams

May 16, 2020

I won’t be original by saying I had an erotic dream. I can already imagine the smirk on the face of some people or disdain in others. In this world that displays sexuality in all media, it is more than astonishing to see the embarrassment that such a statement can cause. It would be difficult for me to say to my colleagues that I have dreamed about them, let alone done those things that are only allowed in the secret intimacy of a hot moment. And yet, everyone experiences it, in their own way, tasting the intoxicating juice as much as its ephemeral vinegared duration. It is also interesting to note that such a revelation can easily be seen as outright aggression.

The impulse within us acts like a ghost, its language is insatiable, its power is inexhaustible and voluntary. I am also surprised by these dreams, which come out of nowhere, and which remind me that no wound or failure can overcome the courage of the act. Old people eroticize, babies get ready to come, teenagers martyr themselves, and adults learn to hold back. The arrow of desire hits its target every time. Its path is as much labyrinthine as it is evangelical.

It is not surprising to hear the false prudes screaming in horror. They know only too well that they will not be able to defeat what they call demons. Nor is it extraordinary to listen to the troubadours ennoble their vilest fantasies. We make whatever excuses we can.

Despite everything, we are careful to describe what we dreamt, because of course, anything goes: big dirty sex as they say, fingers everywhere, frantic tongues, old teenage images, boundaries that we usually never cross, unless we are more or less intoxicated by naivety or alcohol.

It is a secret garden so fragile, it is said, that only a clinical context allows its auscultation. So I cannot go beyond the statement that I did ’things’ if you don’t mind that I enjoyed for a few minutes of unconsciousness. I suppose, in any case, these things are equivalent to yours, and there’s no shame in keeping it to yourself. What would happen, indeed, if everyone began to tell their truth, if we became the open book that must be unsaid? What is so precious about keeping this silence until we die?