My Sex Dream ft. Vin Diesel

If any of you follow us on Twitter (which you should, since how else will you know when we’ve posted?!), then you know that once again, Jessica promised she’d write a post. She likes to do that every now and then, presumably to remind me that she’s still capable of crushing my hopes without so much as lifting a finger.

This time, though, I was prepared. I threatened her with retribution; specifically, that if she once again totally didn’t write anything after promising that she would, I was going to write out the sordid, unasked for details of my Monday night sex dream, the one that was the sweaty product of binge watching the first five Fast and Furious movies.

Well, HTLYT, she didn’t deliver. So now let’s delve into the complex and disgusting world of my subconscious. When you start gagging halfway through, I want you to remember one thing: this is Jessica’s fault.


We were standing in an abandoned warehouse, the only light to break the gloom filtering in through high, grimy windows. The air was flecked with dust, and the heavy scent of motor oil filled my nostrils. I knew where I was without having to ask – I know who I was with without having to glance to my left.

It was the garage of the fastest and most furious. It was his garage, his own collapsed kingdom, my dark, fugitive prince. 

“Dammit, Toretto.”

I could feel his eyes on me at my soft exclamation. I could feel the power radiating from the bulky, lethal body beside me – I could feel the desire thrumming in the air around us, doubtlessly making the veins at his well-muscled forearms bulge. I remembered with a thrill the way he’d looked in his soiled wifebeater, haloed in smoke and billowing clouds of dust, as he somehow managed to take out like, 3 guys at once on a moving train car without any formal fight training.

No training but those mean, mean streets.

“Wait until you see the car,” he said in response, his voice slow and thick as always, like a recent stroke-victim, or Lenny from Of Mice and Men. My beautiful, brooding Lenny.

“The car?”

I didn’t need to ask. He was already striding away, powerful arms rippling with ropes of muscle, the dim light gleaming off of his utterly hairless head.

I followed, feeling faintly breathless, watching as he tore the tarp off of a gleaming, electric green car. I didn’t know the make or the model. Neither mattered, since it was only a sex dream. One thing I did know was that beneath the heinously tacky racing stripes and spiky, too-high spoiler, that car was loaded with sweet, sweet nitrous oxide. 

Nos. The ultimate aphrodisiac.

One moment his eyes were on the car, unimpressed but approving. The next, they were on me, raking down the contours of my body like an ex-con starved for the touch of – oh, shit sorry, that’s insensitive, forgot that he is, technically, an ex-con. Well, sort of. Does it count if you never make it to the prison? I don’t know, I’ve only seen up to the fifth movie, maybe he goes to jail later. The Rock did say he always gets his man.

Anyway, yeah, so he was eyeing me up, and it was revving my engine, and before I know it, he’s slamming me (gently) against the hood of that too-green car. For a moment, as ours eyes locked, his body caging mine in, I felt like I was in freefall – a huge freefall, sort of like when he and Brian O’Connor drove off a cliff like a billion feet over the water and somehow managed to jump out mid-fall and survive, which made no sense since they both definitely would have at least broken a few bones or something – anyway.

Freefall. Fast, furious, dangerous – 

And then his mouth was on mine, those plush, parrotbeak lips crushing in the intensity of the kiss. My back was flat on the metal of the hood, his powerful body flexing and rippling above me as he pressed closer. I was kissing him back, my head swimming, the sound of distant car engines revving in my ears and drowning out the world as I poured my need against the ministrations of his tongue. 

I was burning up, my arms clinging, limpet-like, to his neck, breaking the kiss only to gasp for air before pressing my mouth to his once again. His hands were everywhere, burning rough paths across my bare skin, pulling off articles of clothing in a dreamlike frenzy, the kiss somehow unbroken because it was only a dream and nothing makes sense.

It was only a moment before we were stripped bare, my back still pressed to the cool hood of the car, my arms circling his neck like a lifeline. He stared into my eyes, his breathing as labored as mine, and in that dark gaze I found so many things – love, loss, power, strength, courage, and a ten-movie franchise that would make everyone involved millions.

“Are you sure?” he growled, his voice croaked with strained desire.

I stared up into his eyes a moment longer, swimming in the depth of the emotion I found there, falling deeper in love with Dominic Toretto… And then I dug my heels into his lower back, pulling him into me, gasping only a moment before whispering into his ear:

“More NOS.”


If you don’t ever want to be subjected to the atrocities of my dreams again, please hound Jessica to maybe contribute sometime by tweeting her encouragement/death threats at @_jessfrancois.

In the meantime…

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