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Mosquito. My Libido.
The Unsexiest Sex Dream Ever

Dreamed 1994? by Kelly McCracken

Mosquito in profile. Stamp art, artist unknown.


I'm visiting someone. A friend, you could say. He's not really a friend, though. We've been friends, but there is tension between us. Maybe we've had an affair or are fixing to, and we're not sure where we stand with each other. Maybe. So anyway, this person is Michael J. Fox. He is definitely in Alex P. Keaton mode. Maybe I'm his liberal girlfriend played by Tracy Pollen, his real-life wife. It's possible. But really I'm me and he's someone else, sort of.

So, we're in the backyard playing soccer, the two of us. There is a swimming pool. We're kicking the ball back and forth. He becomes a little cocky, a little into himself, and starts trying to give me advice. Little pointers. And he's flirting with me, touching my waist or whatever as he instructs. I'm annoyed. I start feeling like: yeah, whatever, like you're so great, Mr. Fox. In my head I'm daring him to get the ball past me, to score. I feel tough, but I know that if he really tries he probably can because he's more skilled. I'm nervous and scared and excited and also confused because I'm like: wait, Michael J. Fox is kind of a loser.

Then his Mom comes out into the yard. She ignores me and announces that he has a guest. A pretty but unspecific blonde follows. He seems embarrassed, but walks over to her and kisses her and starts ignoring me. Oh well. I'm pissed, kinda and hurt, but mostly just aggravated because here I am in Michael J. Fox's backyard and it all just seems sort of awkward.

Everything changes. The backyard vanishes. All I see is color--red, then blue. Pulsing. Red. Blue. And a huge mosquito. It's like a close-up, way out of proportion. It's gigantic. Its needle-nose is just about to stab me. I don't feel it or anything. lnstead of staying in and sucking my blood, the mosquito starts humping me. The flashing colors get faster. The humping gets faster. I'm basically pretty freaked out. All at once a sentence appears. I see it and I hear it. Or maybe I'm saying it. Do me.

Then I wake up. I'm basically pretty freaked out.

SOURCE: First Person: True Stories by Real People, zine by Tracey West, (the Dream Issue, 1995), p.4



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