Dreams are fascinating to me. And not just the dreams themselves, but the way they exist in our culture. It’s boring as fuck to hear somebody else describe a dream, but we’re all guilty of it at one time or another. What is it about the neural state of dreaming that leaves that emotional echo? Why do we spend so much time thinking about some dreams, and become so attached to the bizarre relationships we create in them?

I’m a really light sleeper, which apparently lends itself to more awareness during dreams. I usually remember at least one, more often two dreams every night. In a given month, there’s usually only a handful of days when I can’t remember a single dream from the night before. I didn’t find out this was unusual until college, when the topic of sex dreams came up. Although my position on the subject has been met with a fair amount of opposition, I maintain that I have the same number of sex dreams (on average) as every one else, I’m just lucky enough to remember all of them. Either way, I’ve had dream-sex with more friends, strangers, celebrities, and ex-boyfriends than I could ever count. And at first it really disturbed me. But it’s happened so many times at this point, that it’s hard to consider any particular night or person significant. Honestly, if you can count yourself among the many, don’t get too excited—it’s nothing personal. And the sex itself has spanned an entire continuum of acts, circumstances, emotions, locations, and positions. I’ve had dream pity sex, dream angry sex, dream sex under water, outside, in the snow, in cars, with props, with partners… you name it, it’s probably come up.

Nevertheless, there are a few notable, memorable ones that stand out. Jude Law’s abs turned into a hollowed out bat cave once. THAT was fucked up. Once me and a neighbor unknowingly did it in front of my grandfather. Gross. And once David Beckham loved me so much that he cried afterwards. For the record, his marriage to Posh was just for show. She was okay with our affair. All the same, Becks and I felt we owed her a certain degree of discretion, so we did it clandestinely in his Beemer. Hotness.

EDIT: For the record, the dreams come pretty consistently, regardless of my waking life. Single or attached, whether I’m getting any in real life or not; my dream sex life is extremely reliable.