Dream Girl

To say she is the girl of my dreams would be inaccurate; considering, I see her every day. Besides the girl of my dreams has more of a toss salad of features stolen from Jessica Alba and Ben Affleck with horns and three sets of breast. My therapist claims that I dream about this because my mind, before attempting the unstoppable voyage, is building the communication wire between my adolescent self and my mature self by experimenting with sexual concepts while also chastising my “unacceptable” desires. Hence, the horns on my weird transsexual hybrid dream girl. The point is, the girl, the one we are talking about, isn’t the girl of my dreams. She is more the girl of my frequent thoughts. I am in all actuality a victim of her abrasive presence. For example, I am minding my business with my friends and I often find myself struck by the sight of her walking on the other side of the room. I am simply victimized by the sight of those tiny hips that barely disrupt the fall of her skirt, always made up of some lucid thin fabric that flows and trembles like dyed smoke billowing around her romp, and those tight hard plump plum like breast  that look too delicious to be true. Oh yeah, her face is nice…she has freckles or maybe it is an odd set of pimples atop her “buttered-biscuit” cheeks. All I am saying is that I may have just recently hit puberty, but I know the difference between a dream girl and some random cute young thing. Also don’t mention to me how I write her name over and over in-between doodles during math class. I just personally think Ashley is a cool name.