Ryan.

Music is our thing, he says. And when I e-mail him regularly, I somehow find my way into his dreams.

He writes: “we were running up the stairs of my dad’s old rowhouse. if you’ve ever been in a seven floor PA-style rowhouse, you know the kind of foreplay that made for. and then i bred you. my sex dreams are kind of like levi’s commercials. well… the beginning parts.”

And it’s Christmas, no less. Hardly a better gift than knowing you’re the sex-object of someone’s dreams.

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