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I had consumed an entire bottle of Haut Medoc at Christmas Dinner, which probably influenced that night's mental activities.

I never dream. Or, I never remember my dreams.

I was on a stairwell. No features, just gray concrete. Not even doors on the landings. It was a standard auxiliary, service stariwell. Stretching endlessly up, and down. There was a woman there. She was drop-dead gorgeous: voluptuous, curly brown hair, deep green eyes. Just my type. We talked - I don't know about what. It was totally normal.
Eventually the conversation turned to her.
"Don't you ever miss it? The world?" I asked.
She laughed and tossed her hair. "This is the world."
She took my hand.
"Let's get this over with."
Somehow, this was totally expected.
We walked down the stairs, to the next landing. She lay on the concrete, and slid her jeans down. Her panties . . .

This part gets pretty graphic, and those who don't have the same sensory organs as me may not relate.
YMMV

It was . . .crusty. Old. Stuck to her. Like she'd been wearing the same pair forever. I didn't care. I pulled them aside, and kissed her. Her face shifted. Became less symmetrical. Flattened.
I slid into her, and after that initial burst of pleasure and sensation, I felt nothing.
Not 'hot dog down a hallway,' not 'too drunk to notice.'
Nothing.

I pinned her hands above her head. She ground her hips against me as I thrust . . . but still nothing.

I looked up. Above us, oblivious, was a woman standing on the next landing. Blonde, lithe.
Drop-dead gorgeous.
Just my type.

And that's it.

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