Both Eyes Book Blog

My Dream about Stephen King

This is what my man Rocket Scientist had to say when I told him: “You had a sex dream about Stephen King?  You’ve definitely been reading too much.”

In the dream, I met Mr. King at a reading, and invited him home to meet my family.  For some reason, we lived on a farm.  (In real life, I grew up in a slum in a medium-sized city; I don’t think I’ve set foot on a farm since about 1983).  We decided to have a barbecue, and Mr. King did the honors, fixing ribs.  (I asked RS, “Do you… barbecue… ribs?”  My family never ate pork, and in fact we are 3 vegans and one vegetarian, so this dream was just getting weirder and weirder).

Afterward, we got our flirt on.  I wanted to impress this favorite author of mine, so I started telling him I’d written a poem about him for my blog.  First, though, I had to tell him the one I wrote about Dan Brown, to sort of explain why I’d started writing goofy poems about different authors.  Stephen King was offended and thought my Dan Brown poem was in poor taste, so I wound up not telling him the one about himself.  Then I wound up sitting in his lap and… Fade to black.  In the morning, he was gone.

Then I woke up.  It’s hard to say which one of us in reality would have thought this scenario was stranger.  He’s in his sixties and I think his kids are older than me.  He’s famously been married to Tabitha King since at least the early 70s.  The idea of me being a pork-eating farm girl and throwing myself at a celebrity is even stranger than the idea of Stephen King chasing after girls younger than his own daughters.  The only thing I have to say for myself is that at least there weren’t any, um, “graphic” scenes.