I am laughing like crazy because every time I watch a movie featuring Clive Owen, or mention his name in an effort to be funny, Andy says, "Who? Oh, that old man." Ha! According to imdb, he was born in 1964. Hardly an old man. In fact, I like my man to be several years older than me. (I originally typed 'men', but that sort of isn't the right word.) Anyway, 15 years is just about right. And that man is gorgeous.
Obviously I'll never get the chance to find out, but I'm betting he is smoking hot in bed. I'd like to send him some dirty text messages.
The other night, in the afterglow of sex, I was thinking I have seriously decided never to actually have sex with him, because then if it sucked, I'd be completely disappointed, having built up this whole fantasy history. I started to tell Andy this, but just before I opened my mouth it occurred to me that that might not be as comforting a statement as I originally thought. He'd probably hear something more like, "Hey, you know, I fantasize about Clive Owen pretty much constantly, and the reason I have such fantastic orgasms is more because I'm thinking about him than because of your amazing skills. So since I'll never sleep with him anyway, I'm just going to keep on fantasizing about him instead of Colin Firth or Vin Diesel or whoever it is my girl friends masturbate to." You know how husbands are.
And since I've already grossed you out or whatever, let me just say that I don't understand why, in porn, the guys only thrust with little shallow strokes. Ok, I do - so the camera can still see in there, without their bodies in the way. But come on - give it to me DEEP. How annoying.
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wakeful dreamer