The night before the archery competition I had a great dream.
You know how they say in order to calm your nerves before a public presentation or performance you should picture the audience in only their underwear? Well the dream kind of flipped this on its head because the star of my dream was Andrew, my extremely hot archery instructor and he was going over the finer points of technique in nothing but a skimpy pair of men’s designer briefs – grey with red trim – that showed off his, um, package, pretty darn well. I had to hand it to my powers of visualization because he was absolutely perfect down to his muscular arms, rock hard abs and powerful thighs. All he had on other than the briefs was a brown leather wrist guard – my ancient Greek olympic fantasy come to life!
In the dream, of course, this turn of events seemed perfectly normal. I can only imagine I had won some kind of raffle and received this opportunity as a coveted prize – a very private lesson on the finer points of archery from my scantily clad instructor. He carried on as if it were a regular class; as if I weren’t the only one standing close and paying attention; as if he wasn’t barely dressed and hot enough to send stauncher young men than I into paroxysms of unfulfilled desire.
In fact, as he pulled back on the bow, flexing his long arm and focusing on the target across the field, my heightened sexual energy stretched taut. Upon release, as the bow flew threw the air and slammed forcefully into the waiting target, I woke in a wave of achieved pleasure, sheets wet with the outcome of my vivid fantasy.
Panting and cold in the lonely aftermath I only hoped I could retain anything he had told me so that I might perform to the best of my ability at the impending competition. Hopefully my intense dream might bring more than a nocturnal emission and a sense of regret.
When I reached the contest grounds that afternoon it was with sadness to discover that my regular archery instructor could not attend due to a family emergency. The young woman in his place did nothing for my inspiration. Nevertheless, when it was my turn finally, I closed my eyes and imagined I was drawing my bow before the half naked man in my dreams. I concentrated as hard as I could on the target and let go, my arrow flying in a priapic arc across the wide field.
Astonishingly, it hit the bullseye square to the amazement of my peers, and myself if I am entirely honest. As whoops and hollers erupted and people came to congratulate me, I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the naked Adonis who came to me in the night, perfecting my technique and taking the edge off a long unrequited passion.