I'm stuck in the library and I'm horny. I had sex with Drew this morning but was too worried about being late to the clinic to have an orgasm; now I'm regretting that decision.

I keep thinking about a dream I had Wednesday night. I dreamt that a boy at school was in love with me. In real life this boy is straight, and he seemed to be straight in the dream, too. But for whatever reason he really, really, really wanted to be with me. I can say unequivocally that he wanted me more than anyone has ever wanted me in my life. He loved me more than my mother loves me.

He took me to his house, which was this big, gorgeous, empty modern glass-and-concrete tomb. It was so dark in there I could barely see. It seemed lonely and he seemed sad. He kept trying to tell me how much he'd always liked me, and I kept saying "I'm with Drew" and then I'd try to change the subject. I was uncomfortable, but flattered. We went out to meet some of his friends, and when he said my name they all reacted like "Oh, so this is the guy."

We ended up back at his place. And just as he started to strip his clothes off, I woke up. My first thought was "Oh come on! It's a dream! Fuck the kid already!" I mean, how boring of me. I take comfort in the fact that in real life Art is conceited, racist, and kind of chunky. (Although in my dream he had an Evan Lysacek body.)

Drew is the first boyfriend I've never cheated on. Which is pathetic, I realize. But he's also only the second real boyfriend, so I figure a 50/50 record isn't too terribly shameful. It also puts him in a pretty safe position; my self-esteem would never allow me to stray. I think too highly of myself to be a serial adulterer.

I still should have fucked Art in that dream, though.