The Ultimate Dream Guy

by Evelyn Pelczar

Most women dream of meeting their prince in shining armor, someone to sweep them off their feet and carry them away into the sunset.

What do I dream about? Sun. How can I even begin to picture a sunset when the sun doesn’t even rise here in Toronto?

Alright, it has nothing to do with the sun.

So what do I dream about? I dream about the perfect sexual encounter. I dream about toe-curling, spine-tickling, eye-rolling, lower lip-trembling, breathtaking, and fingertip-numbing orgasms. I dream about the day I find the man who makes me stutter when I try to yell his name in bed.

I dream about seeing white light in a pitch dark room when that perfect man is convulsing on top of me, and he is not my dentist inducing me with anesthesia.

Maybe I wish I were a classy girl with a classy dream. A classy girl who wears cardigans and only let’s a man get to first base after the third date (with the exception of Taylor Swift who has all bases loaded at all times).

I’m lying – my dream is awesome and I don’t give a f*ck.

No matter what dream we might have, no matter how different, let it be Kim Jong-un dreaming of one day being able to shop at Gap instead of Gap Kids, or Anne Hathaway dreaming of one day not being lied to when people refer to her as beautiful, or my dream of having Jake Gyllenhaal turn out to be that sex god I’ve been looking for -- the naivety and certainty is the same, believing that one day we’ll live the magical moment when our dreams will come true.

Unlike other people out there, I take my dreams very seriously. Like a patchy squirrel searching for nuts, I constantly scan my surrounding area for a good pair of nuts myself. From time to time, a man will come along that will evoke that hopeful feeling of one day seeing my dream come true, and when that happens, I make sure I hold onto that man for as long as I can, just until the hope disappears again.

This is why as much as I might love one-night stands, I almost always prefer steady f*ck buddies. One-night stands might be exciting, but steady f*ck buddies help reinforce the belief that my dream is not dead. One-night stands are different for men. No matter what hole a man will stick it in he will leave satisfied. Women don’t always do.

How many times did I have sex with a man who finished before I did, having to go home and use my fingers shamefully regretting I wasted another number? As many times as Facebook changed its layout – too many times! (Seriously Facebook, enough with that shit).

Steady f*ck buddies help you to always stay prepared, they give you a reason to bid on Plan B on eBay (don’t ask how I know it’s sold there), and have the confidence to drunk text each other without regretting it in the morning. With a f*ck buddy, you get to learn about each other’s style and you know that the sole reason for having that relationship is to satisfy one another sexually.

Only a f*ck buddy will know to wrap his fingers around my neck just as I’m about to reach an orgasm because struggling to breathe strangely turns me on. Only as a f*ck buddy I know to show up at his condo at 3 am in the morning, wearing red lacey lingerie under a black trench coat, because the color red makes his cock salute like a soldier.

And only a f*ck buddy won’t get offended when I tell him that he should leave my place before I wake up in the morning, because morning sex and breakfast is for couples. I don’t need to know how you like your eggs. I already know that you like your egg whites on my face.

But even with all these fabulous qualities of a f*ck buddy, something always goes wrong. Somehow the intrigue eventually dies out, the attractions dissipates, or in my case an ex-girlfriend forces her way into his condo making me hide in the closet before I jump out yelling “we will replace these shelves for free, thank you for shopping at IKEA!” and Bolt for the door like a Jamaican athlete.

The f*ck buddies come and go, cardigan bitches keep dating every man and his best friend, and Kim is still spinning in tea cups. But our dreams never die.

Anna Shul | Elite.

Follow Anna on Twitter: @theannalee