This wasn't a dream. I knew my eyes weren't open, I knew that I was laying down and I knew I was awake because I felt queasy and tasted vomit. I don't usually feel queasy in my dreams. Naseous either.

"Have you ever been buttfucked by a Mexican fat dude in a ditch before?!"

Louder this time. Different. I remember that he transposed a word there. But still, not a dream. I still had my eyes closed, was still laying down and still tasted vomit. And…peppermint schnaaps. God, how vile. Minty poison.

Where was I? I was laying on my side, without a pillow, and I could smell something more pungent than my bile. Gas. I was out a gas station, in the back of a friend's car, laying against the seat, trying my hardest not to throw up.

Fear came next. Holy shit, this dude was going to buttfuck and leave me in a ditch, or maybe buttfuck me in a ditch; either way, I didn't want to be buttfucked, ditch or otherwise. I preferred not to be left in a ditch, buttfucked or not.

I suppose I could say I was buttfucked and likely garner a helluva lot more sympathy right now. Does getting buttfucked sell?

Either way, I wasn't buttfucked. Nor did I ever have to worry about it again.