What is it with me and hookers? 

I wouldn’t say dreaming of hookers is a recurring everynight thing, but I have definitely had more than my fair share.

In this one the weird thing was that my young son was with me. I actually had no inkling that I was off to a brothel while we walked down the street and entered an old looking building laughing and joking as we always do. The hall way was decorated like I imagine a house from the 1800s to be, wood floorboards and panelling were the order of the day. Once inside I walked him to the lounge where, despite the old feel to place, there was a TV. He sat down and I left him. I went in to another room where a row of girls waited, naked. I picked one that had real woman curves. Hips, boobs, soft skin. I traced the shape of her body with my hands and we laughed. Then I woke up.