The Best Dream I ever Had
It must have been around eight in the morning when I found myself lost in a rampant sexual session with my girlfriend, Rihanna. Her perky tits were bigger than they seem on TV, whereas her squidgy, caramel coloured ass appeared to be melting like butter in my hands. After she climaxed multiple times simultaneously in a sweaty spasm, I removed my penis from her gushing vagina, and threw her to one side, effortlessly.
Getting out of bed, I glanced in the mirror. My body appeared to have sculpted into the perfectly preened form of Michelangelo's David overnight, whereas my penis was had grown by fifty percent or so. that's handy, I thought. Brushing my pearly white teeth, it almost seemed as though my five head had now reduced in size into a normal looking forehead.
Tucking my throbbing, elongated penis into my freshly pressed Armani boxers, I then proceeded to drape myself in an immaculately fitting chocolate brown Gucci suit, found among my well organised, colour coded, walk in wardrobe brimming with seemingly suave outfits.
Downstairs In my chrome designer kitchen, a fresh fruit breakfast sat waiting, between Jessica Alba's naked thighs. 'Morning David' said Robert De Niro, my flatmate, also sitting at my expensive looking glass dining table, sipping coffee. "bet that's not the only thing you'd like to eat between her legs", he quipped, patting my back. I laughed. Jessica Frowned.
Annoyingly, the Top Gear team appeared to be stood around my Red Ferrari parked outside, gesticulating to each other in their familiar, dick-headed fashion. Thankfully, after swiftly knocking Clarkson to floor with a clean right hook, and setting Richard Hammond's hair on fire with my lighter, they f**ked off, along with the straggly haired third one nobody remembers.
Setting off in my sports car, soft leather cushioning my ass, fashionable dance music accompanying my journey, I was interrupted at a set of traffic lights, where a fellow driver politely informed me I had been dragging somebody along, caught in the spokes of my back wheels. Inspecting the problem, I discovered it was my ex girlfriends' new boyfriend.
"F**k off then," I said to my ex's new boyfriend, whose previously handsome face was now permanently mutilated from being dragged half a mile across tarmac. Off he scampered, limping badly from the clearly harrowing ordeal he had just suffered. Opening the glove compartment, I reached for a conveniently placed Cadbury's Twirl, scoffing it down in one go.
Accelerating faster, beautiful women jogging beside me in tight fitting grey sweatpants, bulging breasts leaping up and down furiously to the rhythm of each step, I noticed Wembley Stadium now appeared on the Horizon, and my trim, athletic frame was now clothed in the full Arsenal kit, complete with matching red Nike Boots.
"ONE DAVID BENSON, THERE'S ONLY ONE DAVID BENSON!!" The 90,000 strong crowd cheered, as I tried my best not to develop a boner in my prospectively revealing polyester shorts. The hallowed turf of Wembley Stadium crunched softly under each of my steps as I tried to integrate myself into the ongoing arsenal attack.
Vieira had just done Frank Lampard, and was now pacing forward in strides towards the Chelsea gola. He then dispatched the ball crisply forward to Bergkamp, who with a majestic turn had just beaten John terry in defence. The ball was then laid off to me, goal gaping. "This is my chance!" I thought, beforeshaping up to score the winning goal in the Champions league final. I could feel the electricity in the air. The prospect of becoming an all conquering footballing great was nearly upon me..
Suddenly my leading foot stubbed awkwardly into the ground, causing my following shooting foot to swipe at thin air. The groan of 90,000 exasperated men was clearly audible as I fell over myself in the nature of spastic; ball bobbling harmlessly out for a goal kick. "Wanker!" somebody from the crowd shouted.
Then I woke up.