Brad awoke with the sun in his face and opened his eyes just enough to read the bedside clock: 9:49. Holy crap, that was an awesome dream last night, he thought. Jeez, I'm almost as sore as if it was real.
He rolled over and tried to recall the details of the dream, in which he was fucking an overly-endowed Asian porn star. He remembered coming over and over again, and she did the same as he teased her nipple rings with his tongue...
He clutched the bedsheets as he recalled her running her pierced tongue over his dick, giving him the greatest blow job of his life, and then after she'd swallowed his load, teasing him back into erection by --
Brad's eyes snapped open. The sheets he was clutching felt like satin.
He sat up. Naked. He hadn't slept naked in years -- no reason to, since Tiffani was completely uninterested in sex.
The sheets were satin, and dark green. And pretty much everything else in the bedroom was unfamiliar; the furniture was all ebony wood, and an elaborate silk tapestry covered much of one wall.
And then he realized he smelled bacon cooking.
Brad stood up, walked resolutely over to the walk-in closet, opened the door firmly, and flipped the light switch with authority. He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked at the left-hand side of the small room to see a mostly recognizable wardrobe hanging there. He took a nondescript shirt and pair of jeans off their respective hangers, glancing briefly at the unfamiliar sexy items that dominated the other side of the closet.
The dresser on "his" side of the bedroom had changed on the outside, but it was comfortably familiar on the inside; he pulled out a pair of underwear, got dressed, took a deep breath, and exited into the hallway.