dreams: June 30, 1998
carne! carne!
I'm sitting around around with N. and two young gangsta guys
who are really attractive. Somehow we think they're naive and
don't really know anything about sex (at least from a woman's
perspective). Lots of flirting is going on. We are sitting in a
loft with a very low ceiling and not much space (like a cozy
trailer). N. and I offer to show the guys some great sexual
positions if they'll each pay us fifty cents. Both guys hand over
a couple quarters. Without taking our clothes off, N. and I get
into the basic missionary position, with her as the woman and me
as the man. I move my hips as if we're having intercourse. Then
we change positions into 69. She's on the floor, and I'm over her.
She's wearing funky old jeans. I stroke her clit a couple times
through the denim. She does the same for me, which feels stabilizing
and comforting. The exchange feels just like a friendship with a
fun new level of intimacy. In relation to the guys watching, I feel
sexually powerful. We're the teachers. We're showing them what we
like. I feel feminine and sexy.
Then things disperse. I'm in a big bed. I want to have sex
with one of the guys. I crave touch. And passion. And his dick.
A new woman is in the huge bed too, and she's with one of the men.
I overhear their dialogue: "Hmmm... You've gotten a few tattoos
before. I think we should use a condom," she says. I think about
the logic of her statement, realizing that the tattoo needle could
have made him HIV+ earlier in his life.
I'm lying on the right side of the bed. An older woman comes
over to me, sitting down on the edge of the bed where the warm light
of a lamp on the bedside table illuminates her naked body. She's
slim; her skin looks older than I've ever seen, very tan and loose
and wrinkly. I think she's beautiful. I'm now a man. We talk
about having sex. I ask her if she has a condom. She doesn't know
where we can find one. She says something about the situation of
a mother and a daughter in the same bed if she were to crawl in (making
me guess that the younger woman is her daughter).
Then a murder has just happened. I'm freaked out. I run
away from the situation as fast as I can. Somehow the stress of
giving a big public speech (for graduation?) is part of the whole
deal. I'm in a different bedroom. The door is closed. Matt Robison
is trying to get in. I can see his shoe stuck in the doorway on the
floor. He's trying to push the door open. I'm pushing it closed.
His head keeps popping in. His face is covered with white
creamy goop. He has a psychotic look on his face. I know he's very
strong, and I wonder to myself why he doesn't just bust through.
I'm not holding the door very hard. Is he just doing this for show
(to scare me)?
I run down a spiral stair case. I'm in an unusual building;
some voice is telling me that this is "her" bed and breakfast.
I search for a place to lock myself and hide when I get down to
the lower level. I feel like someone is chasing after me, about to
get me. I see bathroom doors and run into the women's bathroom.
It's extremely tiny. There are many ice cubes in the toilet. I
forget to turn on the light, so it's pretty dark in here. All I care
about is locking the door. I swing over the little hook on the door
in order to fasten it to the little metla circle on the left. Somehow
it comes undone. I try to fasten it again. I notice that there are
a bunch of others down the door, which is surprising. I go down the
doorway, clasping them one by one. They make me feel safe.
exploding fireworks
NEXT, I'm watching a woman fire off the city fireworks on the
night of the 4th of July. There's a stack of big tubular cannisters
on the grass, each with a different color stripe on it (like cans
of paint). She picks one at a time and sets it on a running machine
that shoots it up into the air to explode. It's fun to watch. It
looks like she is going to run out of them soon.
- FIN -