Dreams. Nightmares. Rash.
Had this dream last night. It involved my mother’s side of the family, as well as someone who looked strangely like a former partner named A~, who was a Pacific Islander. What’s strange, well, it was all strange. But …
OK, so my mom, my dad, and I were going to visit this native village, but it was a tourist trap type place, and when you arrive, it’s like this tramway station where… OK, it looked like the Ewok village. There’s no other way to put it. And when you arrive, it’s like the Fashion Valley transit center, where you have to go up the stairs to the trolley platform.
Only when you go up the stairs, it’s not a trolley platform. You’re in the treetops where the native people—the Pacific Islanders—lived. And there was a part of the dream where I was back at WCHS with these people I don’t remember going to high school with. (This part happened before the rest.)
I was around the art room / band room / concession area. And these two girls and I were preparing for a large holiday meal. And I was doing all this cooking, and I remember cooking these sandwiches—they were hamburgers that had either turkey or pork loin on them. I couldn’t really tell in the dream.
But anyway, back to the main part.
As it turns out, we’re up in the treetops with my mother’s family. For whatever reason, she and they are getting along OK like they did when I was a kid. And this guy, A~, that I used to know (carnally) was there. Only it’s like he was a child. And I wasn’t really much more than a child—but that’s not uncommon in my dreams—and I was wearing loose-fitting clothing. A~ was lying on the sofa next to me, and he just pulled my penis out and started sucking on it. Mom’s mom saw and started going on like he was a dog who was humpin’ a guest’s leg. That’s how she was treating him. (It’s like he was her child.) And then the weirdest thing: She and Mom were talking, and Mom said something about how she would demean him (A~, apparently) by treating him “all feminine” because he was gay.
There was this other dream, being inside some kind of meat-packing facility, but it was also a … place where, man, I can’t even describe it. Because I don’t know myself. Guns. Theft. Large. Secretive. Religious?
When I woke up, I had a terrible rash on my dick with a discharge and everything. I told my mom about it and said, “You’d think I’d been hanging out with Tijuana hookers or something.” Her response? “It must be an allergy to something.” Yeah, just can’t even conceive of the notion that I might be sexually active. I’ve not been since 2006—but she can’t conceive of it, nonetheless.
5 days ago