The Affair Dream

I dreamed my friend’s wife offered to have an affair with me. She’s not a person I know from RL. I knew her in the dream from previous visits. After this visit with my wife, she asked me to walk her home. I agreed, to be polite. She said good-bye to my wife and the woman and I began walking. As we were walking, she began singing “Close to You”. The Carpenters had a hit with the song in the last century.

I didn’t think anything of it. When we reached her place, we hugged. She didn’t release me. That’s when she proposed the affair and told me, “Wasn’t it a clue when I was singing the song?” I admitted that it wasn’t. She was very attractive and I was interested. I asked her how it would work. We ended up parting ways with a promise to see one another again.

I went to a friend’s house. Other women were there. I heard them talking about having affairs with different friends. They were apparently paying the men after they broke off the affairs. One woman said emphatically, “I give them three weeks and then I’m done with them. They want more but I won’t give them anymore.” Another woman answered, “They always want more.” I didn’t know any of these women.

I went back to my house. We were preparing to have a dinner party. I found that my wife had moved all the furniture out of one bedroom and planned to make it the master bedroom because it was larger. The house was light blue and the interior walls were white. Both bedrooms were very large and ensuite. I didn’t like the plan, reminding her that she didn’t talk with me first and that there were reasons we’d made the decisions which we had about which room was the master bedroom. She told me that her friend, who’d proposed the affair, had made the suggestion.

I went off to do a task, which was to etch a line in a glass so I could break it off and splinter it. A friend arrived for dinner and asked what I was doing. I smiled and explained, “I’m breaking glass. We need broken glass.” He replied that he thought there was an easier way to get broken glass.

The affair friend arrived. She talked me into going into another room with her where we ended up passionately kissing. Hearing a noise, we broke it off, separating and leaving the room.

I went to another friend’s house. He wasn’t there but several other friends were. They were helping him to submit a manuscript for publication. I stepped up to help, listening as the friends spoke. They said this was the last time they were helping him. As they talked, I checked out the box they were using. Opening it up, I found a poorly typed manuscript and several mailing labels. The labels weren’t affixed to anything. I commented on it, telling them that the labels needed to be fixed. They ignored me, closing the box and taping it shut. The tape was old and kept breaking and wouldn’t stick. They were still talking about how they’d tried to help him for yours and was tired of it because he didn’t seem to be making an effort. I’d been about to appeal to them for help but decided they weren’t very helpful.

Dream end.

Another Erotic Dream

A young man, I was working alongside a younger woman in a hectic, busy department store in a large city. She was an attractive woman, with full, curly hair with blond highlights. Enjoying our work, we were putting a window display together when she propositioned me. Although flattered, I knew she was married and didn’t want to involve myself in another couple’s marital issues. She was wearing a low-cut black sweater with a short black skirt. After I declined her offer, she pestered me, trying to coerce me into making out with her. She began kissing my neck and playing grab ass with me. At one point, she seized my hand and put it on her breast. I scurried away. She came up, then reached around from behind and rubbed my crotch. I was aroused but kept declining her and then, finishing up enough with the window display, I hurried away to work elsewhere.

I was turned on, though, and had to hide that as I walked around, which was awkward and uncomfortable. I saw the woman’s husband with her down an aisle The two were looking over at me. I pretended not to see them and looked elsewhere. Irritated, I tried turning my attention to other things but every time I went around a clothing display, I saw the two of them.

A tall female manager in a red dress came by and told me she had a special assignment for me, and to wait there. As I waited, growing impatient, a senior management official, male, white, in a suit, came by and said, “Here’s your tool,” handing me what looked like a thumb drive. Speaking from confusion, I asked, “What am I supposed to do with this?” Already hurrying away, he paused to reply, “Someone will come along and tell you.”

Bewildered and exasperated, I hung out by a rack of clothing and contemplated the thumb drive as shoppers and other workers passed. The thwarted seducer found me. She told me, “I have to go,” and then, after looking around, tried hugging and kissing me. I fended her off as before. She said, “You know you want me, so I’ll be back,” and then rushed away.

Dream end.

The Bread Dream

I was having dinner at my in-laws’ house. The small dining room was crowded with several tables, Maple wood, Americana design. The tables are full of food. It’s like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, al set up at once. The tables and chairs are crowded together, making walking around difficult. Careful paths must be followed.

I was making a plate up for my mother-in-law. In RL, she died several years ago. I’d filled half of a flowery China plate with food for her. I was walking around with the plate in my hand, looking for mashed potatoes. While looking for them, I kept finding huge stashes of bread. It was all variations available – rye loaves, sourdough, sliced, rolls, hamburger and hot dog buns, some small, fancy loaves, seeded loaves, long baguettes. Wholly unlike my RL in-laws who ate white hamburger and hot dog buns and Roman Meal bread. I never saw a baguette in their house in forty-five years of knowing them. The bread is everywhere, on the tables, under the tables, on the chairs, on the floor, in the corners. Some of it is bagged and some of it is loose.

She was on the other side of the room with her back to me. I said to her, “Wow, you sure do have a lot of bread. Why do you have so much bread?” An answer wasn’t given; I kept looking for the mashed potatoes.

Dream shift. It’s now night. My wife and I are in a car. We’re waiting to pick up something from my FIL. In RL, he passed away at the end of 1991. I’m waiting to back into a spot on the street. The street is wet. Before I can park where I want, I need to wait for a truck to pull out and leave, otherwise, I’ll block him in. I’m watching the truck in my mirror, muttering, “Come on, come on, what is taking so long?”

The truck finally pulls away. I back into the desired spot, and parallel park with amazing perfection. My FIL comes out. I open the trunk. I turn to see what he’s loading. I’m incredulous as I realize he’s putting bread in the trunk. I tell him, “Why do you need so much bread? You have a ton of the stuff at home.”

He closes the trunk and tells me to pull back to another location. I do that, and then get out to see how I’m parked. The dark car is perfectly parked again. My FIL comes out with his arms full and tells me to open the back door. I do; he puts more bread in it. I ask again, “Why do you want so much bread?”

Dream ends.

Two Unheard Questions Dream

We were located in an old service station garage. Tall glass garage doors along either side. It’s raining on one side. Just splatter against the window. Through it, I can see another building. I know it’s a coffee house. I can see one person in there, a tall, slender, white, blonde woman with short, curly hair. I want to go over and have coffee. I will when I’m done, I keep telling myself.

I’m conducting two activities in parallel. In one, I’m in charge of a class where people are learning to play music to calm and relax people. Mixed in with the people learning that are people there for advice on retired life. Both are packed classes. One group is filling out paperwork and asking me questions; the other group is selecting music, playing it on radios, and asking me questions. I walk among them, helping, talking, instructing. We’re all tired. We’ve been up a long time. I’d been up over twenty-four hours. I want to go get coffee. Then go to sleep.

We’re done. Classes are finished. The class members all lie down on the floor to rest just for a few minutes. Two ask me questions, one from each class. Settling on the floor with them, I answer, “I didn’t hear your questions. Were they about music or retiring?”

The Magazine Dream

Spanky, a navigator who I worked with in Germany, was in my dream. He wanted a Playboy magazine but didn’t have time to get it. I decided that I would get it for him.

I ordered it and it arrived. Before I could give it to him, he had to go on a mission. My wife didn’t want a magazine like that in the house, so I had to hide it. I ran around the house considering hiding places, finally deciding that I’d hide it behind the HVAC return filter. She’d NEVER look there. But as I was hiding it, Spanky came in. I gave him the mag. Delighted, he took it with him and left on another mission.

Meanwhile, I’d received a red notice in the mail. The note said in big black marker, “Your package delivery was delayed by bad weather. We apologize for the delay.” The note confused me because I wasn’t expecting any delivery except the magazine. It had already arrived.

I then went to my wife and told her I’d bought the magazine for Spanky. That angered her, but I shrugged it off. Spanky wanted it, and I thought he deserved it. It only cost me five dollars, including delivery. I thought that was a good deal.

The Travel Dream

Such a brief, sharp dream.

My wife and I were outside. Fat, wet snow fell, covered the ground, and blotted our vision. We were dressed for cold, so we were protected, and we were walking somewhere. A man said, “Hey, would you like some airline tickets?”

We laughed and scoffed. “Flying? Now? No, thanks.”

The man insisted, “It’s cheap and safe,” reassurances that amused me.

“Sure.”

He seemed to miss my sarcasm and doubt. “Good. Where do you want to go? You can go anywhere for just three hundred and four dollars.”

“Anywhere? Can I go to Pittsburgh for that?”

“Yes, Pittsburgh, here you are.” He held out two tickets.

“Wait, is that three oh four each? Is it round trip?”

“Yes, yes.”

I was confused. “We don’t want to go to Pittsburgh. It’ll be cold there. It’ll be just like here.”

The man said, “You can go anywhere you want.”

My wife replied, “We want somewhere warm.”

“Yes, through there, those tickets will take you.”

Through where, we were asking him, ourselves, and one another. Then we glided out. A  broad, flat green land spread out at our feet. Spokes of waterways divided the land into wedges. A metropolis served as a hub. A golden haze bathed it all.

“Where are we?” my wife and I asked.

The man answered from behind us, “Wherever you want to be.”

The Porsche Dream

I dreamed about a Porsche again last night. 

I dream about them often, and post about them sometimes. (The last one that I remember posting about was an Arctic blue Porsche cabrio, an older model, and I won the right to drive it thanks to my friend, Kevin.)

Porsche – I’m talking about the car manufacturer – represents success and style to me. I fell for Porsches during my first decade, when I discovered cars and then racing. I became a fan of the E-type Jaguar and the Chevrolet Corvette Stingray.

Jag Corvette

 

 

 

 

From them, I found Aston Martin and Ferrari, and then Indy, Le Mans, Can-Am racing, and Formula One. The Ford GT became dominant at Le Mans in the late sixties, but the Porsches were there, too. Then the mighty Porsche 917 came on the scene, and my neighbor, a Volkswagen sales person, brought home a Porsche 911S and took me for a high-revving ride.

In last night’s dream, I was part of some process. I was with many others that I knew. We were outside. Our role was to receive incoming people. While I understood who the incoming were, that knowledge seeped away once I woke up. I don’t know if they were students or refugees, but both of them paw at me as plausible.

My role was to organize and hand out information packages when the newcomers arrived. The task was in my wheelhouse. I did it quickly and easily. That left me with a lot of free time, so I purchased a Porsche.

Silver, it was a new 911 Turbo Cabriolet, a sweet ride. After I ordered it, it arrived. I walked around, admiring it with my wife. Others came and gawked, asking the usual questions about the expensive high-performance car. That’s your car? You bought it? People were amazed that I had the resources.

That statement became key to understanding the dream.

Meanwhile, between my work, I explored the car. First, I got into it with my wife. The foot wells were shockingly small. Oh no, we didn’t fit. 

Then, miraculously, we did. The Porsche changed to accommodate us…or did we change? It wasn’t clear in the dream world.

The Porsche’s dash was covered by a black plastic panel to protect it during shipping and delivering. I carefully pried it away, revealing a dash that sparkled like jewels.

I wanted to drive it, but the car intimidated me. I knew it was powerful, and I love mashing the throttle when I’m driving. I knew that with this power, the car could bite me in the ass with that behavior. It reminded me that I’d had a powerful sports car in real life. One person told me that they’d owned one, but traded it in after a few months, because the car’s power scared them. Others told me that they’d test-drove the car, but decided against buying it primarily because of its power, speed, and acceleration. Those were the things I loved about it.

RX7

I remembered that car and how I drove it while I dreamed. Those memories reassured my dream-self that I could handle the Porsche. I fired it up and then took it for a short drive, feeling it out, but not opening it up.

I returned to the dealer to do some paperwork. They’d been looking for the car because they hadn’t released it. I was worried that I’d done something wrong, and they laughed, waving it off. “No problem.”

A sales rep took me over to gain full and legal possession of the car. At the counter, I was asked to tell them what car I had. I hesitated. Then I said, “Porsche.”

“Which one?”

I hesitated. As I was about to say, “911 Turbo,” the man with me said, “Top of the line, a Turbo, fully loaded.”

“Wow,” people said. Blushing and self-conscious, I said, “Yes, I have a Turbo.”

It was a strangely reassuring dream about my writing as I walked and thought about my writing turbidity. Relax, and don’t fear the process, I told myself. I’m in a Turbo.

Time to open it up and take it for a ride.

Her Mission

He was young, maybe, I don’t know, sixteen or seventeen, using limited impressions: long light brown hair, no split ends, clear and firm white flesh, a slender jean-encased body with a hoodie.

She was black and young looking, on a leash. Racing along with her long ears flying and flapping, she was pulling him down the street. Riding a skateboard, he hung onto her leash with one hand and clutched an acoustic guitar in his other hand. “Wait, Rachel, wait,” he called.

Pink tongue exposed, she slowed and glanced back in a questioning canine grin. When he said no more, she turned her head back and accelerated her young, muscular body, intent on her mission, regardless of what he wanted.

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