Tag: party

An Erotic Dream

It began with a friend and a table set for a formal dinner. 

The dream friend was no one I recognize from life. Although all friends in the dream, none are real existence folk, unless we’re getting into alt dimensions and existences. I may know them there. Yeah, maybe the dream was reality bleedover. What a life I must live over there.

I was happy, going to this engagement. A few minutes early, I arrived first. The table was sage green. Set up outside, in a driveway, the fine china, crystals, and linen looked beautiful on this table. Side tables offered food and drink.  The host, a young, well-groomed blonde man, was pleased to see me and took me around, explaining the courses. Then, showing off the wines, he said, “I have a wonderful white wine. Here, taste.” He poured some into crystal stemware.

With him watching and smiling, I sipped. “This is amazing.”

“Isn’t it? For dessert, there’s cherry surprise.” He offered me a spoonful of it.

I was impressed. “Fantastic.”

Others arrived. An announcement was made: “We need to change locations.” The table, with all the food and wine disappeared. Others arrived asked, “Where is everything?’

Knowing exactly where to go, “It’s over here. Come on, follow me.”

I led them around the corner to where the table was. A brunette white woman in a navy skirt and white blouse said, “This looks wonderful. Is there any wine?”

I replied, “Yes, he has a wonderful white.” I poured her a glass.

She sipped as I watched. “Oh, that’s delicious,” she said. “What’s for dessert?”

“Cherry surprise,” I answered, turning away. “I’ll get you some.”

“Okay, I’ll watch your rear.” She squeezed my butt.

Startled, I turned and faced her. She began kissing and feeling me. Then she began undressing me. I was reciprocating. Then —

Well, I’m stopping there.

I’m not that kind of writer.

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The Team Dream

My dreams are frequently an odd pastiche of events and activities. For this one, it was softball, celebrating, and, of course, drinking.

I was hosting a party. Wasn’t big, but intimate, perhaps six couples. My locale was a lovely home, the kind you dream about when you think about your special place, at once in a city but with privacy, space, and a yard.

I poured wine for friends as they were coming and going, visiting and chatting. Drank some wine, too, and went off and peed. A new guy arrived, my friend M, arrived. I haven’t seen M since I left Germany in 1991, but he and I communicated via Facebook for a while.

M had been a hot major league prospect for the Cincy Reds until he tore up his knees in an accident. As that was written done, he joined the Air Force. That’s how we connected. We played racquetball together. I was a damn good player; he was in several classes above me. Our schedules rarely worked out for us to play, but when it did, he sought me out. He probably won nine games out of ten, and they weren’t generally that close. I quizzed him a few times about why he played me and he always told me, “I enjoy your company and admire your hustle.”

We talked baseball and softball in the dream. Out of that brief conversation, we decided to form a team. M made some calls while I dug out gloves, balls, and bats. The balls were cubes. None of us found that unusual, except I noticed it. Where are the balls cubes, I asked myself with amusement.

Meanwhile, I served more wine, then made margaritas and served them. Guys began arriving to try out for our team. Women were there but declined to play. Basically M would hit a ball and see if the guy could catch it.

I was out there fielding first, and caught everything hit my way without issue. The next guy misjudged the deep fly to him. So did the next, but the ball came my way, so I caught it. As I transferred the cube to my hand to throw it in, another ball, a line drive was hit toward me. I caught it in my glove’s webbing.

Hurrying in, I dropped off the balls and then went in to make more drinks. Everyone wanted wine. There were multiple empty bottles. I decided I needed to open another bottle, but what should I open? All of my cheaper, casual drinking stuff had been consumed. Should I go with the more expensive offerings? Why not? They’d been purchased to drink, right? But even though, I had to decide which bottle.

I was leaning toward a red. As I pulled out bottles, I looked at labels and remembered where, when, and why they were purchased, but just couldn’t decide which bottle to open. I could hear my friends talking, wondering where I was, and then discussing that I was inside, opening another bottle.

That’s where the dream ended.

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The Old Friends Dream

I dreamed that I was with a lot of old friends. People I’d gone to school with, neighborhood friends from my youth, and people I’d worked with around the world while in the Air Force, or working in Progressive Angioplasty Systems, Tyco, Internet Security Systems, and IBM were there. Writing friends were there, along with sports and drinking buddies.

No occasion that I know was mentioned for the gathering. We were just having a big party in an enormous ballroom, a place so large that I couldn’t see the other side. Well-lit, round tables were set with crystal and silver.

Weirdly, I entered after being out with some, and that’s when the dream proper began. I’d been with one person who I no longer wanted to be with. I had no enmity with him, but he was drunk and being obnoxious, so I was avoiding him. As I was skirting where he was, a group of friends streamed in. Seeing me, they shouted, “There he is,” and waved, happy to see me. I joined them, and we chatted, having a good time.

Then Chris suggested we go somewhere. “Where?” I asked.

“Who cares,” he said, with the friendly and easy smile that he habitually presented.

“Let’s go,” I said. “We can take my car, but I don’t want to drive.”

Chris said, “I’ll drive.”

We got into my silver Mazda. I was in the back seat. Setting off, we talked about where to go. Chris came up with a suggestion, but nobody knew where it was. “Use the GPS,” I said. Chris knew how to do that and pressed the buttons needed.

With my next awareness, we were at a more intimate setting. Many of my friends were there in their party clothes, but everyone seemed tired, I think from partying so much. They were barely interested in the music.

And that was amazing, because up on stage was a young Marvin Gaye with a back-up group. All of them were in amazing bright blue outfits with white shirts.

Marvin finished his performance. I looked around, like, why isn’t anyone applauding. As I began clapping, so did someone else. Putting his hands out, Marvin said, “Hey,” and everyone else sat up and applauded.

Then Jeff was by my side. Pointing at Marvin, he said, “He’s wearing a one.”

Yes, the number one was in black on a white porcelain appearing badge that hung down from his shoulders on his front. Seeing Jeff point at him, Marvin came over to speak with us. I was awed to be in such close proximity to such a creative and intelligent person. He was so pleasant and polite. We shook hands and chatted, and then Jeff, pointing again at Marvin, said, “That one is for London Park, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Marvin agreed.

Jeff bobbed his head with enthusiasm. “I was there, I’ve been there.”

Bewildered, I wanted to ask, where’s London Park? I’ve never heard of London Park. How do you know the one is for London Park?

I didn’t get the chance, because that’s where the dream ended.

Sunday’s Theme Music

It’s a fun song in a fun time streaming through my memory. We’re talking about the final stages of a long party, when few lights are on and only a few close friends remain. UB40 with “Red, Red Wine” begins. Smiling, we all sway and sing wherever we were sitting or standing. Yes, I know Marley did it first, but this was 1983 on Okinawa, and that’s what song plays in memory.

Good way to end a party.

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