And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Dreams.
My dream started out at my parents' house, which is situated on a butte. I had recently gotten out of the shower, and was in boxers with a towel around my shoulders. The thought suddenly occurred to me I was late for my counseling appointment. I threw on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, thick socks and Birkenstocks---appropriate attire for a Northwest autumn. I got on my bike and started heading for my counselor's place (which, I might add, isn't in the Pacific Northwest at all---but I suppose this is okay in Dreamland...).
There was a very noticeable change at the bottom of the hill. The houses got very rundown, and there were a lot of older mobile homes. Yards were littered with trash and sun-faded kid's toys laying at odd angles, and half of the cars were up on blocks. The farther out into the neighborhood I went, the narrower the streets became, until they were little more than just paths.
There was a wide, straight street in the middle of this area where the houses were large, and yards were clean and well kempt. On each of the red-brick porches of these houses, a dog slept. All were older; stately-looking. I took advantage of the wide street, and swept from side to side while riding. That's when I noticed that as I got close to each dog, it blew up into what appeared to be an eight foot yard-ornament, and then became normal-sized after I had passed (think the Mac OS X Dock as you move the mouse over it---same effect).
I finally reach the bus stop I was apparently riding to. I locked my bike up, and boarded the bus. As soon as the bus took off, I noticed that none of the streets looked familiar, as if we had been transported to another place. We drove around for a while, and ended up at a road that was closed. The bus backed out, drove up an alley, and stopped. Several other passengers and I got off.
There was a single building in front of me, so I went inside, and somehow found myself in a high-school girls' locker room. I turned to exit, but the bell rang, and a torrent of teen girls started flooding through the door, coming back from gym to get ready for their next class. It was all I could do to keep standing while they rushed past me, but eventually they thinned out and I was able to make it back outside.
No one else was around, and the entire area was silent.
I started walking up the street, and looked down over a guardrail, into an aqueduct of sorts. It looked futuristic, in a post-apocalyptic way, like something out of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome; bone dry, layers of hard dirt and rust, with odd rails and things sticking out at odd angles all over.
I heard a soft drone from the upper side of the aqueduct, and went over to the other side of the street to investigate. As the drone got louder, I saw someone on a skateboard off in the distance, expertly navigating the rails in the half-pipe. He came up the side of the half-pipe, and landed in the street. He was wearing a worn T-shirt, baggy shorts, black tennis-shoes, and had the full compliment of safety equipment. And he was carrying an extra skateboard.
"Hi. I'm Tony Hawk."
As I reached for the skateboard he offered up to me, I noticed I had elbow pads on, and then realized I had the rest of the gear as well.
He took off.
I followed.
For a good half an hour I kept up with Tony as we careened down the pipe. Neither of us did anything fancy, beyond what we had to do to get down the rails and such (note that in my life, I have stood on a skateboard probably twice, still, and still nearly managed to fall off both times).
Tony looks back at me and gestures at an exit path. I throw him a salute and exit the half-pipe. When I look back, Tony is nowhere to be found.
I am in an old place, that looks like Venice without the waterways. In front of me is a building that was once very grand, thousands of years ago.
I walk through the doors, into what looks like the floor if a fancy hotel in Vegas, but without the gambling. Lush, red carpet adorns the floors, and ornately carved balconies poke out of the floors above. The gaming here isn't slots, but professional escorts. I look down, and am now wearing a smartly tailored suit.
The area I walked into is being walked by transvestites. I politely ask one how to get to my area of choice, and he points me through an archway at the far end of the room.
As I walk through the archway, I see a room pleasantly populated with women of all nationalities. All look as if they had spent hours on their makeup and hair. And not a single one had on a stitch of clothing, or sported even the slightest tuft of hair anywhere below their shoulders. A tall, leggy, deeply tanned, blond slides her arm around me; I smile at her, say I'm looking for someone and slip out of her reach. This happens several more times: a pale brunette; a freckled redhead.
I look ahead, and there is a petite Asian women with her back to me; her arms are up as she slides her fingers through her hair, and her head is thrown over her shoulder. She catches my eye. She is maybe 5 feet, 1 inch, 105 pounds. Her skin isn't dark, but is very soft and smooth. She has a narrow waist, but curvy hips and well-defined calves. Her breasts might fill a B cup, but she sports beautifully erect, dark brown nipples. I walk up to her and give her a kiss, and she takes my left hand, brings it around her left side and softly places it on her right breast. She tilts her head back, and I nearly loose myself in her musky perfume as I kiss her neck.
After a few minutes, the reason I am here slowly surfaces to my conscious mind. As I am apologizing about having to leave, she looks up at me with the largest, saddest eyes.
"Later," I promise her.
With one more kiss I am off, once again to look for my counselor. I know she is here.
I walk into what I know is her door.
Her room is decorated like a lavish, Victorian bordello. What isn't meticulously crafted and carved from deep cherry wood is covered in a deep crimson velvet and lace. Two dark-haired escorts are sitting in chairs along one wall, nude like the others. But somehow I know they are waiting for me, to start a group session with my counselor.
I sit on the edge of her large poster bed.
We have a long group session, but I keep getting the feeling the other two girls know something I don't. We are tired after the session, and lay down for a nap. We are all on our sides in bed, with one of the girls on either side of me, and my counselor in front.
When I wake up, the two other girls are gone.
My counselor is sitting at a stool, in front of her vanity. The first thing I notice is that she is bald, with an assortment of expensive wigs in front of her. She picks the one I am familiar with and puts it on. She is wearing a tight corset, shear black, trimmed with lace. Her shear black stockings, and lace garter and panties show off her pale skin. I can see the tattoo on her lower back as she looks into the mirror, finishing her makeup. She looks stunning.
A look of recognition and understanding crosses my face as I realize that she has a second occupation.
"You have been moonlighting."
"I'm sorry," she says.
"It's okay."
We give each other a long, heartfelt hug, and she knows I mean it.
"You need to get ready for your next client."
A woman shows up at the door. She looks slightly nervous, but excited at the same time.
I walk up to her. "Are you here by appointment?"
"Yes," she says.
My counselor leads the woman into her room by the hand.
A tall blond slips her arm around mine, and escorts me to the door...
Dreams.
My dream started out at my parents' house, which is situated on a butte. I had recently gotten out of the shower, and was in boxers with a towel around my shoulders. The thought suddenly occurred to me I was late for my counseling appointment. I threw on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, thick socks and Birkenstocks---appropriate attire for a Northwest autumn. I got on my bike and started heading for my counselor's place (which, I might add, isn't in the Pacific Northwest at all---but I suppose this is okay in Dreamland...).
There was a very noticeable change at the bottom of the hill. The houses got very rundown, and there were a lot of older mobile homes. Yards were littered with trash and sun-faded kid's toys laying at odd angles, and half of the cars were up on blocks. The farther out into the neighborhood I went, the narrower the streets became, until they were little more than just paths.
There was a wide, straight street in the middle of this area where the houses were large, and yards were clean and well kempt. On each of the red-brick porches of these houses, a dog slept. All were older; stately-looking. I took advantage of the wide street, and swept from side to side while riding. That's when I noticed that as I got close to each dog, it blew up into what appeared to be an eight foot yard-ornament, and then became normal-sized after I had passed (think the Mac OS X Dock as you move the mouse over it---same effect).
I finally reach the bus stop I was apparently riding to. I locked my bike up, and boarded the bus. As soon as the bus took off, I noticed that none of the streets looked familiar, as if we had been transported to another place. We drove around for a while, and ended up at a road that was closed. The bus backed out, drove up an alley, and stopped. Several other passengers and I got off.
There was a single building in front of me, so I went inside, and somehow found myself in a high-school girls' locker room. I turned to exit, but the bell rang, and a torrent of teen girls started flooding through the door, coming back from gym to get ready for their next class. It was all I could do to keep standing while they rushed past me, but eventually they thinned out and I was able to make it back outside.
No one else was around, and the entire area was silent.
I started walking up the street, and looked down over a guardrail, into an aqueduct of sorts. It looked futuristic, in a post-apocalyptic way, like something out of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome; bone dry, layers of hard dirt and rust, with odd rails and things sticking out at odd angles all over.
I heard a soft drone from the upper side of the aqueduct, and went over to the other side of the street to investigate. As the drone got louder, I saw someone on a skateboard off in the distance, expertly navigating the rails in the half-pipe. He came up the side of the half-pipe, and landed in the street. He was wearing a worn T-shirt, baggy shorts, black tennis-shoes, and had the full compliment of safety equipment. And he was carrying an extra skateboard.
"Hi. I'm Tony Hawk."
As I reached for the skateboard he offered up to me, I noticed I had elbow pads on, and then realized I had the rest of the gear as well.
He took off.
I followed.
For a good half an hour I kept up with Tony as we careened down the pipe. Neither of us did anything fancy, beyond what we had to do to get down the rails and such (note that in my life, I have stood on a skateboard probably twice, still, and still nearly managed to fall off both times).
Tony looks back at me and gestures at an exit path. I throw him a salute and exit the half-pipe. When I look back, Tony is nowhere to be found.
I am in an old place, that looks like Venice without the waterways. In front of me is a building that was once very grand, thousands of years ago.
I walk through the doors, into what looks like the floor if a fancy hotel in Vegas, but without the gambling. Lush, red carpet adorns the floors, and ornately carved balconies poke out of the floors above. The gaming here isn't slots, but professional escorts. I look down, and am now wearing a smartly tailored suit.
The area I walked into is being walked by transvestites. I politely ask one how to get to my area of choice, and he points me through an archway at the far end of the room.
As I walk through the archway, I see a room pleasantly populated with women of all nationalities. All look as if they had spent hours on their makeup and hair. And not a single one had on a stitch of clothing, or sported even the slightest tuft of hair anywhere below their shoulders. A tall, leggy, deeply tanned, blond slides her arm around me; I smile at her, say I'm looking for someone and slip out of her reach. This happens several more times: a pale brunette; a freckled redhead.
I look ahead, and there is a petite Asian women with her back to me; her arms are up as she slides her fingers through her hair, and her head is thrown over her shoulder. She catches my eye. She is maybe 5 feet, 1 inch, 105 pounds. Her skin isn't dark, but is very soft and smooth. She has a narrow waist, but curvy hips and well-defined calves. Her breasts might fill a B cup, but she sports beautifully erect, dark brown nipples. I walk up to her and give her a kiss, and she takes my left hand, brings it around her left side and softly places it on her right breast. She tilts her head back, and I nearly loose myself in her musky perfume as I kiss her neck.
After a few minutes, the reason I am here slowly surfaces to my conscious mind. As I am apologizing about having to leave, she looks up at me with the largest, saddest eyes.
"Later," I promise her.
With one more kiss I am off, once again to look for my counselor. I know she is here.
I walk into what I know is her door.
Her room is decorated like a lavish, Victorian bordello. What isn't meticulously crafted and carved from deep cherry wood is covered in a deep crimson velvet and lace. Two dark-haired escorts are sitting in chairs along one wall, nude like the others. But somehow I know they are waiting for me, to start a group session with my counselor.
I sit on the edge of her large poster bed.
We have a long group session, but I keep getting the feeling the other two girls know something I don't. We are tired after the session, and lay down for a nap. We are all on our sides in bed, with one of the girls on either side of me, and my counselor in front.
When I wake up, the two other girls are gone.
My counselor is sitting at a stool, in front of her vanity. The first thing I notice is that she is bald, with an assortment of expensive wigs in front of her. She picks the one I am familiar with and puts it on. She is wearing a tight corset, shear black, trimmed with lace. Her shear black stockings, and lace garter and panties show off her pale skin. I can see the tattoo on her lower back as she looks into the mirror, finishing her makeup. She looks stunning.
A look of recognition and understanding crosses my face as I realize that she has a second occupation.
"You have been moonlighting."
"I'm sorry," she says.
"It's okay."
We give each other a long, heartfelt hug, and she knows I mean it.
"You need to get ready for your next client."
A woman shows up at the door. She looks slightly nervous, but excited at the same time.
I walk up to her. "Are you here by appointment?"
"Yes," she says.
My counselor leads the woman into her room by the hand.
A tall blond slips her arm around mine, and escorts me to the door...