erin gets canned while on secret mission with me

dreamed this sometime last week, don't know when. wrote it down several days later.

Secret mission with Erin from work. We're out somewhere in the world, I think maybe somewhere remote like Eastern Europe? Trying to get a flight back home, but nothing works well where we are, the flights are all always delayed, etc. We're stuck in this great, cavernous, dull-colored airport. We finally get news of a flight back, but we have to get out there and on the flight immediately, and we're having very serious trouble finding our way through the airport, as there are no helpful signs or directions through this neutral maze to the exit to the tarmac. As we are herded through here and there, a woman comes along side and in hushed tones informs Erin that she has been terminated from the business. Hard to believe at this point in our service to the organization. Erin looks near to tears, but we press on.

FInally, we get out onto the tarmac, and up into the plane. The interior is broad and short, maybe 20 seats solid wide, and only 10 seats long. Most of the blankets-and-chickens-and-paper-sacks passengers sit in the front few rows. We climb back to the back, and I figure out that the seats will fold back into double beds. I fold some down for us, and we lay down for the flight. It feels strange and wonderfully relaxing to be able to lay down and get under blankies. I try to console Erin through her sense of betrayal.

reunion at the gay club [sexually explicit shit here!]

pasta with "meat" sauce, broccoli, toast, water, late night bowl of frosted flakes

Going to a gay club to see "him" again, just who is not entirely clear to start. But I agree, despite my misgivings. It's not a place I would normally go, and I don't really want to see "him" all that much. But I go. The place is somewhat like a movie plex, entry lobby, back through adark, low hall to a secondary lobby, through another to our destination room. The walls and carpet and ceiling are all painted blood red. Large, cubic spaces with round/cylindrical detail. In the secondary lobby there is a cylindrical, flat-faced architectural element descending from the ceiling. A single wire hangs from the edge of this. There is a security guard milling around beneath it. I realize that this is an art installation, and I think that there really should be hundreds of wires, perhaps to create a positive and then left out in a pattern to create a negative, perhaps an X. I wonder if Josh would think this is a tired idea, though. As sterile & corporate as the rest of this environment?

We get back to the (red) room where we will be sitting, hpefully having dinner? The place seems strangely deserted. But then it is mainly a gay club and it is early for a club crowd. Jay from the A Store is there, seated on a banco at a (red) cylindrical block table, our host for this uncomfortable evening. I sit next to him, in the corner, behind another (red) table. In come Josh and Jason Jones ("him"), sit across these tables from us. I'm neither too glad that I'm there, nor too unhappy about it. Jason and I make real eye contact after a moment, I hold our my hand, we shake, and & I'm suddenly pretty glad about this whole thing. I respectfully (and genuinely) touch his hand to my forehead. There is some chit chat at the table, but not between the two of us. I excuse myself to go pee.

I'm in the bathroom, and I realize that this is the palce where so much anonymous fucking goes on all the time. Kind of nasty. The bathroom is whitish with a green cast of lighting. I stand at the urinal. Where did my shirt go? [And how did my stomach get so flat & muscular?] I'm cold. I figure it doesn't matter, my shirt must be back at the table. We're all alone here anyhow, right? Then in walks this kid, who looks like a younger, shorter version of Travis the busser from Il Vicino. He wears a white, collarless, grimy shirt and a wierd short skirt made of rust- and blue- colored irridescent pheasant feathers. I think, "Oh jeez, kid, just leave me alone, I'm just here to piss." He lines up right next to me, rather than at one of the 4 or 5 other urinals. I realize that he's beating off. He leans over against me. I turn to tell him to scram, but he catches my eye and motions with his head over to one of the many doorless stalls a few feet away. I can see under the wall and through the acute angle of the doorway that there's somebody sitting on a can, another person kneeling in front of him giving him head. The kid shudders, and I look over and he holds up a hand covered in cum. At that moment, out of the stall comes a middle aged housewife in a long, flowered church dress, her sheepish husband behind her. She takes one look at us and what she's been caught doing really hits her. She lurches to a sink and throws up. There are no towels down there for her, so I very sarcastically ask, "Do you want a towel? Come on honey, be hygenic..."


[I had found out 24 hours before this dream that Omar ibn Lahab has been killed last month in an automobile accident, hence so much of the pre-bathroom imagery of this dream.]