Dream of: 22 February 1997 (2) "Party Time"

A woman who was my wife, and I, had moved into a two-story frame house in a new city. Although we hadn't lived in the city long, we had already made friends, and I was thinking I might like to have a party. I began thinking I would actually like to have a party every year, and invite everybody I knew to the party. How interesting it would have been if I had kept track of all the people I had known over the years, and invited them all to the party. Since we had a large back yard behind our new home, I was thinking that as part of the party we could also have a cook-out. Of course it would be a bit of a problem since I wouldn't want to serve meat, so I couldn't have anything like a barbecue. Perhaps I could hire a chef who could come in and cook up some excellent vegetarian fare.

I thought about people from Portsmouth, people whom I hadn't seen since high school, like Lane or King. I could invite them. To add flavor to the party, I might even bring in some people off the street, maybe even a few hitchhikers. I envisioned a huge party. If people lived far away, I would send their invitations well in advance so they could make travel plans. Also I would start making a point of getting the addresses of any people whom I might meet in the future, so I would be able to invite them to the yearly parties.

I also considered the fact that some people whom I knew used drugs, and some didn't. For the people who used drugs, I would set aside a back room on the second floor strictly for smoking marijuana. That particular upstairs room had a window which led out to the roof of the back porch. I would leave that window open so people in that room could also walk out onto the top of the porch.


The party was in progress, and people were circulating all over the house. I myself was sitting at a table in the kitchen, having a great time, enjoying myself immensely. My mother (who was also my wife) was also in the kitchen, sitting at the table. My father was also sitting in the kitchen. Another man (who somewhat resembled my brother-in-law) was also with his wife in the kitchen. His wife was a thin frail gawky woman (probably in her early 30s) who wore large glasses.

I noticed the woman was giving her husband a hard time about something; he finally left the room for a while. When he returned, she began smelling his breath, to see if he had any smoke or alcohol on his breath, because she didn't allow him to do either. I thought perhaps the fellow had gone upstairs to smoke a joint, just to get away from his wife for a while, since she was so strict.

When I saw that she was becoming more angry, and that she was probably going to make her husband leave with her, I began talking to her as soothingly as I could, and I led her into the front living room. We sat down on a couch next to each other and I continued to talk. Soon we were sitting very close to each other and I had my arms around her. As I continued to talk, we twisted around until we were finally lying on the couch right next to and facing each other. Realizing that being so close to her had given me an erection, I pressed up close to her and asked, "Do you feel it?"

She clearly could feel what I was talking about, and I could immediately tell that she liked it. As I pressed closer and closer to her, I was surprised when she finally said, "I love you."

I hadn't known her long, and I replied, "You're an impressionable young lady."

However, even though I hadn't known her long, I was definitely interested, and referring to the fact that she had said that she loved me, I said, "Prove it."

I stood up from the couch, grabbed her by the hand and began leading her across the room. At the same time, I pulled a joint out of my pocket, and I asked her if she would smoke it with me. The smoking of the joint was the test I had in mind for her to prove that she loved me. She said, "Ok," and I lit up the joint.

As I lit the joint, I knew I was breaking my own rule, because dope was only supposed to be smoked in the room upstairs. But I thought since it was my house, I could bend the rules if I wanted. Still leading her by the hand, still holding the lit joint, I walked through the kitchen, past my mother (my wife), and past the woman's husband. My father, also still in the kitchen, gave a negative shake of his head when he saw the joint, as if telling me not to do that. But I paid him no mind, and we walked toward the stairs. We finally began climbing the circular stairs, which curved up along two walls of the kitchen. There was no railing on the stairs, and when we reached the top, I told the woman to be careful.

Once at the top, we headed toward the back room. Twice I handed her the joint on the way, and twice she tried to take a hit, but both times she stuck the wrong end of the joint into her mouth. She got a little smoke but not much. Finally I decided I might have to help her. I might give her a shotgun – that is, I would stick the joint backwards in my mouth and then blow the smoke out into her mouth. That should give her a good hit. Since it was her first time to ever smoke any pot, I didn't know whether she was going to get stoned, but we would try our best. I thought it would be good for her to get stoned at least once. Already she had turned from being a bitchy shrew to something pleasant and malleable, ready to try to have a good time.

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