I had gone to a large public pool where I knew Mary Biester (a Dallas attorney) was going to be, and when I arrived, I thought I could see her standing rather distant from me. She seemed to be wearing a red two-piece bathing suit, which helped make her look overweight. I wanted to talk with her and I felt as if she would be kindly disposed toward me, but I couldn't seem to focus in on her well and I couldn't manage to reach her.
Instead I encountered several other people, including several young women (probably in their late teens). We all formed a group and lay down close to each other. A black-haired woman was lying next to me with her back turned toward me. I had known her before, but we weren't well-acquainted. Thus it surprised me when she rolled over on top of me, as if by accident, and began talking with me.
As we talked, I quickly concluded she liked me. She seemed wrapped up in something at first (perhaps a blue sleeping bag), but gradually we disentangled her from that. We slowly began caressing each other and I could see we were headed toward a sexual encounter. I was definitely aroused by the prospect. However I hardly knew the woman and I realized there was a chance she might have a venereal disease, such as AIDS. So it was obvious to me from the beginning that we couldn't possibly have sexual intercourse.
I lay on my back and she lay on top of me looking into my face while she talked. Her face was extremely attractive and I was sure she reminded me of someone, probably a movie actress, but I couldn't remember who. I thought of the actress Marlo Thomas, but that wasn't it. Finally it struck me and I said, "You remind me of Debra Winger."
She said many people had told her that. And indeed she was practically a perfect image of Debra Winger. Not only her face, but her entire body as well as her manner and voice seemed like Debra Winger's.
Our caresses multiplied and we gradually took off all our clothes, except our white underwear. I carried on a long dialogue with myself about how I could embrace and touch her as long as we both kept our underwear on. I debated whether she could take off her bra. But as we continued I became more and more sexually aroused, and finally I slipped my hands inside the rear of her panties.
My resolve not to actually have sex with her was more and more engulfed by my growing desire. I slid my right hand on down between her legs from behind until I could feel her vagina. I thought I also perceived a couple very small bumps there and I again wondered just how clean she was. Overall I was convinced she was a healthy woman. As I partially slid my middle finger into her vagina, I could feel how inflamed she was and I didn't expect any resistance. I then slid my left hand into the front of her panties, went through her pubic region and with that hand also began massaging her vagina.
However, even at the most intense stage of the encounter, I maintained enough equanimity to realize that I wouldn't actually have intercourse with her and that indeed neither of us was going to take off the bottom part of our underwear. Of course I realized I had already overstepped by having my hands inside her panties like that. And I began wondering whether I might have any cuts or abrasions on my fingers. Was it not possible to contact AIDS through such an abrasion or cut?
The next thing I knew I was lying on a bed alone and waking up. I quickly inferred I had fallen asleep and I wondered what had happened to the young woman. Actually, when I thought about it, it seemed I had been with two young women, the other being a very attractive blonde woman.
I was quite disoriented and I didn't know exactly where I was. But I noticed my brother Chris in the room and I inferred he lived there. I realized I was nude and I asked him if he could find me some of his underwear to wear. He looked in some drawers and finally found a pair. But he dropped them on the floor when he brought them to me and it took a few minutes for me to spot them. They seemed to be white with red stripes.
Finally I did rise and dress. I had the feeling that I was somewhere in Europe and that the building I was in was something like a medieval castle still in use. I figured both the black-haired woman and the blonde woman were somewhere in the castle and I wanted to locate and talk with them as soon as possible.
I walked to one end of the room and found I was in what appeared to be a kitchen. Suddenly the black-haired woman walked into the room and went to a very large kettle of what appeared to be soup cooking on a stove. I saw she had a large, old fashioned key in her hand. Without saying anything she quickly dropped the key into the kettle and exited.
I was indeed surprised by her action. I walked over to the kettle, picked up a large ladle and began groping with it in the soup, which was made of green lintels. The first time I tried, I ladled up the key with some soup. I looked at the key as it lay in the soup in the ladle I was holding. Obviously some mystery was involved here which I simply couldn't fathom. Perhaps the woman was trying to slip the key to someone and that was the only way she knew of doing it, by putting it in the soup.
I lowered the key back into the soup. But then I decided I wanted to see it again. I ladled up more soup time after time, but I just couldn't seem to find the key. Finally people began coming into the room and I had to stop.
Still puzzled, I sat down at a table. I thought about the mysterious key and how that was the stuff from which good stories could be written. Indeed I felt as if here in Europe an abundance of stories could be found for one who searched. Since I increasingly felt my role in life was to tell stories, I felt good about being there and I looked forward to learning more stories.
As I pondered what had taken place, more and more people sat down, and the room took on the appearance of a classroom. I was sitting in a seat toward the rear of the room and was holding Chris on my lap. Due to his muscular dystrophy he wasn't able to move much.
I noticed the black-haired woman sitting a couple seats in front of me. I very much wanted to talk to her. I knew I wouldn't be in this area long, and I was considering asking her, and also perhaps the blonde, to leave with me to go to another part of Europe.
Finally the black-haired woman rose from her seat and walked back to me. I thought she might want to sit on my lap, but there really wasn't enough room because of Chris. I was very surprised when I looked at her face. She looked as if she were only 16-17 years old. And she bore no resemblance at all to Debra Winger. She was still pretty, but it just wasn't the same. The most extraordinary difference was that I now realized she was partially Negro. Her skin was light, but there was no doubt she had black blood in her.
She had large tears in her eyes and as she looked at me she pleaded, "Please don't take me with you. Please don't take me with you."
She turned and returned to her seat just as quickly as she had come. I clearly understood what she was saying. She knew if I wanted her to leave with me, she would. But she also thought it would be best for her not to go. At that point I had no question in my mind; I wouldn't be taking her with me. I held Chris close to me and hugged him. I knew I loved him and I would be taking him with me wherever I went.
It appeared a type of class was about to take place. My old friend, Steve Buckner, was in the room and he began telling the class about a dream he had had and written down. Something about Buckner also made me think of a fellow I had met named Paul Graunke. I quickly saw the class was centered on dream telling. But there was more. I realized the events of the previous night when I had been with the black-haired woman had been a dream.
I then recalled Buckner had been in my dream. And it was obvious I had been in the dream Buckner was telling. In fact, we had both dreamed of the same events. I became much more attentive as I listened to Buckner's dream and I realized he was bringing up points which I had missed. I had written down part of my dream and I began filling in some of the missing places with information which Buckner was supplying. Buckner even seemed to have some pictures of the dream. I realized by correlating our information concerning the dream in that way, we could have a much sharper picture of the dream.
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