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7--30-2002 - 10:45 am

Dreamtime: Triumph of the Super Ego

This blog might be a little too much for female relatives and friends. You have been warned, ladies

I have this dream last night where I am in one of those dark, sleazy sex clubs. You know the kind where just anybody will wander up and have his evil way with you without so much as a handshake or a thank you. Not that I have ever been in such a place, Mom.

Not me, besides...uhhh, It was research.

I am wandering around totally nakie, feeling like a wallflower and more than a little nervous. I am also wondering if anyone is going to get interested. The place is weird, laid out like a maze or a carnival fun house.

Suddenly a guy grabs me by the foot, I fall over and he starts dragging me across the floor like a caveman. 'Easy on the knees, Dude' I tell my new husband. No doubt this worked it's way into my dream because I went to bed with my knees hurting

Mr Right-Now, takes me into another room and throws me on a mattress. My Id wants a cum-stained torn mattress on the floor, but my Super Ego takes over and it's brand new fluffy white mattress with satin pillow top. Full size, with box springs. I am able to notice the condition of the mattress because the room is lit up like an operating room.

I check out my suitor. He's a round faced chubby guy in glasses. Think George on 'Seinfeld' It's the super Ego again, my Id would have picked Mike Branson or Tom Chase...or maybe both. I'm flat on my back and spread eagle. George is hovering above me and has a condom wrapper in his teeth and a hungry look in his eye. He asks me my name.

Names? This ain't the kinda place men exchange names. George hands me a clip board, like they do when you check in at the Dr's office. He wants my name, my e-mail address and a health history. I am nervous and write down that my name is Jason.

George says he knows I am lying and calls in his lawyer. The lawyer enters the room in a business suit and starts shuffling papers. I am still naked, George is wearing white boxers.

Other men enter the room and from the way they are dressed, I can tell they aren't patrons of the sex club. Mostly because they ARE dressed. None of them are particularly hot. They start taking a seat on the folding chairs surrounding the bed and I realize that I am there to lead group therapy.

I sit up on the bed, acknowledge the group and for the rest of the hour we discuss why anonymous tricks in sleazy dark sex clubs is a bad idea.

I am SO repressed



Go Back
Previously in Justinland: Our Last Five Entries

Wagons Ho! - 4-23-2004

This Old Barn - 4-17-2004

Death and Taxes - 4-15-2004

MMQB:Leftover Peeps - 4-12-2004

The Alamo; The Movie not the Shrine - 4-10-2004


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