Dreamland

Getting Ready for the Show

I’m living alone in a small apartment. I recently joined a multi-denominational charitable organization. As part of our charity work we do entertainment for patients in hospitals and convalescent homes. We have a big show this afternoon at the VA hospital. I have the part of a minister in our play. I get dressed in my black suit, and comb my hair carefully. (In this dream, I’m clean-shaven, and have medium length hair; the opposite of the shaved head and goatee I sport in real life.)

I’ve loaned my car, a white Chevy Lumina, to Father Grey, a priest who is in our group, for a few days. I’ll get it back from him at the show today. Linda, a plain looking woman with short hair, is picking me up soon to give me a ride to the play. (In real life I don’t know either of these people, but in dreamland I feel like I’ve known them both for a while.)

Linda arrives early, so I invite her in for tea. She looks sort of edgy, she admits she is nervous about performing in the play. Then she says, “Do you mind if I ask you a rather personal favor?”

“No, go right ahead.” I reply, unsure of what she might want.

“Do you have someplace private where I can go to masturbate?”

I’m surprised at her request, so I don’t say anything right away.

“I’m sorry, but It’s just that I’ve found having an orgasm to be the best way to relieve nervous tension.”

“You can use my bedroom, it’s right down the hall.” I finally say.

I know she has been seeing someone for a while, so I ask her, “If you know you’re going to be nervous on stage, why don’t you just have sex with your boyfriend the night before?”

She replies, “My religion strictly forbids sex before marriage, but they consider private masturbation to be an acceptable and natural way to relieve stress and control sexual tension.”

She walks down the hall into the bedroom. A short time later I can hear her moaning softly from behind the closed door. The thought of what she is doing in there starts to get me aroused. I turn up the television and try to concentrate on the news.

The phone rings; it’s Father Grey. He tells me my car has broken down on him. “I went to start it this morning and it’s completely dead. Has Linda arrived to pick you up yet?”

Knowing she would not want to be disturbed, I reply, “No, but I expect she’ll be coming any minute now.” Then I chuckle to myself at the double entendre,

“When she gets there, would you ask her if she would mind giving me a ride also?”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem, Father” I reply.

Linda walks back into the living room a few minutes later, looking much more relaxed. On the way out the door, I tell her of Father Grey’s problem with the car. We stop by to pick him up, then go on to the VA.

The play is a success. Afterwards we have refreshments, and I run into Clay, a friend from work. He’s a pretty good mechanic, so I ask if he would mind following us back when we leave, to look at my car. He agrees.

Linda drops us off at Father Grey’s place. I pop the hood on the Lumina and it’s obvious right away what is wrong; someone has stolen the battery. Father Grey has an old Buick parked in his driveway; it hasn’t run in years. “Does that car still have a battery in it?” I ask.

“It should, but I’m sure it’s dead.” He replies.

“It doesn’t matter, this will still work.” I tell him.

Clay helps me put the old battery in my car; then we hook up the jumper cables to his truck. He revs up the truck and I turn the ignition on the Lumina; it starts. The car will run on the alternator well enough to get me home, as long as I don’t stall it. Clay follows to make sure I get there, then waves goodbye as I pull into my driveway and shut the car off. I’ll have to get a new battery in the morning when the parts store opens.