Dream: Cancelling the Dominatrix Appointment

This dream isn’t sexual, but kind of non-sex-kinky. Just so’s ya know.

Dream 20030919, 6:45 AM:

The dream I had before I woke up and moved from one bed to the other (a nightly ritual because of our divergent wake-up hours) was much longer, but all that I remember is:

I’m in a room, and there are a couple of women here. I’m sitting on the floor. More women walk in – a couple of them are people I know, like , but most are strangers. One of them pushes me flat on my back on the floor, and stands on my chest in her spike heels. She asks me if it’s comfortable, if I can stand it – I tell her that I think I can manage; it’s uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Two of the women sit down in a chair, one on the other’s lap, and one says something about needing to sit together and get wet – it’s something to do with psyching themselves up for a kink scene. A couple of other women stand on my chest like the first one, and it seems like we’re getting ready for something that will happen later.

The part that follows was a continuation after the bed switch. I almost never pick up a dream again like this.

There was quite a bit of dream-stuff that I don’t remember. Something about a big facility, moving around it – like going to a trade show, and more material about the dominatrices. It didn’t stay with me when I woke up.

Then, I’ve made an appointment with a dominatrix for a pain scene. I don’t have specific memories of what was planned, but I just remember it was going to be fairly extreme for me, and a departure from anything I’ve known before. I am standing in the front bathroom at the Kingwood house getting ready; it involves some kind of leather costume that I have to wear, and I remember putting long green-headed corsage pins through my pierced ear holes. At one point, I take them out and put sewing needles in their place. One of the ear piercings looks infected when I try to put the pin through. There is a woman here with me; I recognize her as my girlfriend or wife in the dream, although she doesn’t remind me of any particular woman. She is worrying about me, and upset; I tell her that if she wants me to cancel the appointment, all she has to do is say so, and I’ll do it. She keeps harping on me, but never actually says she wants me to cancel. Finally, I get fed up, and say, “Fine! I’ll cancel it.” She clearly doesn’t want me to go, but I just want her to say it. I feel like if we had a more intimate and passionate relationship between the two of us, I wouldn’t be wanting to see the dominatrix in the first place. I take the pins out of my ears, and begin to take off the leather clothes. I’m angry because of the passive-aggressive style of the conversation.

I walk into the dining room, and there is a man there who in my mind has some connection with the company that the dominatrix works for. I tell him that I’m going to have to cancel the appointment, and ask if he could give me the number so I could call. He doesn’t seem to have it handy, but implies that he’ll call on my behalf and cancel. I then turn and walk down the hall to my bedroom; it’s kind of a cross between how the green bedroom used to be, and my dorm room. Dad follows behind me, and I don’t want to talk to him.

He starts to say something, and I tell him I don’t want to talk, and I push the door closed. He was standing closer than I thought, and it hits him as it closes. I open it back up and apologize; he points to a pulled thread on the shoulder of his sweater, and is furious with me. He says that now, I have to carry both the wheeled bags, as a punishment for shutting the door in his face. He pushes two small wheeled suitcases toward me, and stomps off.

[I think some of this is because I’m looking forward with both delight and concern to the Peru trip, which I’ll be taking next month with both Dad and Chris. Dad has mellowed a lot, and I think I’ve grown up a lot, but he and I have had some serious travel troubles in the past – worst was when we had a disagreement after he’d been drinking heavily, and he shipped me home from Australia on a late-night flight. He had gotten upset because I didn’t want to go out jogging with him in the mornings. He never said he wanted me to go – he asked if I’d like to go – and since we were going out drinking a lot of the nights, sleeping in seemed more desirable. I’ve never been a morning person. I hate this kind of coded conversation. If you want me to do something, say so.]