Quivering javelins

I had a dream last night that I caught up with a friend visiting Melbourne. We were in somewhere like Collingwood or Fitzroy, facing a block of 19th century terrace houses. Don’t ask me why but one of us hurls a javelin with all our strength over the roof of the nearest house and flies away. Excited we enter the house to see how far it has gone, and where it has landed. We look out the upstairs back window of the terrace house and behold what looks like a constructions site in the muddle of the suburban block, ringed by the back view of terrace houses like the one we stand in. The area is rectangular, the ground scraped raw revealing a yellow, clayey soil. The javelin is stuck into the ground near the far boundary.

Turn around and in the way of dreams the single empty room of the terrace house has morphed into a long gallery. It is as if the neighbouring houses have had their insides gutted and the living space joined from one house to the next. Around us on the upper floor of this construct there appears a kind of fair going on. There are stalls manned by alternative looking types selling organic this and providing therapeutic and holistic services. The place bustles with an alternative energy which we don’t quite belong to. We are both contemporary males, confident, well-built, sympathetic to alternative lifestyles, but never a part of it.

My friend has a meeting to go to. “Why don’t you wait here for me,” he says. “There’s a masseuse I know, why don’t you get a massage?” I’m happy to do that. He goes to speak to his friend, then leaves. The scene subtly shifts. The masseuse is standing in front of me completely naked, a hairy, sixties style bush drawing the eye. She is attractive and winsomely alternative, looking a little like a young Katie Holmes. She asks how long a massage do I want. I finger the few dollars in my pocket and opt for 30 minutes. She nods her head and then tells me that during the massage she will get astride me. She tells me she might get “a little wet”. I shrug my shoulders as if to say, fair enough. “And you may get a bit aroused,” she says. I nod my head, very possibly, I think. “And your cock might end up in my vag,” she says. I nod my head again. “Shit happens,” I say.

I go to pay her and she says, “no, your friend paid for you already”. And that’s the dream.

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