That Bathhouse in West Hollywood

Last night I dreamed about that bathhouse in West Hollywood again.

We used to go there every Sunday afternoon, after church and the French Quarter.  It was on a street lined with bright, glittering shops and restaurants, always crowded with people.

You entered through a huge glass storefront and paid a squinting, suspicious elderly woman or drag queen.

After depositing your clothes in a locker, you took an elevator upstairs to a vast series of pools, some warm, some cool, all bathed in semi-twilight.  There were hundreds of men, maybe thousands, all naked or wearing towels.

There was never much sex going on, but it was warm, and safe, and I felt an amazing sense of belonging,  This was home.

Sometimes in my dreams I'm back there, at the bathhouse or gym or whatever it was, feeling that warmth and safety and belonging.

But more often I'm trying to find it.

I drive around, but the streets are unfamiliar and confusing.

I cross a vast night-dark field, knowing that it's just at the bottom of that hill, but it's too late, there's not enough time.

It's not open yet, I must come back later.

It's gone, turned into artist studios or a boys' school, and the new proprietor gets all flushed and nervous when I ask about what was there before.

The problem is: That bathhouse never existed.

There were no bathhouses in West Hollywood when I lived there.  The only such place that I have ever gone to regularly was The Club in Fort Lauderdale, which looked nothing the place in my dreams.

So what am I dreaming about?

Death and rebirth?
A screen memory for an alien abduction?
A desire to find that elemental belonging again, to go home?

Update: In more recent dreams, the bathhouse has been turned into an apartment building.  I tell the person at the front desk that this used to be a bathhouse, and he is surprised.  

More recently still, I go to long, boring meetings in one of the apartments, with snacks in the kitchen and someone taking the minutes Then I leave to walk through the darkness of the pre-dawn city; it's too late to go to the bars, so I head home.  

In my last dream, they weren't having a meeting, for some reason, and the guys who lived in the apartment were out.  I hung around by myself for a long time before giving up. 

See also: 15 Reasons You Should Go to a Bathhouse; The Late for Class Dream and Oral Sex 101

The "Late for Class" Dream and Oral Sex 101

I have a recurring dream where I'm late for class, but I can't find the classroom.  I run across an unfamiliar campus, try to find a recognizable landmark, rush down the corridors of random buildings, becoming more and more anxious.

I was just there yesterday!  Why does everything look so strange?  I've never seen that coffee kiosk before -- maybe I took a wrong turn, and I'm in the Science Building?  Maybe if I go through this door -- no, it's an art studio....

The clock is ticking.  Class should have started by now. I'm late!

Sometimes I rushed out of the house without getting dressed, so I'm running across the campus naked.

Or I have to push my way through absurdly crowded hallways as the clock ticks and I start to panic.

Or it's the near end of the semester.  Suddenly I realize that I've forgotten to go to the class for the last month!  I run out of my office and down the hallway, but I can't find my way...

 Or I can't find my lecture notes or powerpoint slides, and I've never taught this subject before....

It's always the same class, "Drugs and Alcohol in American Society," which I've taught several times without incident.

"School anxiety," about being late for class or unprepared for a test, is the third most common type of dream, appearing in 73% of research respondents in a University of Montreal study.  The overlapping "late anxiety" is the fifth most common type.

Many people think that these dreams are related to real-life anxieties, but the images are too similar, appearing across countless life situations.  Scientists think that they're probably related to the brain trying to make a coherent narrative out of the neurological changes during REM sleep, and falling back on memories of adolescence, in my case transferred to my job.

Whatever these "late for class" dreams may signify, they're annoying.  Afterwards I have a vague sense of anxiety that lasts through the day.

When I told my friend Gabe about the dreams, he suggested "lucid dreaming," a technique that allows you to orchestrate what goes on in your dreams by rehearsing them in advance.

Before going to sleep, you visualize the dream as you recall it, but make whatever changes you want.  Imagine that the hallways are familiar, for instance, or that you're going somewhere pleasant.

Last night I gave it a try.  I visualized that was walking across the dark, warm, comfortable campus of a clothing-optional college, on my way to teach Oral Sex 101: Oral Sex for Gay and Bi Men.

It was fun making up the syllabus:

1. The physiology and psychology of oral sex.
2. The history of oral sex from the Ancient World to the present.
3. The oral sodomy laws and the limits of jurisprudence.
4. The philology of slang terms.
5. Oral sex in literature, art, and film.
6. The sociological importance of oral sex in contemporary gay communities.
7. Roles and positions.
8. Techniques.

I imagined that today the students would be delivering their research presentations:

"A Comparative Study of the Erotic Pleasure Received through Oral and Anal Acts."
"How Big is Too Big?  Size and Satisfaction for the Oral Bottom."
"Are Big Men More Likely to be Oral Tops?"
"How Many Straight Men Will Agree to Oral Sex with a Gay Man?"
"An Analysis of the Top's Verbal and Non-Verbal Signals During Oral Sex"
"69 as an Act of Political Resistance"

Making up all of that was fun, too, but would it transfer into a more pleasant "late for class" dream?

Eventually I drifted off to sleep.



I had the "late to class" dream again, but my anxiety level didn't go down.  I was even more panicked than before, running wildly down the unfamiliar corridors, desperate to get to that classroom.

I really wanted to see those student presentations.

See also: That Bathhouse in West Hollywood; The Ins and Outs of Oral Sex; The Precognitive Dream about the Boy with the Bratwurst

I Meet the Boy with a Bratwurst from My Dream Last Night

Plains, July 2016

Never eat just before bedtime.  You have long, involved, vivid dreams.  A couple of nights ago, I had one for the record books.

Sunday

I was delayed, and didn't eat dinner until 9:00 pm.  At 10:00 pm, the dream began.

I was at a party in West Hollywood: 20 or more guys sitting on couches and divans in a vast living room.  No one I knew.

I went into a spare bedroom to change into my Superman costume for a skit we were performing.  But I forgot my tights, so I had to go out to the main room naked from the waist down.

No one noticed.

While waiting for the other performers to arrive, I sat next to a cute  twink, college age, with short brown hair and a round friendly face.  He was wearing a formal white shirt, unbuttoned a few buttons so I could see the cross around his neck and an outline of a smooth hard chest.

He gave his name -- I don't remember it, so I'll call him Gene.  He was visiting from Saskatechewan, in town for only a few days: "West Hollywood is fun, but I miss Regina.  People are real there."

I said "Regina is only two hours from the Plains.  We can visit."  [It's actually more like ten hours]

We started kissing.  I  fondled his crotch, and a Bratwurst+ sprang to life.  But when I tried to push his head down onto my crotch, he resisted.  "Not here.  There are too many people."

I looked around.  The living room was deserted.  The last of the lights went off, leaving us in darkness.

"They all went downstairs," Gene said.  "This is a sex party.  Do you want to go down?"

I didn't want to lose Gene to a bunch of other guys, not so soon, so I suggested we take a walk instead.

 We walked down a strangely empty Santa Monica Boulevard, past the Greenery and the Rage, and even the Different Light (which closed long ago).  We stopped to sit one of the little tables outside The French Quarter.

It was closed.  The street was deserted.  We started kissing and fondling again.

Soon we were both fully aroused.  He knelt to go down on me.

But the street wasn't deserted!  It was bustling with after-theater crowds.  A waiter came out of the French Quarter and asked "Can I take your order?"  A police officer glared at us suspiciously.

We quickly stood and left.  We returned to the house, and up to the bedroom where Gene was staying.  "Do you want to watch something on Netflix?" I asked.

"Sure.  Whatever you want."  He went into the bedroom, and returned naked, his Bratwurst+ standing out straight in front of him.  He started kissing and licking my chest.  I pushed him onto his knees.

And woke up!

Ok, an erotic frustration dream, combined with the standard "nude in public" anxiety, but so vivid and detailed that I wrote it down.

Monday

After dinner (at the usual time), I went on Grindr, and Gene was there.

Only 1,000 feet away!

 Well, the guy with the tagline "Visiting" looked just like Gene, except he had slightly darker hair and no cross around his neck, and he was a little more buffed.  His profile photo showed him lifting weights.

Eerie!

"Hi, we're like half a block away!" I typed.  "Why haven't we met before?"

He responded immediately: "I'm visiting my brother and his girlfriend for the week."

His name was Kyle, not Gene, and he was from Lincoln, Nebraska, not Saskatchewan.  Still, that dream was eerily precognitive!

We actually didn't have a lot in common, other than a shared interest in bodybuilding.   He was a business major (ugh!) at the University of Nebraska, and a fan of video games and Pokemon Go (whatever that is).

But he was ungodly cute, and it seemed like we already knew each other.  I remembered feeling his body pressed against me, kissing him, watching his Bratwurst+ spring to life.  And constantly being stymied in my attempt to have sex with him.

I had to get him into my apartment, to see if he really looked and felt like Gene from my dream.  And to finish the job!

"Do you want to come over here," I typed, "And watch something on Netflix?"

"Sorry, I'm hanging with my brother, as soon as he gets off work."

Darn!  "Tomorrow?"

"Ok.  But we should meet in a public place.  You have to be careful, right?"


Tuesday

We met at the gay-friendly coffee house.  Kyle looked less like Gene in real life: younger, taller, and deeply tanned, an outdoorsman, into hunting and fishing and whatever else one does in Lincoln, Nebraska.

We talked about growing up in small towns.  I told him my best West Hollywood dating-celebrities stories, and he told me about the time he met wrestler John Cena.  We held hands under the table, and groped surreptitiously.  He definitely had a Bratwurst+.

"How about that Netflix?" I asked.

"Um...I like to takes things slow, and get to know the guy."

I started getting annoyed.  It felt like the sex been postponed about six times already.  "Yeah, slow," I sniped.

 "Are you free Saturday?  We're going to a party down in Sioux Falls.  You can be my Plus One."

"Gay party?"

"Mostly straight people.  Is that a problem?"

I hate straight parties!  But if it would seal the deal.... "Sure."

"Great.  We just need to coordinate our costumes."

"Beg pardon?"

"Didn't I mention it?  It's a costume party.  I was planning to go as Cupid, but we should do something as a pair, like Batman and Robin."

I think I'll go as Captain America.  Less chance of losing my pants.

See also: The Late for Class Dream