Dream

I knew I was dreaming.

But I didn't care, what the heck, go with it. I will not try any dream abilities. I'll just watch what happens.

Let's see what my thoughts provide me tonight. That was my dreaming attitude. Lucid, but not out of body. Not particularly experimental. Just passive.

I walk into my apartment but it's all very different. This apartment was pulled together by a designer. And every little thing is spotless. The place is Spartan, all grays and whites. Not me at all. Way too clean. I did not choose the art. I did not choose the decorations. They were all provided somehow.

In fact the cleaning staff is right there.

I have to go to the bathroom but a cleaning lady is busy in there. She tells me to use the other bathroom.

I walk to the other bathroom but another cleaning lady is in there too.

I tell her I must go. It is urgent.

She is busy scrubbing the toilet that doesn't need scrubbing. That's how clean this place is. They clean things already clean.

I know the dream is signaling me that my real body back on earth that's sleeping has to go to the bathroom but for now all this comes through as pictured and acted out in a dream.

Fine. I'll pee in the sink.

I'm not the slightest bit embarrassed about peeing in front of a woman.

That's what so much medical things does to you. The process over time eliminates all embarrassment.

All of it.

The women are dressed in their corporation cleaning person uniforms. Gray with white apron they blend with the decor of the apartment. This second woman tells me, "Wait. I'll get one of those pee-cups and you can use it in the sink.

She had just cleaned the sink.

She leaves and another woman enters. The second woman returns with the pee-cup and now there are two women watching me.

I'm not the slightest embarrassed to unzip and pull out my penis-hose while they are watching me fill the cup. It fills fast and I'm less than half done. I pinch my hose tightly and stop the flow while the woman leaves to empty the cup. They're like nurse-maids. I talk to the third woman while waiting for the second to return. I fill the cup a second time as the two watch me, apparently fascinated, at least interested in watching me handle this.  We're talking to each other but both are looking at me downward watching what I am doing, not reading my face.

These were not the usual apartment housekeepers.

This was more like Mexico at the resort compound. Instead of one maid to each house working independently, they chose to move house to house together as a team and sweep through the whole place together. They speak English, at least partially. I know that because I cracked them up when I wasn't even talking to them. 

In Cancun, in a splendid home we had assembled at a large table for breakfast but one person was missing. Randy, the arrogant asshole was not there. I asked where he was and I was told he was ill and wouldn't be joining us. I used the opportunity to burn Randy, the sometimes giant asshole. Breakfast began with sweet rolls called "conchas" meaning "shell" due to their shape. Everyone had their own concha on a plate in front of them. Everyone is a bit sleepy. I lowered my voice to low tone as it goes, changing my voice considerably to gravely monster-tone. Speaking slowly and tediously:

"Fee fie fo fum
I smell the blood of middle class scum!
pause
Hey!
pause
Who. ate. my. concha?

The women unseen in the kitchen all cracked up laughing and that told us they were listening in and they speak English and they recognize Jack and the Beanstalk and they thought that was hilarious. They giggled in there like children. 

My friends at the table were dying. They knew that's exactly how Randy thinks. They intended on telling him I said this and they knew I'm in trouble and they also knew I didn't care. All that made it even more funny. My not caring about Randy being a monster.

These women in the dream are looking right at my lower manscaping and I don't care. It's why I did it. I hold the pinch on my hose until the woman returns and I fill the cup a second time and pinch the hose again. I don't get a single drop in the newly cleaned sink.

See, in real life I had manscaped to be presentable for the third specialist. That would be a team of people. And I didn't know exactly what to expect. I couldn't visualize it. I was told but I couldn't see it.

A few days previously the second specialist exposed my nether regions for a scan to a woman privately and I thought, "Hmm. Maybe I should have probably trimmed down there. At least be presentable." Women appreciated tidiness. Even if they're not going to touch me.

I wanted to be tidied up for the third specialist where I was told to expect an x-ray and more scanning.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, it was one long get to know each other session and a million intimate questions, first by an aide and then by the doctor and then another blood draw in another room.

This last blood draw was the best one of all. Of all time. Of all history. I must say, some women are truly great at this.

She was the conversational type. I stood up and could barely walk. I switched canes then switched them back. "They felt like the wrong hands."

She goes, "Oh I know how that feels. I had right/left canes before and they do feel weird in the wrong hands." As we walked together slowly to her own room she recounted her experience that led her to using two canes.

Her office is lavishly large and well appointed. They all are. It's the weirdest thing, the outside is entirely prosaic and unadorned with no signal as to what to expect behind them. They all look like standard office space, rather dreary, but behind the ordinary office door a lavishly appointed waiting area opens and behind an extended mostly unused counter each office is impressively large and unusually well appointed with expensive furniture. Her office was much larger than it needed to be. Not the least intimate.

She has seven vials set aside. Different sizes and different colored tops.

Shit. This is going to be dreadful. See, they stick a needle in your arm then switch out vials. Each switch is another slight shove of the needle.

The chair is designed to rest either arm on a platform. She asks me which side I prefer.

"The last two draws this week were from the the right arm, so the left this time."

I don't look anymore. I can't take it. I look in the opposite direction. This makes me very sad. I don't like it.

Her tourniquet was light. She did not tell me to squeeze my hand. I never felt a pinch. I didn't feel anything except her holding my arm.

"Is it gushing out?"

     "No."

"Is it seeping?"

     "No."

"Is it pulsing out?"

     "No."

"Is it draining?"

     "No, it isn't draining."

"Is it slowly pooling?"

     "We're done."

"What? You filled all those vials already?"

     "Yes. We're done."

"Lady, I must say, I've had a LOT of blood draws, especially just now, and by very good people too. But you are the best."

     "Thank you."

"I mean it. I'm not just saying that. Of all the blood drawers (they prefer phlebotomist but I do not) you are the very best. The previous ones were great but you are greatest of all the greatest."

     "Thank you for saying that. I appreciate you saying that."

"That's just it. I'm not just saying it. I fucking mean it! There are great people out there but by far you are the best."

They never did see my manscaping.

But I was ready.

A few minutes previously the new specialist doctor was touching me all over looking inside my ears.

"Aren't you glad I cleaned out my ears right before I came here?"

     "Yes."

He told me to stick out my tongue and say "A-a-a-a-a-h."

"Aren't you glad I brushed my teeth and scraped my tongue right before I came here?"

     "Yes."

He placed his stethoscope on points all over my back and told me to breathe deeply.

He bend down in front of me, mind, he's dressed in an expensive suit and tie, and he untied my boot and slipped it off and pulled off my sock and felt all around my ankle and felt the bones in my foot and I'm thinking, "You big homoerotic closet-homo quit feeling me up all over the place."

But I said, "Aren't you glad I bathed right before I came here?"

     "Yes."

And that ended our session.

So in real life my highly personal manscaping was not put to good clinical use but it was in the dream. The women in the dream enjoyed watching me pee. Two women and a cup. I was filling the cup a third time enjoying my time in the bathroom with the women observing me pee and appreciating my previous self-trim job and excellent personal hygiene when I thought, "This is enough. Wake up and get up and go to the actual bathroom."

We don't mess around anymore like we used to. We don't wait until morning. We don't wait for sunrise. We don't wait at all. We get up and we go to the bathroom immediately. By we I mean me and my dreaming self and all older men similar to myself.