Dream #___, male
Jan. 29th, 2005 11:34 amI had been at opera rehearsal for what seemed like days. Stephen, our conductor, was more prissy than he had ever been, shaking his butt while directing us, dressed in his usual jeans and a t-shirt, only he had a fuschia and purple feather boa around his neck.
Henry, our stage director, kept saying the word sex, over and over again. He held my fan, the one that he character I play, Marcellina, uses throughout the opera, and began to rub it, and told me, "See? It's just like giving a guy a hand-job. Not too hard...well, so to speak," and his assistant, Becca, giggled in a squealy tone that I might have shot her for.
Just as I was listening to them, I turned about quickly and twisted my right knee. Becca stopped laughing, and pointed me to the door.( sex, sorta-abuse, and red rivers )
Henry, our stage director, kept saying the word sex, over and over again. He held my fan, the one that he character I play, Marcellina, uses throughout the opera, and began to rub it, and told me, "See? It's just like giving a guy a hand-job. Not too hard...well, so to speak," and his assistant, Becca, giggled in a squealy tone that I might have shot her for.
Just as I was listening to them, I turned about quickly and twisted my right knee. Becca stopped laughing, and pointed me to the door.( sex, sorta-abuse, and red rivers )
