Weird dream about sex again. I was visiting a woman in another country and was staying with her family (which I once did in Peru). In this dream, it wasn’t that same woman, but she was young. In Peru, the woman I visited turned out to be a virgin, but that’s another story. In my dream, I was really interested romantically in this woman. We had not had sex, or made out, but now was the time. We ended up on a couch or bed and were wrapped around each other kissing. Her blouse came open and I put my hands on her boobs, which were round and smooth. Her nipples were erect. I was turned on, on, on! I opened her shorts and put my hand on her mound, and as I did so, she said: “I like to touch myself there.” I began fingering her. Her cunt got juicy. Talk about being turned on! My penis was trying to break out of my pants, so I set it free, I was working on getting her pants off when her two sisters came into the room. They noticed us, but seemed uninterested in what we were doing, and went about whatever it was they were doing, chatting with each other. I was suddenly watching myself! I saw myself stand up, with a rock-hard erection, and people were walking around the room while I stood there. I looked at myself and noticed the penis was very pale, and pointy, not like my own. Weirder and weirder. Then, her father came into the room! He was also not shocked, but did speak to me. He was speaking a language I didn’t understand, but smiling and gesturing to the young woman and me. He stopped, pointed once more at the young woman, and said, in English, “Do you want to marry me?” From this I understood he wanted to know if I wanted to marry his daughter, so I said yes. “Then ask her,” he said, pointing again at her. I opened my mouth to ask, but starting remembering who I was and how I had been ready to do anything, go anywhere at one point recently, and then remembered that I have not felt any emotions lately, no passion for life or people. I thought about how I probably shouldn’t get married, given my state of mind, and then there was a distraction, which I commented on, and we all seemed to be talking about something else. I was still pondering the marriage question when I woke up.
In my real life, in 1984, I had traveled to Peru to visit a pen-pal. We had been writing for some time; she invited me to visit. I had just lost my job. It seemed the perfect time to travel, except I had no money. The bank I used was the same one used by my employer, a printed circuit board manufacturer, and I had free checking there through some reciprocal agreement between my employers and the bank. The company did a lot of work for airlines, NASA, and US weapons programs. I told the loan officer I wanted money to travel to Peru. He asked me how much I needed. I asked for $800, since I knew the airfare was about $700. I really didn’t want to get too much in debt. I had a little money left in my checking account, so as I was at the airport waiting to board the plane, I called the bank and asked if I could get some more money. The limit on money machine withdrawals was $100/day. They asked me for my account number, which I somehow managed to remember, and they OK’d the increased amount. I grabbed the extra money from the machine and boarded the plane for LA International Airport. I had packed my 0.38 special. The Sendero Luminoso, or “Shining Path” Maoist rebels were fighting a guerrilla war all over Peru, so I wanted the comfort a gun could give me. Then again, I was supportive of rebellions and guerrilla warfare at the time, so I thought I could even offer my gun to them if I ran into them on the long train ride I’d planned. I had noticed a sign at check-in that said all firearms must be declared, so I did. The counter person seemed shocked, but explained the procedure: I had to put it in my checked luggage, of course, and put the gun in one bag, and the bullets in another. Then they attached a special warning ticket to my bag and sent it on down the conveyor belt to be loaded onto the plane. I didn’t give it much thought until later. In LA, there was a problem with my ticket. The flight was announced, but the man at the check-in counter wouldn’t give me my boarding pass. I waited and waited, until it was near the time for the plane to takeoff, when he suddenly called me over and gave me my pass. I ran down the moving walkways and up the indoor ramp to the plane. There were two men flanking the door. They stopped me, and I nervously told them the plane was going to take off. They said to relax, that it wasn’t going to take off yet. Then they questioned me about how much money I was carrying. I told them I had three hundred dollars. They asked me why I was going to Peru, and I told them about Elsie, my friend I was going to visit. They seemed satisfied with that, and handed my passport and wallet back and waved me on to the plane. I was directed to the only empty seats, just behind a partition. I had noticed that everyone else had plenty of leg room, but I wasn’t going to be able to stretch out. It was going to be the longest flight I’d ever taken. I heard someone say that I must have been the person they were waiting for. Resignedly, I waited for the plane to move. It was already past time for departure. There was one empty seat next to me. I was glad, because that meant I might stretch out that way. Just then a man ran onto the plane and sat down next to me. Shit. Oh, well.
As we traveled, I enjoyed the flight. The food was amazing on Varig Airlines, a Brazilian flight I’d found that was cheapest. We had warm towels to wash our hands, and linen napkins and appetizers and drinks. It was the best restaurant I had ever been to! My fellow traveler was chatty, and ended up asking me a question that led me to volunteer that I was packing a gun. He also seemed surprised, but I told him it was in my checked bag, and I explained why I’d brought it, and the procedure I’d had to follow to bring it. He had told me he was not just a businessman, but also a smuggler. He said he often smuggled electronics into Peru inside of washing machines that he imported, and that no one ever checked inside of those. I was impressed. Of course, much later on, I realized he had been leading me on, pumping me for details, and hoping to make me trust him. I did trust him, but I had nothing else to tell him. As we neared Peru, he told me that my bags would most likely be searched at customs, and that it was illegal to smuggle arms into Peru. I was horrified. I imagined they’d find the gun and arrest me. I thought I’d end up in a Peruvian jail, with no way to ever get home. I didn’t know what else to do, so I queued up with everyone else in line. They weren’t doing very thorough examinations of each bag, so I began to relax, hopeful that they wouldn’t notice the gun or the bullets. My seatmate from the plane was ahead of me, and they asked him what he had, and poked through his clothes. It was my turn!
I pushed my bags toward the custom inspector, but he just patted them and waved me on. I looked at him, but he gestured emphatically for me to move along. Whew! My new buddy was waiting for me, and offered to share a taxi. I asked him where I could stay, and said he knew of an area frequented by American tourists. He dropped me off there, but before leaving asked if I might sell the gun and gave me his number. I thought it might be a good idea, because I was suddenly worried about getting back into the USA with it. He said he had a friend who might be interested. Later on, I found out that washing machines were a rarity in Peru, even in the suburbs of Lima, and there were no laundromats at all, but I didn’t know then just how odd my traveling companion’s story had been.