showing my breasts to a van full of blondes
I am in a big van, sprawled out in the open back part behind the seats. The main door is open; an older man I know walks up, sticking his head in the vehicle. He stops to talk to me, leaning forward and putting his arm out. His hand somehow lands on my chest (I'm wearing a royal blue thin tee-shirt). His palm and fingers cup my right breast. I point this out to him, which makes us both laugh. Suddenly the van is moving. It is full of people, most of whom are young blonde males. I'm still laying in the back. We are going around introducing ourselves. The driver is a strikingly handsome blonde guy (about my age or older -- early 20s); he has blonde stubble on his face, and we're making eye contact through the rearview mirror. He introduces himself. A similar-looking guy is crouched down near the driver's seat, almost sitting on the driver's lap. I look at the backseat right in front of me, where a number of other young men are sitting. They all have exotic, unusual names that I have never heard before. One guy, sitting next to the window of the backseat, says, "My name is Galice, and I'll have some of what he had," gesturing toward the man whose hand was on my breast earlier. I look down at myself and see that I'm now totally naked. My body looks beautiful. I laugh but sit up suddenly, pressing my chest up against the bare back of a young woman sitting in the middle of the backseat. I hold her as faux-protection against Galice. We all laugh. Then I'm looking at a list of the names of all the men in the van. They're all brothers. All are sons of an older blonde man, and all have complicated names, a number of which look like some form of "Galice."
hiking up slippery rocks
NEXT, I am hiking upstream, through a big rocky river with a group of people my relative age. We are playing some intellectual oral game as we go (like 20 Questions or something). We're crossing a skinny bridge that is very high up. Holly Berman is with me. I'm carrying a board game in my hand. I see little black plastic charms (like the pieces in Monopoly) on the mossy ground. I pick them up and put them in my box. Shirley Temple's head is one of them. I hope I'm not stealing them from someone else. We start hiking up a really steep part of the river. I'm carefully climbing up a bunch of slick rocks. Three big guys are up ahead of me; Thomas Milsom is also ahead. All of a sudden I hear someone yell, "Maya! Help! Help me Maya! Help, help! Maya!" It's loud and repetitive. I try climbing up the wet slippery rocks as fast as possible. I see that Eric F. is yelling it. He's in a precarious situation up above me. I'm the only one who can see it, but others are closer to him. I try to make it. Now we (me and my hiking group) are all standing around in a circle inside a normal room, discussing the event that just happened. Eric is upset because I didn't help him. I'm upset that he was flipping out so much, only calling my name. We are trying to rationally discuss it. Eric is in front of me, and his girlfriend is on my left between us. She has brown hair and a plain face. She is defending Eric, looking at me. The two of us have an intense moment of direct eye contact. I feel superior and calm and confident as I look into her watery light-blue eyes. We finally work everything out, making everyone feel better. Then we get ready for the next leg of our trip. I'm in a room looking at shelves of books and CDs, trying to decide which ones I'll pack. I see lots of my heavy-looking library books. I don't want to carry too much.
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