Sex and Violence in Book Four: Ichi-no-Tani 2017

Television and Conversations before bed certainly affect dreams. And I know.... I know… to paraphrase one of my favorite Christmas movies: “Nobody cares about your fucking dreams.” But… it is me. My dreams tend to be… well… not the stuff of good scripts but… at least arguably close.

Wife and I have been, when we get a chance, watching Person of Interest. For those who don’t know… it is… kind of like a superhero story in a way. A genius billionaire felt traumatized after 9/11 and created a “sentient machine” that would be able to hack into all digital everything. “The government has a secret system, a machine that spies on you every hour of every day. I know because I built it. I designed the machine to detect acts of terror but it sees everything. Violent crimes involving ordinary people, people like you. Crimes the government considered “irrelevant.” They wouldn’t act, so I decided I would. But I needed a partner, someone with the skills to intervene. Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret. You’ll never find us, but victim or perpetrator, if your number’s up… we’ll find you.”

DREAM 1
Wife and I are out for a walk when we are contacted on hidden communicators. She and I are exactly who we are in the real world with all the same faults and relationship issues… but we volunteer as Reserve Members in the organization that attempts to protect innocent lives. We’ve just been informed that the Lead Field Agent is in our sector and would like some UC backup. Lead Field Agent: Reese. UC Backup means come in undercover.

We meet up with Reese and get debriefed. One of the houses in a less reputable part of town is suspected of being a drug house. Not typically the Program’s bag, but The Machine put us on to it for a reason. We just need to figure out what that reason is. As we approach, we can tell this isn’t a normal night for the House. There is a party going on and not the typical “drugs and violence” party we would expect. It almost looks like a bachelor party. I knock on the door with my wife in tow and a strong looking black man in his mid-thirties opens the door. He’s smiling, having a good time, a can of beer in his right hand. He see us and politely asks, “Sorry folks, were we being too loud? ‘s a party!” I smile meekly and say, “Actually, neighbor, we were just out for our nightly walk and thought this looked like the most fun this neighborhood has seen in years! Birthday party or Bachelor party; because no one parties like this without an awesome reason.” The man at the door explodes into a smile and a laugh. He quickly ushers both of us in and starts talking about how it is the owner’s bachelor party but he’s been “indisposed” for the last twenty minutes. The man sideglances at my wife, and I give him a reassuring look. The “she’s cool” sort of look. The man says, “We brought in the city’s best strippers and they in the back changing; but apparently, he couldn’t wait! Grabbed one of the girls from the group and took her upstairs.”

I key my earpiece. Reese is known not to give Reservists the full story, thinks it keeps us out of danger. It doesn’t. He knows why I keyed and responds, “Yes. We’re here to protect one of the strippers. No, it isn’t the one upstairs. Our target is still in the back changing, I have eyes on her.” Wife and I smile and try to schmooze our way through the assorted group of people… suburbanites and thugs all gathered in the same place… drugs, alcohol, and a reason to party bring the most diverse groups of people together… but also creates a higher risk of violence and an easier way for a perpetrator to blend in. We keep our eyes peeled as we make our way to the back of the house. We knock on the large brown door that Reese has told us leads to a billiards room where the strippers are setting up. A tall blonde opens the door. She is probably six foot two and wearing a stereotypical Stripper Cop outfit but her shoes are all wrong. Instead of a leather boot of some kind, she has sparkly blue strappy heels. She’s not really my type anyway. Wife and I push our way into the room past her to her short and apathetic protestations. We scan the room. Two doors. The ones we came in, one on the other side in a corner. The billiard table, blue felt, in the center of the room. Bags and clothes along the wall and on the table. Blonde Cop by the door, a 5‘3 hispanic woman in the corner wearing a pink low cut glitter shirt and black mini skirt, and voices behind the closed door in the corner. As we aren’t leaving and aren’t talking, I can sense the Blonde Cop get more nervous. Wife and I scurry to the closed door and knock gently. Wife asks “Is everyone okay in there?” Two voices sing out and the door opens.

I expect to find a bathroom, but instead I see a tiny bedroom. Orange-Brown carpeting, a window facing out, a small nightstand and a bed. On the far side of the bed, pulling a tight white shirt on over large bosoms is a short woman of clearly mixed heritage. She has blonde/brown hair and looks to be mexican and something else. The woman holding the door is a thin pale white girl in her early twenties with long raven black hair. Her hair covers her breasts but she is topless wearing yoga pants. Yoga Pants asks curtly “What do you want?”

Wife and I apologize for the intrusion, force our way into the room and close the door behind us quickly. Wife says, “One of you is in danger and we’re here to help. Stay calm, stay quiet and everything will be fine.” I go over to the window and open it. Reese climbs through in his black suit with a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder and the but of his 45 revolver sticking out of his jacket. Mixed Heritage asks nervous, “Who is he and why did you let him in?” Reese responds but directs his answer to Yoga Pants. “I’m here to save you. Your father sent men to kill you. He knows you’ve been cooperating with the Feds and a team is on its way right now.”

As he finishes the sentence, we hear it. Three cars scream down the road and stop nearby. The team has already arrived. Considering the neighborhood, they will likely try to make it look like a rival gang or a drug war with civilian casualties. We instruct the two women in the bedroom to remain and stay down. Wife stays with them. Reese and I go back into the billiard room. Blonde Cop screams at seeing Reese and runs out of the room to the main house area. The shorter girl in pink is just dumbstruck by Reese’s appearance. I grab her and start rapidly explaining the situation, assuring her that what I am doing is to try to keep her safe. Reese enters the main house area to take care of the intruders, leaving Wife and I alone in a bedroom with three scared strippers. (This is where DREAM becomes more obvious).

Twenty minutes pass and we are forming a sort of trust. No names exchanged, but they know we work for a very select program intended to protect people the government wouldn’t. We discover that Yoga Pants’ father is the legitimate business portion of an extensive money laundering scheme working for any mafia, terrorist group, or angry asshole east of Germany. Mixed Heritage is actually Puerto Riccan and Irish. Pink Shirt is from the Texas area hoping to earn enough money to bring her family to America. It starts getting late and Wife offers to take first shift watching the door. I fall asleep on the bed. When I wake up again, the three strippers look… very randy. Mixed Heritage is already in bed with me, clothed but extremely close. Pink shirt has since removed her shirt and her large brown breasts are resting on my arm, as she too is in bed with me. Yoga Pants and Wife are standing at the foot of the bed looking at me. My eyes go wide and I start to protest, but Wife silences me with a hand in the air. She whispers, “This is my contingency. Reese has done enough to thin the heard to three hit men. Those men aren’t killing everyone because they have to be FAR more selective now. If they get close, she and I will head out of the window. You three just… look like you’re sleeping or enjoying the night.” I go back to sleep. I wake up with the morning light shining in, Yoga Pants gone and Wife sitting in a chair next to the bed. Mixed and Pink are still in bed with me; but now mixed is topless and Pink is wearing the white shirt. Wife greets me and updates me that the threat has been neutralized, Yoga Pants is with Reese and we’re alone in the house. I smile and get ready to go back to sleep when the two women in bed with me wake up. Mixed is the first to notice my morning wood. As she reaches down for it, she suddenly remembers her surroundings and her head snaps up at my wife. “Is it safe?” Wife laughs lightly and says, “Everything is fine. It’s over. But if you were asking if it was safe to grab my husband’s crotch? Sure! I certainly won’t do it anymore.”

• And that is when the dream turned more… erotic… without actually being a sex dream. The beautiful strippers talked with my wife about our sex life and Wife was firm and adamant that she did not wish to have sex more than once a month and once a month wasn’t even something she really wanted to do. I could feel the pity from the strippers for me and they asked/insisted that they could repay our kindness by “taking the bullet” for Wife. Then that dream ended.-

Television and Conversations before bed certainly affect dreams. And I know.... I know… to paraphrase one of my favorite Christmas movies: “Nobody cares about your fucking dreams.” But… it is me. My dreams tend to be… well… not the stuff of good scripts but… at least arguably close.

Before Bed, Wife was looking over my “Figurines.” I would LOVE to collect the GOOD KIND… like the Kotobukiya variety. But I can’t. Instead I collect what I can afford… the Free Figurine With Movie kind of figurine. Wife was looking them over and noticed that of all of the ones I have, only two were female. I explained to her that is because they are Warner Brothers and WB has been super shitty about Female Comic Book Figures.

DREAM 2
Wife and I are at Best Buy. She is asking questions about TVs and Comparability and all that crap that could logically be found on-line. So I slink away to the areas I like. I find New-Tech music instruments and immediately want this weird high tech Cabasa which could also double as a Maraca. The high tech part was that you could push buttons on the top and multi-colored lights would flash on the Cabasa part and play random music to accompany. I loved it. I wanted it. As I was looking for Wife to tell her what a steal it was (all that and only $6.99!) I saw that the DVD section had gotten big again. And they were selling the full animated series of Justice League of America but in a Limited Addition Superior Collector Pack. It was massive and it was beautiful. It had all of the “Free with Movie” figurines that DC Animated had ever released, with a specialized “Collector’s Stand” to keep them all together and new FULL SIZED figures of the main Justice League characters! It was… torturous. I already had the DVDs. I already had most of the smaller figures. But… a complete collection. And full size! I… I… I didn’t know what to do. Wife’s advice, “Get it if you want it. You don’t need it. It would take up too much space. You already have most of it anyway. But if it is worth it for the things you don’t have; go ahead.” (Frankly… that is very much the kind of response she would give IRL).

Then I woke up.