I’m in a bed in a large room, accompanied by two women. One of them is Alicia, who’s lying on my left, her feet level with my head. On my right, the same way around as me, is X (whom I met many years ago, and who these days is an old woman, though in the dream she looked young). Fresh, joyous sexual desire flows between the three of us, although Alicia remains slightly apart. She doesn’t disapprove; instead she’s smiling, hoping her moment will come. The room, however, is very much open to onlookers, with a large window on the right and large glass doors on the left, and at one point Ignacio appears, stops outside the door, and tries to come in. I send him away and shut the door, and I also start closing the blinds and lowering the curtains to protect us from any observers, whether from the left side or the right. I go back to my place in the bed and X uncovers her breasts to be stroked. And now there’s a sudden change of scene: we’re on a beach and Alicia is shouting the name of a celebrity (someone who was popular some years ago but must be completely forgotten by now, a pop musician or a singer). I look up and see a man in sunglasses coming over to say hello. X and I are rather put out at this interruption, whereas Alicia seems to think it’s extremely important to have him there, if only to temporarily halt our games. Eventually X turns around; she has her back to me now and is looking forlorn, so I stop worrying about what’s going on around us and focus on fondling her breasts, pressing my body against hers. There the scene fades out, but more as if I’m sinking into a deeper slumber than waking up.

In another of the dream’s story lines, my mother may not have been personally present, but it’s clear I was trying (literally) to “cut the cord.” I don’t know when or why, but I’d collected some very long ropes and made them into a single rope that reached across the street and into a building on the other side. This longer rope seemed to have served its purpose and it was time to cut it, so I was looking around for a knife (a serrated one, like a kitchen knife). When tying the ropes together, my need (for what exactly I don’t know) had been so great that I’d committed a kind of crime: I’d used a rope that had been hanging from a flagpole on a public building, perhaps a school. Now the sun’s coming up and I’m worried about getting caught, so I start rushing, fumbling nervously for the place where the two ropes meet so I can cut them in half. I don’t know if I manage to cut them or not, but regardless I move on to another section of the rope, the part that runs into the building. I go through a metal door and find myself inside what looks like a sports club. There’s Ignacio again, this time with some other children and teenagers, and an adult—a teacher—who’s addressing them reproachfully. Before opening the door and taking in the scene, I’d heard Ignacio mention my name: he’d been telling a story about me. When he sees me he starts telling a different, more inoffensive story, in such a way that it’s obvious to me what he’s doing. When the teacher speaks reproachfully, I emphasize what he says, backing him up.