Observing the Sabbath

This afternoon I dreamed I was a prostitute. To be more precise, I dreamed I was becoming a prostitute, getting ready for my first gig, mentored by a younger, prettier, more experienced woman. She bore a distinct resemblance to Jennifer Jason Leigh circa 1986.

This is strange. Belle de Jour is not my favorite movie. I have plenty of fantasies that wouldn’t pass muster with my feminist conscience (no, we won’t go into them just now) but being a hooker isn’t one of them. Nevertheless, this was a very hot dream. Not the hooker part--I never actually got to the point of turning the trick, because the client and I got bogged down in negotiations over whether he was going to wear a rubber. He didn’t want to. I was adamant. Safety first.

No, the hotness was all between me and JJL’s dreamland twin. We were making out in the bathroom prior to my professional debut, which was taking place in my john’s house. She was there because she had a paid date with his wife. Thinking about it now, it seems odd that a guy would engage my services while his wife got to dally with a cute blonde, but there's no accounting for taste.

I have a longstanding girl crush on Jennifer Jason Leigh, so I’m not at all surprised that she would show up to tempt me in my dreams. What’s peculiar is that my unconscious seems to feel I have to earn her by selling my body to someone else. I suppose that’s my Christian upbringing showing itself.


Photo by Julian Mandel, early 20th century. Image from Wikimedia Commons.