Complicated Dreams

It is funny how emotions and situations that are so complex and so intense can be so perfectly captured in a dream.

I am a male. I feel more comfortable around women than men. I am more attracted to women than men. I identify more closely with my female friends than I do with my male friends, even though I enjoy a good cyber battle now and again with guys.

Nudity. Sexuality. This is the area where things get tricky. In the dream I am in a corporate shower in a woman’s body with an intimate friend of mine and fellow female feminists. There is sexual tension between many people but also a sense of trust and camaraderie. I am enjoying myself and I feel comfortable and excited and something else bordering fear and arousal. In my heart I believe that I am a fraud. I don’t belong. If I am discovered for what I really am I will be despised, hated, loathed, humiliated. I am at once included in the ultimate feminist club as I have always wanted and at the same time distanced from it as always due to what at times like these can only be considered male handicap.

My friend does a very good job of including me. My awkwardness is taken as shyness at being new. Nobody suspects that it is the fear of a combatant being discovered in an enemy camp. What sort of punishment might await me if I am found out I can’t help but wonder.

Eventually the time comes. All is bound to be discovered. My friend and I are alone in the shower. She is sharing a plan with me of how things might work out. She is showing me a bizarre contraption which would allow me to remain in the shower but separate from everyone else. Separate but equal I suppose in retrospect. I see the word masturbation next to the picture of the fence like contraption. The thought of masturbating in a little box while the women shower fills me with depression. I feel rejection for the idea because it grinds against my sense of feminism and social comfort, but I also sense that such an experience could in fact be arousing. Masturbating in a room full of attractive feminists might be nice if it didn’t seem so wrong and so strange.

As I am trapped in my sad and sorry sensations the other women arrive. I am exposed and I have a penis once again. Things often make sense emotionally in dreams without having to make logical sense. The dream ends at around this time. These last few moments blend together scorched into my heart. The women both ignore me and see me. Perhaps they feel pity and disgust for me. I am not really sure. In any case, I no longer belong. I am no longer one of them. I’m not sure whether my friend decides to comfort me or leave me to join the others. I fade away.

A Happy Society

An exorbitantly wealthy scientist once wished to create a perfectly happy society. Genetic engineering would be its key. The first batch of people all died during infancy. The tolerance levels for the poisons that their brains had been programmed to release with negative emotions were simply too low. As soon as an infant began to cry, it would die. After the sixth batch or so, the strategy was perfected. Sadness, anger, and other “negative” emotions would cause severe pain or even death. The scientist created a perfectly happy society.

Every year there are inevitably a few dozen deaths, mostly children and adolescents. If a person can make it twenty years or so without slipping into a fetal depression, they tend to keep the healthy habit of happiness up for life. Those who are not so brave, or so cowardly, die a slow and painful death. Poison secreted from their brains creeps down the veins in their arms and back, chilling the tips of their fingers and toes. They die a lonely death, clenching groin and buttocks. A tear-stained corpse will be found shortly after on a hard street or a soft bed.

Only one murder has been committed since emotional conformity was actualized. The science was killed in cold blood. Nobody stopped the murderer, there were no police because there was no crime. Some expected the assassin to die there next to its maker, but the assassin simply walked away. Apparently the perpetrator not of a crime of passion, but one of simple necessity.

Two generations after the assassination the trait still persists, a cursed cancer of the heart. One can only hope that their descendants will be truly happy.