I'm driving an ancient Model T Ford though a forest of pines and redwoods, still and deep and old. My parents are in the back seat. They don't know I've sabotaged the car.

Flame boils up from under the hood, scary but harmless. It's a signal--bait, really. You see, I saw a rare Lacewing Chopper in the distance, and I hope this will lure it down. And it does!

The helicopter, a mothlike assemblage of metal lace and frills and feelers, wobbles down to land in a meadow by the creek. The pilot hops out to help us. He seems very young.

He tells me his craft got all twisted when he crashed into the peak south of us, the one we're headed for. He spotted my fire easily--it got bigger than expected. In fact it's still growing.

Oops! We probably DO need a ride out, now.

That is, my parents do. Not me. I have another way out. As they talk with the pilot, I slip behind him and jump into the control basket and try my car key. It fits! I gun the chopper, and fly away!

I planned this all along. He didn't expect anyone to go after a wreck like his, and my having a key for it will mystify them all.

I land in another clearing where my crew is waiting. We're going to install a big tuning fork-slingshot as a motor, because you can recharge it with your muscles. Very handy if you run out of fuel in the wilderness. It has a rubber band around its two poles, a huge rubber band. We get it all wound up, but I'm unsure we did it optimally, for maximum power...

I guess not. When we test it, the engine spins madly and turns into... a giant penis! Serenely, it disentangles from the rotor-gear and steps free of the chopper. It's a person, short but whole, who walks and talks, yet is unmistakably an erect penis. As the afternoon turns colder, the cock wears a sock--sort of a whole-body mitten. He looks like a teeny weeny Jacques Cousteau.

In the final act of the dream, my friends and I get together and plan a huge practical joke on the penis...

But nothing cruel, of course.

SCHOLARLY INTERPRETIVE NOTES

Are you kidding?

THE NEXT DAY

I give up on trying to make sense of the dream at last, and just go to work.

At the last minute, my co-workers tell me "It's Gary's birthday, we're having a surprise party." So we jump him!

Gary's a tense, manic little guy, always wound up, but at the party he relaxes uncharacteristically. He tells sex jokes, and puts on a silly hat with two antennae sporting pinwheels at the ends--sort of a cross between helicopter rotors and a tuning fork.

It's only when I catch myself thinking "always wound up" that I realize what, or rather who, I was dreaming about.

Before I was shown.

2001 NOTE

No, I don't think this dream meant "Gary is a dickhead!" If that was it, I'd have just dreamed it directly. Why not? I actually did once--the Dickhead Gang strapped pink dildos on their foreheads like unicorn wannabes. It was their Secret Sign. Only Hercule Poirot, that clever detective, caught this incredibly subtle clue...

Anyway, my point is, dreams don't need to play it subtle. And this one was making a point about "all wound up", about tension, not just about sex per se.

See, I'd just been rejected by a girl I had a painful crush on... and the same week, one of my housemates, cute but messed-up, came on to me after a yet another fight with her equally screwed-up boyfriend. While my penis was whispering "she's hot & I'm desperate!" my brain was muttering "She's also involved, trouble, and using you to hurt him." So I said no, and wound up pretty tense.

The message? "This frustration is making you as tense as... Gary! Ewww!"

Incredibly subtle, right?

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