Dream. No reason to read this, move along, move along.
I dreamed there was another country a few miles to the west, really just the edge of town. It was only legally another country, since it was attached to Boulder still. But it was an autonomous province with its own laws, and one needed a passport to visit, etc. I was invited by a friend who often vacationed there. The country was tiny, really nothing more than a large hotel by a lake shore, a couple square miles total, designed to provide refreshment and serve lake goers. The reason this was a country unto itself was it was a sexual recreation country, where exhibitionists who liked to fuck in public could do so at this lakeside.
The country had taken itself off the maps, I was told, because it kept attracting college students who didn’t understand the lifestyle, but instead thought they could just drink beer etc. So it had become much more exclusive. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Down on the shore were I was with my friend, things were more subdued. Sure, people were tanning or relaxing in the surf naked, but no one was actually having sex at the moment. It was becoming dusk. My friend told me that she wanted to introduce me to a female friend of hers who lived there, who she thought I’d get on well. That woman to whom I’d be introduced arrived from the surf. She was either a Pacific Islander or perhaps mixed Indian descent, I did not know what for sure, but she had the permanent tan and the distinctive small curved nostrils that denoted some background or other. She conversed with me and we all got on pretty well, which was a little surprising to me because I’d assumed I’d only be able to relate to similarly white suburbanites, not as well to people from truly distinct backgrounds. In other words, I was shy.
I tried walking on water for a few seconds just to show off, but quickly returned to the crowded beach blanket. It was now night. The scene changed to up by the hotel. I didn’t have my visa — I’d been brought in as a guest. But I’d lost track of the friend who had brought me there, and I wasn’t sure what room my new Pacific Islander friend was in (though it seemed like I’d just seen her a moment earlier), so I was a bit worried about being found without my visa. I walked around the hotel looking but the rooms seemed unoccupied. All the rooms of the hotel were accessed via an outdoor porch or boardwalk, with sliding glass doors to each room, within which were white curtains and dorm-like futons — there were no interior hallways, in keeping with the “open” intent. I was not sure where to go. Dream pretty much ended then.