Early morning prisoner transfer, near the docks of some British port town. Overcast but dry day. Two prisoners, one guilty of some violent crime, one innocent. He is average height, brunette, slim and very flexible. About to shipped from the police station to the penitentary via a cargo van. As the handcuffed prisoners and four guards emerge from the door they see before them:
The van to the left, doors open in the back. A prowler to the right, in front of the van. To their immediate left is a dumpster facing them, back up against a portion of the next building. The other buildings on this quiet street are set right on the sidewalk. The police station is the only one recessed slightly, and this recess is where the dumpster is kept. Above it is an aluminum drain pipe which rises till about two feet below the roofline. It's a false roof line however, so the rainwater drains out a hole in the false front and into the drain pipe.
The two prisoners are led out, guilty in front, not guilty in back. The guards halt them on the sidewalk between the van and the police car. They take Guilty first, lead him around the back, check his handcuffs and assist him into the cargo van. As this happens Not Guilty looks around at his town. He grew up here, went to school here, went to sea from here, got in trouble here. But he didn't do the crime he was convicted of. He looks to the right, out to the docks and beyond that, the sea. He sighs. He looks back to his left and sees a woman farther up the street looking back at him intently. He suddenly recognizes her from his sailor days. Back then she was a dockside whore, but now she looks clean, healthy, and very beautiful. Long blonde hair done up in twin pigtails, mens dress shirt, wool skirt in a tartan pattern, knee socks, body like a centerfold. She recognizes him too, hesitates, and then frantically waves him towards her. She wants him to escape!
Now's the time. Two gaurds are in the prowler already, one is getting into the front of the van. #4 is still getting the other prisoner situated in the back of the van.
Not Guilty winks at the woman and then leaps oh so quietly to the dumpster. He slides underneath it where he can just barely squish. Then a sound is heard farther down the street. A sound somewhat like a small stone being tossed down a sidewalk. The noise alerts the guards who look around and realize that the other prisoner is not still standing on the sidewalk. Pandemonium ensues. They gather briefly and then disperse, one looking in the dumpster, another slamming the door on the cargo van. Then they run down the street.
Not Guilty slides out from underneath the dumpster, quietly closes one half of the lid, and then climbs carefully on top of it. He can hear the guards returning. He clamps his handcuffed hands around the drainpipe and climbs it, using the open half of the dumpster lid as a foothold. The metal clamps on the drainpipe furnish further footholds, but each loosens as his weight comes to rest on it. He reaches the wide mouth at the top, and as the pipe gives away he manages to get his arms over the false front of the building. The gaurds return with the noise and see NG as he gets the last foothold in the drain hole of the building and flings himself over the top, just as the guns are aiming at him. The guards split up and try to find someway to the roof of the building.
NG runs over to the part of the building where he saw the woman. On the front of this part of the building is large neon sign. He can't read it from this angle, but it seems to start with an enormous cursive 'L'. He looks down, but the woman is gone. He carefully climbs out onto the sign, being careful not to touch the glowing tubes. He can hear two of the guards climbing a fire escape. But where are the other two?. So he climbs into the loop of the gigantic 'L' and flattens himself against the bricks. The sign groans with his weight on it.
Two of the guards emerge onto the roof, as the other two run by on the street. The guards on the roof hail the other two and they have discuss the situation, luckily down a bit from the big neon sign. They decide three of them will spread out in the neighborhood while the fourth calls for back up.When the noises subside NG peeks on the street. The woman is there, looking up at him and smiling. He quickly unfolds himself and leaps down to the sidewalk. A sore ankle the next day, but not bad. She steadies him and then tosses him into the open doorway. She follows and then closes the door, as one of the guards rounds the corner.
He finds himself in a porn shop. "What if the owner comes back?" He asks. "I am the owner." She replies, laughing. "You sailors always had lots of money, and I charged top dollar." He starts to thank her but she shoos him to the front counter where some black felt jewelry trays have been laid out. She motions him behind the counter and then points to the cavity in the display counter underneath the shelves. He just fits.
She slides the panel closed, grabs a polishing cloth and a cock ring, and looks up just as a guard enters the shop. He explains the situation, she fakes fear, and allows him to look around the small establishment. He leaves quickly, embarrassed, not realizing that the display case is already full of jewelry. What are all these spare displays and product doing on the counter?
She exhales mightily and then lets NG out.
She explains that she always liked him when he was a sailor because he used to tell her these wonderful stories, some of his adventures, some purely fiction. Some a mixture of both. She leads him into the back where there is a small couch, some filing cabinets, a hot plate, racks of videos, and a small desk with a typewriter on it. Then she produces a ring full of keys. Keys to the handcuffs that she sells. They smile at one another.
He types in the back, stopping when he hears the bell over the door. The interruptions are frequent as her business is lively. Her stock is classy and top of the line, but it is herself that is the biggest attraction. She knows this of course, hence the girls boarding school outfit. He uses these frequent interruptions to nap, as she often keeps him up till all hours of the morning, using all of the moves she used to use when she was a working girl. Then she walks back across the street to her own modest flat, which he has never seen.
Soon erotic stories are for sale on the counter. At first just xeroxes stapled together, but eventually, typeset with cardstock covers and illustrations. They become popular. She sells several of them to classy adult magazines for him, and eventually a book of his own. Anonymous, of course. It quickly goes through several printings.
With the proceeds they buy a computer for him and some better clothes. He asks if she wants an employee or two, but she says she likes her work and their life as it is.
One stormy day he cannot take the charade anymore. He needs to see the sky, needs to feel the wind and rain, needs to see her home. He rushes out and stands on the sidewalk, as the wind howls around him and the rain soaks his clothes. He hears a metallic groaning and turns towards it just in time to be hit full in the face by the neon sign. The left side bolt had finally come loose in the storm and had pivoted on its remaining bolt and sent him flying 20 feet. He wakes up in the hospital talking to a reconstructive plastic surgeon....
So he becomes anonymous for real. He moves into the flat across the hall from hers, and sets about writing the stories and novels he really wanted to write. From his window he often watched her in her shop across the street, flirting with her endless stream of customers. Not so often did he watch the county jail down the street.
His books became famous. He was rarely interviewed, and allowed no pictures on his dust jackets. Old habits died hard. Her death was an easy one though, and they had a good life and scores of years together. It was at her funeral where he was finally able to lavish all of the money on her that she always refused in life. After the service he refused all invitations from their friends and he walked home alone. He passed her shop, the sign long repaired but now dark. He glanced over at their flat. Then he continued on down the street and entered the police station. He emerged, as the toast of Britian, nine months later.
And that, me scurvy buckos, is the final chapter, and verse, of Lulu.
Ahh, the Great Sage Advisor has written a very cryptic description of his dream. And yes Tymn, I think that Freud would sit back, stroke his beard and say something unintelligible in a thick Germanic accent.
If you are looking for dream interpretation, I can help. I majored in psychology during one semester, and my classes dealt with exactly this type of aberrant behavior. Or, if you have some more of whatever it was you were ingesting, I can help there also.
Tymn figured it to be someway connected to the Tarot cards. At least that's how I read his take on it. however, I think it is more closely akin to your feelings of sexual inadequacy. After all, a "drainpipe" is SO phallic. Climbing it with handcuffs, even tho it had attachments that allowed the foot to gain a foothold, is very close to the clinical standard description of a masturbation technique with a S&M flavor. Especially the going over the "wide mouth" at the top. Then the running away to prevent from being "caught" is indicative of the guilty feeling that comes with masturbating. You were obviously caught masturbating in a bathroom or dumpster at one time. Probably by a school girl, hence the school girl outfit of the porn shop owner.
The descending into a "cavity", "soft polishing cloth", "cock ring". Lets just say these items pretty much speak for themselves.
The being smacked in the face by the letter L, is another indication of wanting to be punished for continuing to practice self abuse. I've seen many cases, in the mental wards, of patients that carry out the most awful self inflicted and painful hurts on themselves after a wild night of self abuse. Guilt of such a strong feeling as ejaculation makes self abusers feel the need to be punished. Or, the letter L could relate to the reversed symbol as 7. Which Freud describes in his treatise on "The Sexual Conduct of Tall Blond Celtic Men", as the "Bent Dick Syndrome". See chapter 8, paragraph 3.
The surgical changing of facial features and hiding out so close to ones object of desire is another classic description of masking ones guilt about being caught masturbating.
I don't know where the entering into the police station and coming away as a paragon of society works into this, but probably has something to do with ceasing to masturbate in public. After all, I only majored in psychology for one semester and we only covered the initial causes of self flagation.
Hope this helps. Oh, by the way if one uses only the right hand, a maximum of 120 strokes a minute is the standard norm. Some experts have been able to change hands and gain a stroke. (see Freud's "The Sexual Conduct of Tall Blond Celtic Men". Chapter 909. pg. 989) Practice, practice, practice.
Love and Arms length Hugs, (pervert)
Professor DeMentoDr.: Do you ever dream of nuns? I have this one where Sister Regina has flung aside the front of her habit to reveal a somewhat antiquated but still quite deadly Schmeisser automatic, and tattooed on the satiny white skin of her left inner thigh, just above the top of her spiked-heel boots are twin black SS lighting bolts. She strides towards me and forces me down on my knees and then makes me
Angus: Oh. That one. Who HASN'T had that one? My all time fave though was just me playing basketball with Thomas Jefferson.
Dr.: Basketball with Thomas Jefferson?
Angus: Uh-huh. I'm in regular street clothes, he's in brocade coat, tri-corner hat, wig and all. We're alone in a high school gym playing a little halfcourt one-on-one. This is the one I always bring up when people get all cosmic and Eckankar-ish about dreams. I mean, deconstruct THAT!
Dr.: "..."
Back to the land of Dreams.