Finding Her Mother

Like almost all my dreams, I’ll have to remember this one backwards, since it is that which will give me clues about what happened before:

We sat listening to a talk by the group leader, the guy sending us to some old Nazi concentration camp and paying us a huge amount for it. Beside me, leaning against me sat a beautiful, buxom woman who looked to be in her mid to late 30’s. She held my hand and leaned against me. While nothing was supposed to be going on between us, I knew I desired her, and she me. Her brown skin and dark hair were an asset to her European facial features. The white, flowing robes she wore, much like a very stiled, translucent Indian sari, revealed more about her than just her shape: they revealed the fact that she was special somehow, special enough that we were paid $50,000 just for finding her. (Unfortunately, this was $50,000 for the four of us looking for her, not a piece.) At one point she got up, and soon her daugher, in her early 20’s, sat next to me, taking her place, and leaned to me. I put my arm around her and listened to the instructions from the leader.

The room was dark, and we sat on benches along the room’s wall. As we sat listening, someone knocked on the door. I guess we were done because everyone got up and started walking out. As soon as the door opene, my cousin Liza was there. Crying, she held me and asked, rhetorically, whether her son, Joshua, would be OK. (He has muscula distrophy.)

Before all of this, the mission was to find the dark-skinned lady. I think her name started with an A. Alana? Adrianna? I’m not sure what it was. We were in a dark, Spanish-looking village with lots of stairs and doors, and lots of corridors in which she could hide. She kept running from us, like a dog hiding from an angry owner. Her daughter, a fair skinned, thin, dark-haired girl led the way. Eventually, after much searching, we found her. I guess she didn’t want to go to the concentration camp, though it was already empty, and had been for years. Something else was there, however. Ghosts? Armies? I couldn’t say.

I think the dark skinned lady was based on a few images, one of a girl in my martial arts class, the other of a lady I had recently seen “modeling”. Both are especially busty, both beautiful in an exotic way, and both pique my prurient interests. But what of the daughter? I don’t know, maybe another style of girl I like.

I wonder of dreams like this would have occurred to someone living my life, but in 1947?