I was at a retreat in a country house with people from the college. About ten couples. About half left (on a bus?) for short day-long excursion. After they left, I discovered I was only man with five women, wives of men who left on excursion. Emma was not present, I assumed, and I felt free, but a bit peculiar, hoping I wouldn't do anything silly or effeminate. One woman appealed to me; she was tall with black hair. At a later time, I was standing behind her as she sat on a chair. I think she was naked and the other women were sitting in front of her on the floor. I reached around and stroked her. Suddenly Emma was there among them, but she, like the rest, acted as immobile as students at a lecture. The bus returned and we got ready to go. As the women stood up, I discovered one was a man, a small man about 55, with brown and grey hair. He revealed that he was the new curator at the college. When he found out I had been here several years, he asked lots of questions--their budget, his budget, attendance. I was surprised he knew so little. His attitude about his job seemed to be the same as his attitude about me feeling his wife--just impassive resignation that to be cheated right in front of his face was routine.