A young man, Michael J. Fox, is flirting with me and almost as a dare, he runs over to kiss me on the lips. I saw it coming and decide to kiss him back for real and I do, and he opens his eyes, surprised and pleased. We like each other very much and want to be together always and want to make love and be close, but there's an age difference and I'm a teacher and he's a student, so we look for a place to be alone so we can hug and kiss and make love. The pleasurable tension of being close but pretending to be indifferent is great. We find a room, a "library," and he says, "Is this ok?" I say, "I don't know. What if someone comes in?" Just then, Merle comes in and interrupts. He is jealous. Now we leave, and "Fox" signals to me to go around the house to the side and go in there. I walk around the block and up a hill and see G walking stiff-legged down a ladder. He wants to know where I am going and I don't want him to know. He follows me. I see people on the 2nd floor of the house. It's a woman and a man getting married, or engaged. Then the woman changes her mind and chooses to marry her pregnant lesbian girlfriend. I see the ceremony and after the vows, the mother of the bride, the two women and the man all dance together. I say, "I really like that!" Merle isn't impressed, and disagrees. Now, Fox and I are walking, looking for a place to be alone. Our need for each other is great. It's so wonderful just being with him. But there is another interruption. A mentally retarded young woman wants me to take her picture and hands me the camera. I try and focus through a tiny little square and only get part of her face, and I back up and she keeps putting her fingers in her mouth and stretching out her lips. (I am somehow reminded of Rena.) I try and snap a shot when she wasn't posing and actually was pretty. I take four snaps and then we go on. Now I am an "extra" in a movie scene. Fox is the star and to be near him, I am in the scene. So are hundreds of extras. Our job is to writhe around and pretend panic, fear and agony. I am amused to see two male experienced actors chatting about mundane things as they look the part of fear and panic. I try to remember to contort my face good. The number 7 is the star part. If you are #7, you are in the movie for sure. Now we are going to walk away and find a place to be alone. My mother, angry, comes striding purposefully toward us to disapprove and interfere. Two men come toward her to ward her off and protect us. She says, "You shouldn't go with him. I would choose alcoholics or addictive persons or sugar daddies to go to my house." I say, "If that's what you want, go ahead. I don't want to hang out with people like that." We go off together and she's fuming.