maboroshi

Good morning. This dream is kind of weird. I think it's also just a fragment.

I was in a busy mall full of people. The mall had a lot of very narrow corridors, rather than a few wide corridors. The storefronts may have been small and packed with items like tall posters or stands made to look like anime charcters. The place was extremely packed with people.

I knew this was a "fetish mall," a mall filled only with stores catering to people's various fetishes. I had been here before (possibly in the first part of this dream, which I may have forgotten).

An attractive, young woman poked her head out of one of the storefronts. She was pale, with long, brown hair, a blue or green t-shirt, and blue jeans.

She asked me some question about the store she was about to go into, something about whether the fetish comics in the store were appropriate for women as well as men. I told her that it was fine if she wanted to read them. She nodded and popped her head back into the store.

I continued walking through the crowds of people. I wondered either why a woman would want to read fetish comics made for men or why a woman would ask permission to do so, especially permission from some person she didn't even know, like me.

I turned left, into another fetish store. The inside of this store was huge. It seemed like a big bookstore, but it had other stuff in it. I think it actually may have looked like a cross between a bookstore and a dollar store.

I didn't look around very much. This place wasn't as crowded as the corridor had been, but it was still very busy. Plus, I felt like I was going somewhere with purpose. I felt like my feet were walking, almost gliding, toward a certain place on their own. But I also felt like I knew where I was going, like I'd been there before.

I felt like one of the higher ups at my old job, a woman who in waking life had been extremely supportive of me, was following me. I then felt like a lot of people were following me, mostly people I'd known from work.

I walked down a staircase that had a sign above it. The sign was white with red capital letters. It listed the items being sold below.

I was downstairs. It looked like a department store, a cheap department store. There were some displays showing bed sets, some displays showing living room sets, and some displays showing toilets. Sometimes all the stuff was mixed together.

A woman off to my right caught my attention. She was maybe in her late 50s or early 60s. She had red hair, tanned skin, and thin eyes. She wore a blue dress. Her hair was arranged a little weird, almost shoulder length, but permed out to one side, so she looked lopsided.

The woman directed me into an area full of lingerie. She intended for me to try on certain items. I wondered if that would be alright. After all, would they really want a guy touching that stuff, especially if he didn't intend to buy it?

The area the woman led me into was a big, red room. There was nothing, or very little, in the room. There were dressing rooms along the right wall.

We walked past a table of black and red underwear. They looked kind of satiny and lacy. A sign over them said "2 for $5." I thought maybe I should buy a pair of these right now to wear while I was trying on this other stuff the older woman had for me. That seemed polite to me somehow. But I decided instead to wear my own boxer briefs while I tried stuff on. But I felt bad about that, as if it were rude of me.

The woman stood me in front of a dressing room. She began showing me different articles of underwear. She went into great detail on their design, showing all kinds of things like stitching. But I really wasn't interested in this. The more I looked at the panties, the more they somehow looked to be made out of the same fabric as basketball jerseys.

The woman now showed me a pair of panties that she said were made with padding. I couldn't figure out why they'd need padding -- maybe to give women a better shape? I looked at them. They looked like a mix between underwear and diapers.

The woman told me to feel the padding. So I did. It looked like the inside of a diaper. But it felt like bags of sand, like the tiny sand bags in weight-exercise bracelets.

I looked at the underwear again. They looked like a mix between Ace Bandages and diapers. The price was written in pencil on the bottom: $19.50. I thought, That's a bit much, for something I'm never actually going to wear.

The woman said, "This pair is the first thing I'd like you to try on." She motioned me into a dressing room stall.

The stall was barely large enough to fit me. It was dimly lit. I was mostly undressed, except my underwear. I thought I'd keep them on. But now I had nothing on. I was holding the diaper-thing in my hand. I was looking for all my clothes.

Now I had nothing at all. I was trying to figure where I'd put everything. Now I realized I'd actually thrown everything over the dividing-wall between stalls. The dividing-wall was just above my head. I reached over to discover the other stall packed with clothes, all the way to the top of the divider.

I kept reaching over the divider, trying to find my clothes. I even tried to find the diaper-thing figuring that that article of clothing was almost mine anyway, and that it was better than nothing. But I kept pulling up completely unknown articles of clothing. All this time, the changing stall may have gotten smaller and smaller.