Extremely questionable PDA

An authority figure in my life (not going to say which one because yikes) and I are spooning on a couch in a very large room that feels sort of like a warehouse or a hangar. Somewhere brightly lit with those suspended fluorescent lights that hang from chains suspended from corrugated metal ceilings. There are plenty of people around, including people we know and one of his close friends, but he is all over me, hands and mouth moving swiftly and surely. Voraciously. I'm surprised at his aggression.

I'm incredulous that it's happening but I am loving it; it feels like it's been a long time coming and the tension has been broken. But I'm worried about being seen because what we are doing is a Very Bad Idea. He doesn't seem to care, though, whatsoever. So I hold up a small red blanket in front of us as if that is going to keep us hidden just enough to keep going. I think to myself that I need to text Amber and tell her this is happening, and almost do so, but then remember that it's rude to use your phone during intimate encounters.

Club ass

I am with a group — feels like family — and we're on foot, trying to find our way back to some place. We have a guide or a narrator of some sort, someone who speaks up to let us know when we have stumbled upon a large grassy patch where folks from long ago used to fire up various types of pottery. Some of the ancient pieces can be seen jutting out of the grass, worn with age. I pick up one piece that is sort of like a fancy candy dish with many tiers, and it's charred and full of small holes.

My nephews find old metal cabinets embedded in the ground and get them open, to discover less damaged pieces. We gather up the pottery and aim to take it somewhere. Not sure where.

I see someone walking toward me, the setting sun at his back and making him into a silhouette. I can make out his facial hair and instantly recognize it as an old friend I've had a fling with a couple of times but who never really liked me beyond those brief drunken encounters in his bed. He comes up to me and gives me a slow and deliberate hug, putting his hands on my ass and saying, "You have such a great club ass."

Completely unaware of this as a saying (Google tells me it's not really a saying), I ask him what the heck that is supposed to mean. He tells me it means my ass is great to rub up against. OK then.

Who likes to rock the party?

Jemaine Clement is on the couch adjacent to the one I'm on. He's sitting next to Amber and I can't tell if she's putting the moves on him or what. No, I don't think so. I don't think anyone is putting the moves on him so I start to think about why I've never put the moves on him, since we've known each other for so long. I want to ask him why we've never hooked up but my boyfriend is sitting right next to me, and so I figure that's a little rude.

Jemaine is dressed in a bright yellow jacket sort of thing and a neckerchief, which combine to sound stupid but to look totally smashing with his messed, dark hair and dark glasses.