I dreamt of you and your twin. You and I were outside at some affair, where children played and adults spoke in groups with overloud laughter. We were touching each other and kissing, inappropriate to the occasion. (Ah I know, you would not. But I would.) So your twin told us laughingly to get a room, but his laugh was sharp and behind him was a door into a garage.
Inside the garage, a bicycle on the wall, tools. An acrid smell, not only of things of the motor. And then a truck, with a mattress in the bed. We fell onto it and were frantic for release. And then behind you, your twin said something softly. I did not hear it but it startled you and then you struggled between man, and teacher.