How Inappropriate

It is someone's birthday party, and we wander in from the streets to a darkened room. Before a get much of a chance to look around, Kathryn exclaims, "I know, let's go swimming!" I think, "Great!" and when I turn around, everyone has started to climb into the bathtubs of varying shapes and sizes that line one wall, on tiers. Kathryn has taken off her pants already (and is wearing some modest black briefs underneath), and climbed into the highest tub already. I look around and everyone else has started climbing into the remaining tubs, still clothed. Groggily, I stand there wondering what to do, and it finally hits me that everyone is going to have to take off all of their clothes eventually. I go, "No... no, this is really inappropriate..." trying to remember what underwear I am wearing.
A boy about fifteen years old catches my eye as he passes by. I start up a conversation, trying to avoid seeing all of my friends taking off their clothes. Then I find myself kissing the boy. (AGH! How disturbing is that.) When I look over to the bathtubs everyone has fallen conveniently asleep. Then we fall asleep on the floor.
When the boy and I wake up, everyone else is still alseep, so he whispers to me that we should go get coffee at a cafe he knows of in the Faubourg something-or-other, just around the cover. This doesn't make sense to me because we are on the Ile-St.-Louis, and I thought all the Faubourgs were on the west edge of Paris. He gives me directions and I start to follow them. For some reason he does not come with.
I am surprised when the directions he gave me lead to real places, because all of the street names were Italian. Eventually I come out on top of Montmartre (this does not make sense, given the direction I was travelling), into a cirlular place (une place, not a place) with a large sculpture in the center that I have never seen before. It is covered with black grime, but I can tell that it was carved from bright white stone. As I get closer, I get the chilling sense that it represents something terrible.

Not-so-Secret Spy Mission

Once we realized the fleas were spying on us for them, we sat very quietly staring at the wall behind the futon, waiting for them to emerge. Then the wall blew up and we made our way through the tunnel behind it to the burrow. The six or so of us huddled in the dirt, peering out the window overlooking the majestic valley interrupted by their giant machines and evil operations. Our leader determined at last that the plates were coated, and that any food we prepared from home grown produce would also be contaminated. He marched us to the stairwell where he made their henchmen bring us clean plates. We divided up and locked ourselves in the two hall bathrooms. I ended up alone with the leader. We began to fill the bathtub so we could sleep safely. He insisted on doing everything facing the mirror.

We were interrupted by a request to report. The wall opened like french doors, the bathtub splitting in half. We entered a room filled with aquariums and women, scantily clad in tight leather and spandex, many wearing capes or masks. At the signal, all knelt down in front of the throne in the corner (with much difficulty in tight gold spandex miniskirts). I was standing behind it, so I never got to see the boss, but an old woman's voice asked the leader of my group to report. He replied, "I have done everything you suggested. I became friends with the curly brown-haired one."
"Good," the woman replied.
"...Things also progressed from there. I didn't expect to fall in love with her."

Eighteenth century French literature invades my pop culture dreams

I am a Bond Girl in an action-packed adventure. People are dying left and right, but we have little time to think of them. When James gets bitten by a snake Felix and I hide him under a piece of rubble from the ceiling in the bathtub so the enemy won't find him and get any information from him before he's dead. To tell the truth I'm glad to be rid of that bastard; he was such a dick.
A little while later I think that there is something wrong with this picture. The main character of the series isn't supposed to die, and the woman and sidekick share the spotlight... but then I remember that the Bond movies were written by Voltaire, so he must come back later in the story, somehow having miraculously escaped death. How disappointing.