camping and pink flowers

I was with a large group of people, camping in a huge building. Our sleeping mats lined the floor forming a grid of bedding. I ventured outside onto the verandah, and sat on a high stool. A man, who last time I saw him was a teenage boy, ran his hand over me and I smiled at him, telling him that I had always allowed him to get away with too much. A second man, who I also knew in my teenage years, copied the first man's actions, but with him I felt angry. I told him never to touch me again, not to assume such intimacy. He appeared surprised, presented me with two long-stemmed yellow roses and justified his behaviour saying that we were on a date. I could not recall arranging a date with him and told him so. I went inside and took the flowers with me, but I forgot about them, later finding them on the ground under some clothes, their petals damaged and browned. I went into the next auditorium where hundreds more people were preparing to sleep. I found two close friends there, their beds next to one another, and I felt a little envious seeing as I was alone in the other room. They had arranged beautiful pink frangipanis in garlands around their heads. I wished that there were enough flowers so that I could wear a garland too.