He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought. "Never mind." I reached for the phone and grimaced as a jolt of pain ripped through me, reminding me I'd been beaten senseless the night before.
I turned my attention to the dead guy standing there, then lowered my lids and asked in a gravelly voice, "Can you get that?" What kind of sadist called another human being at 4:34 in the morning?Ī throat cleared at the foot of my bed. With a heavy sigh, I pried open my eyes just enough to focus on the numbers glowing atop my nightstand. After a moment, I realized it was the cricketlike chime of my new phone. Second, a soft but persistent melody played in the periphery of my consciousness like a familiar song I couldn't quite place. I shivered and kicked out, unwilling to acknowledge the summons, then tucked my leg into the thick folds of my Bugs Bunny comforter. First, a frosty chill crept up my ankle, the icy caress jolting me out of my red-hot dream. I did my darnedest to resist, but they were fairly persistent external forces.
I was having a killer dream that featured a set of capable hands, a hot mouth, and a creative employment of lederhosen when two external forces tried to lure me out of it. The prospect led to the following dilemma: Do I seek help or buy drinks all around? Death via extreme pleasure was a serious concern. I was starting to wonder if repetitive exposure to nightly hallucinations resulting in earth-shattering climaxes could have any long-term side effects. I'd been having the same dream for the past month-the one where a dark stranger materialized out of smoke and shadows to play doctor with me.
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