Dreamcatcher

“Who are you and what are you doing in my dreams dressed like that?” I ask.

“Dressed like wh-” she doesn’t even finish her question before letting out a little shriek and reflexively covering herself up with her arms as she looked down, even though I couldn’t see anything too salacious from where I was standing.

“Oh…oh my…..you must have greater control of this dreamscape than I anticipated.” she observed timidly. “Not quite full lucid dreaming, but still…..”

Come to think of it, the beautiful, bespectacled bovine woman in this dream kitchen is (barely) dressed in a manner that seems a bit reminiscent of the Gil Elvgren or Freeman Elliot pin-ups I’m so fond of.

“Please…” she implored me. “I…I can tell you what you would like to know, but can I get something a little less revealing?”
Wait a sec- I have the power to dress and undress her in my dreams? Well now- this could be pretty fun.

The apron vanishes altogether, and my bovine visitor has one arm draped across her voluminous breasts and her hand covering up between her legs.

“KYAAAAA! I…I’ve been tarnished forever. Nobody will want to marry me now!” my uninvited visitor lamented as she tired even harder to conceal herself. “I’m a sage with 400 years experience in this field- why would you even want to do such a thing to me, young man?”

“Hang on, hang on….” I try to reassure her

The Nurse Will See You Now

Nurse Artemis certainly knows how to make an impression. Dark skin, bright red hair, a firm, muscular body with child bearing hips and cleavage you could drown in… crowned by glowing red eyes and bright white fangs. A vampire is an apex predator designed to hunt human beings… and now she has her eyes set on one of her patients, and there’s no going back.

Carrie, Red Cross on Red Wings

The roar of the engine. The sound of the tires screaming against the asphalt before I pushed the speedometer past 120. I always loved the blur of the lights around me as I sat in the driver’s seat, my vision was a tunnel toward the finish line. I loved feeling the rumble of one point two tons of twisted metal beneath my leather seats, hurling along at speeds that would have made a NASCAR racer feel inadequate.

Come victory or a screeching death of flame and slag, my fate hung upon a fraction of a degree turn of the wheel. It was a wonderful feeling, the only time I ever felt truly alive. At least, until the wheels lost traction and I plowed my beautiful ride into a guard rail, spun out of control, and then flipped, coming to a rolling stop. My memory is a little fuzzy, but I remember the loud crashes, and the tinkling of shattered glass as time seemed to slow. Later, I would vaguely recall the ground being suddenly above my head, then blackness.