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Life is but a Dream

By: EMiamiRiverRat



I had this dream one night and a few days later it came back to me. It is actually based on two separate incidents from my own life, combined with the resulting news coverage of each. I wrote it down and now submit it, for whatever it may be worth. I've been writing for many years, but only for my own self-gratification. Submitting my output for peer review is all very new to me. I welcome any and all constructive criticism that will help me become a better writer. I know I've still got a lot of 'rough edges' that could use more than a little spit-and-polish. 

Although they haven't had any direct input into this particular piece of work, other established writers have helped me more than than they may know. This piece is self-edited, so all mistakes and other faus pas herein are my own sole responsibility and cannot be attributed to anyone else. Now for the story. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Have you ever had a two-story house fall on you? Well don't, because you won't like it. I know first-hand how it feels...it's very heavy. And as to the other incident? Well, don't try it at home. It will not turn out as well. I was very lucky that day. 

I had recently turned twenty and was still living at home. My dad and I just had a big squabble over the fact that it was six--thirty Friday evening, I was getting ready to go out on my first date with the hottest cheerleader in school, who was now no longer 'jail bait'; and dad demanded that the lawn had to be mowed that night. Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock would simply be too late. It must be done tonight. Hell, at that time tomorrow, he'd be on the fourth or fifth hole on the golf course. What difference would it have made? 

So, we argued, I refused his ultimatum, and I moved out right then; yep, packed everything that was mine and left home forever. So, I missed my date anyway. 

I'd been doing a lot of work for a guy out in the country who had a stable where he boarded other peoples' horses. I cleaned the stalls; repaired the tack; fed, watered, bathed, and curried the horses. I also exercised and rode them (bareback and with tack) and worked with their owners and the vet. 

My boss had told me that I could sleep in the tack room if I wanted. Now I wanted, and that was where I was going when the tornado hit. 

They don't call where I live "Tornado Alley" for no good reason. That sucker tore a twenty-mile path through our little burg, wrecking houses, businesses, and utilities all along its route. 

I was on a cross-county interstate connector when I came upon the storm path. The first thing I saw was a car in the intersection ahead. I wasn't going to be able to get through. There were a half-dozen high-voltage electrical lines down all around the car -- live lines, very live. 

These weren't the normal street lines; they were the two-inch super lines and they were sparking, whipping and jumping around, and blasting holes in the car each time they touched it. The scene was surreal and then I saw what I'd missed. In the blink of a lightning strike, I saw a woman and two kids in the car. Holy J...us! There was no way to get them out! Sixty thousand volts is nothing anybody wants to be anywhere near. That stuff can jump ten or more feet to a ground; and that's me, standing, feet on the ground, in a driving rain.

I jumped out of my car and ran over to the edge of the road, looking for any way that I could get to them and get them out safely -- kids for gawd's sake! They were just little kids. 

With no way to get near the car, I grabbed the nearest line about thirty feet from it's dangerous end and pulled it away as far as I could, over into a large grassy area. Then I returned and grabbed another and another, until nothing was near the car. 

After getting no response to my yelling through the closed windows, I looked for a way in. Three of the door handles had been blown off by the electrical discharges, but one backseat handle opened. I unbelted the two kids and carried them to the front porch of the nearest house where I was met by an elderly couple who took my charges inside to relative safety. 

I returned to the car and got the driver's door open from the inside. Mom was unconscious but alive. I got her unbelted and carried her back to the same house. The old fellow let me carry her in and lay her on the couch. After talking with the old couple, I went back out to my car and continued on my way, having never seen or heard a police car or fire engine. No flashing lights, no street lights or stoplights, just wind and rain. 

About eight or nine miles down the road, I came across another place the tornado had ripped through, decimating an entire neighborhood. There was only one house standing and it looked like it was going to fall if anyone sneezed. Shaking my head, I was about to drive around the wreckage of peoples' lives when I saw someone waving from an upstairs window in that last house standing. There must have been forty or fifty people standing out on the sidewalk and nobody was doing anything. Nobody was even on their cell phone. What the hell?!

I jumped my car over the curb and pulled up into the yard. One look back over my shoulder at the gobsmacked people on the sidewalk told me more than I wanted to know. The storm had blown the front door off so I just walked in and found the staircase to the second floor laying in pieces...no way up, and no way down. 

But, there was a 2x8 stringer with some of the stairs still attached. I kicked the remaining steps off the long board, laid it up against the second floor landing so I had an eight-inch wide walk board and went up it to the second level where I found an older man, his wife and one child I guessed would have been about eight years old and maybe a grandchild. The parents were freaking, but the kid was as cool as ice. 

I told him to get his grandmother and follow me. I grabbed his grandpa and led everybody back down the board to the first floor. We no sooner got down to the first level when the whole front of the house collapsed, closing the front exit I'd come through. 

I pushed everybody to the back of the house, only to find the back door jammed. After cleaning the glass out of a broken window, I put the kid out first and passed the woman out to him. I put man out next, and that's the last thing that I remember about that day...and apparently most of the next month. 

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that the walls were a pleasant light green. The second thing that couldn't be ignored was those damn beeping sounds assaulting my ears. A few seconds later, the room was full of people in white uniforms, poking and prodding and checking nearly every part of my body. I don't mind saying, I was damned uncomfortable. 

I could see tubes and wires stuck everywhere on me and in me, running to and from pumps and those darn beeping monitors. I tried to move. Oooh, that smarted. Whatever hit me must have been a whole lot bigger than I was. I decided I was just fine where I was at. 

Somebody was trying to talk to me but they finally just faded away. It was much more peaceful again. I needed that. I knew I was hurting; I just didn't know how badly, and snoozing was a good way of not worrying about it for the time being. 

The next thing I recall was waking up with a god-awful hunger. My stomach was telling me that my throat must have been cut. I still didn't feel much like moving but at least I didn't feel like sleeping anymore just then. So I waited. About an hour later, a nurse came in and I tried to ask about getting some food but all that came out of me was a croak. 

The nurse looked over and saw my eyes were open. The next thing I knew, she was out the door like she'd been shot out of a cannon. Less than thirty seconds later, some guy in a white coat was inspecting me as if I was a new-born or something, and she was giving me water from some kind of 'sippy cup'. 

I managed to ask the guy in the white coat for something to eat and he told the nurse to arrange for me to get some broth. I didn't ask for broth; I asked for food. Well, she brought me the wannabe soup and I shoved it to the floor and asked again for some food. She disappeared for awhile and then some guy came in carrying a tray full of what I wanted. 

There was a monster cheeseburger, fried potatoes, mac-and-cheese, a couple of slices of pizza, and a half-dozen other things that will warm any man's heart -- alright, all but the jello. Now I was going to get better and get the heck out of here. 

I was told it would be another three weeks or so before they would cut me loose. In the meantime, there seemed to be a crowd of people with press badges hanging around outside my door. The nurse would let in one or two each day if I felt up to it. I knew that had to be a problem for her, so I picked a couple of pretty decent guys and a girl out of the mob to talk to, one each from the major newspaper, radio, and TV station; and told the nurse to get rid of the rest of them. 

At first, all the questions were about the situation in the house, so I told them everything I remembered. They filled me in on what had happened afterward. What they told me was that the whole danged house collapsed on top of me as I was bailing out of that window. Apparently, everyone there had seen me getting squashed like a bug under a boot heel. 

According to the witnesses they'd interviewed, the people who'd been standing around like zombies jumped into the game when the house fell on me. It seems that the entire population of the neighborhood had lifted the whole roof off of me, enough that somebody could drag me out from under it. 

They said that two of the people started CPR on me and kept it up until the EMTs got there and told them I was just too busted up to live. The two insisted on continuing as I was transported to the hospital where the ER doc jumped-started my heart again. I'd been officially dead for nearly twenty minutes. 

After hearing that, I suddenly felt pretty dang good for a dead guy. I asked if they knew how to contact those two people who had refused to let me die. I was told they would try. 

The next day, my media contacts showed back up and escorted a bearded hippie-type guy and a slender young woman into my room and introduced them as my benefactors. 

If I was to say that I wasn't choked up and that tears of gratitude weren't streaming down my face, I'd be the world's biggest liar. If it hadn't been for their refusal to give up on me, I would be breathing dirt right now. All I could do was to hold out my hands, wires and tubes and all, inviting them to my side. The girl was the first to speak. She got out about half of a word before she broke down sobbing. 

The man next to her picked it up. "Sir, it is a great pleasure to be here shaking your hand. There are a lot of heroes in this world today, but even they agree that you stand tallest. I've read all about what happened at the house, but until yesterday I didn't know about the car." 

The car? Oh, the car. "The woman and the kids, are they okay?" I asked him. 

"Oh, yes sir. In fact, they are outside the door hoping you'd allow them to come in." 

"Allow them? Hell, I DEMAND it!" 

A tall, graceful but tired-looking woman stepped into the room, followed by two well-dressed and well-mannered children who looked no worse for the wear. She got about halfway to my bedside and stopped and just sagged to her knees, her eyes on the floor. Both kids put their hands on her shoulders but neither of them took their eyes off of mine. 

Finally the young lad spoke up. "Sir, we will never forget what you did. We were so scared and owe our lives to you. We can't repay you, but I will give you a promise. If I ever have the chance, I will do the same for someone else someday. All I can do is to promise to pass on what you have given me, us." This, from the mouth of a boy no older than ten or twelve. 

"Young man, I accept that as payment in full for anything you believe you owe me. Please take care of your family; they will need a man like you in the days and years to come. Please ask your mother come closer. I'm sorta tied in and can't get up." 

"Mother, he wants to speak with you. Please get up."

She slowly got back to her feet and allowed her children to lead her over to my bed. Her eyes were still focused only on the ground. Her son stretched her arm out for me to clasp her hand. As I touched her skin, she almost jumped out of it, but I locked down just tight enough to hold her in place.

"Ma'am, you have raised two very commendable children who will one day step into their rightful places in this world. If I had something to do with that, then it is I who am truly blessed. Take your children and finish your job, with all my best wishes. Your son has paid all debts that you may feel due; as I'm certain your daughter will as well, in her own way."

"You may ask them of the price, or about when it may be paid; but do not press for an answer. I sense your son is the kind of man who answers with deeds, not words. The two of you, take care of your mother; she needs you. Thank you for coming to see me; and don't worry, I'll be fine in a couple of weeks."

The next morning, it was all over the newspapers, radio, TV...all of it, every word I said that day; another complete rehash of every detail of the car incident and the house event, my current state of recovery, and some very erroneous 'information' about my past history. I felt like a Hollywood movie star betrayed in a cheap grocery store tabloid. 

Yes, even they got into the fray. I was, according to them, romantically involved with the lady who did the CPR (whom I've met exactly once with both of our eyes open), with the mother from the car (also just once), even with the wife of some semi-famous politician I didn't even like, and hadn't ever seen in person. 

I was so disgusted that I shut down the three reporters to whom I had granted access, telling them that I was done with this B...S...; and the only way they could get me back was to find the three people from the house. 

About a week later, I had just finished a grueling rehab session in the workout room and made it back under my own steam to my bed when the young lady reporter stepped into my room. 

"Sir, I have a lady with me who is a very close relative of the three people from the house. I think she could help you contact them. Would you like to meet her?"

"Would I like to meet her? I would willingly kiss her feet if she can hook me up. Please bring her in."

When she stepped through the door, I was sucked into another universe. I'm no stranger to extremely beautiful and exotic women but there are some things in life that simply have no parallel. This was one of those moments. As much as I wanted to, I simply had no voice, no tongue. I know my jaw was working, but no sound was coming out. I must have looked like a fish out of water. 

She floated over to my bed and sat in the chair next to me. After looking with a level, but not unkind, gaze into my eyes for seemed like ages, she turned her head away and leaned back as if in contemplation of something beyond the ken of mortal man. I stared up at the ceiling. 

After about a half-hour of her sitting in silent contemplation, according to the time on the muted TV, I finally found my voice. 

"I need to know. Please, what is your name? The lady reporter said you know how to contact the two older people and the child from the house. I want to know that they're okay, that this was all worth it. Can you help me?" 

Her voice came over as warm honey, "They are fine and needed to be sure that you would recover. What you did was beyond extraordinary. Not the neighbors, friends, or even the firemen would go in there, but you did. You pulled my grandparents and my brother out of that house, only to have it fall on you. I am the one who owes you more than my own life. Whatever I have is yours, to make you whole as you were before this happened. I couldn't live with myself if you lost something by doing what you did without regard for yourself. I and all that I own are yours forever." 

"Miss, please. I've been told I will make a full recovery in time. That, less one thing, is all that I could ever ask; and your family, I trust they are well?"

"Yes, they are all fine and stop by your nurse station every day to check on your condition. I think they are too embarrassed to say hello to you. After all, you are the hero in this, and they don't know to say to you. But, you said 'less one thing'. May I ask what that one thing is?" 

"Since you have asked, that one thing I need is to know, 'What is your name?'"

"Oh...you want to know my name."

An extended period of silence ensued. I didn't pursue the matter, allowing it to settle of its own weight. The weight finally broke the camel's back. 

"I will tell you, but only on one condition. Please promise that you will tell no one, NO ONE, else my name."

I nodded, "You have my solemn vow I will tell no one your name."

"I'm Christy RandStadt."

Holy..........!!!! She's the author who just released her tenth straight NY Times best-selling novel and she's already at number one again. I have all of them at home, except the most recent one. I should have recognized her from her pictures on the cover jackets.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps it would be better if I just call you 'Missy'. I would very much hate to slip and break my promise to you at an inopportune moment." 

"Yes. I would like that."

Looking down at my arms, I said, "Missy, I've been sort of tied up lately, do you think I could give you the money to get me a copy of the newest novel? I've read all of your others that I know of and have them in my library, but I need the one just released to keep me warm at night in here and my mind off of all these wires, tubes, and needles."

"I'll do better than that. You just sit tight. Take a nap or something. I'll be back as soon as I can." 

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, she was gone; as in vaporized. The next thing I knew, I was being rolled out on a gurney and into an ambulance. Nobody would answer my questions about where I was being taken or why. As I was strapped in and locked down, I had no choice but to simply lay back and wait for whatever was inevitable. 

After about an hour-long drive, the vehicle finally stopped and the rear doors opened again. This time, my straps were undone and I was helped to my feet by the EMT. Two guys outside helped me down and kept a light hand on my arms as they walked, and I lurched, up the steps to what appeared to be some kind of old mansion. I figured that it had to be some kind of upscale nursing home or something. I could not have been more wrong. 

The front double doors swung wide open and a staff of five or six took me off the hands of the ambulance guys. I tried to look back over my shoulder to say thanks, but I was whisked inside and the doors were closed before I could even open my mouth, and dropped into a wheelchair. 

This place was amazing. Massive art work was everywhere, Arabian rugs on the walls as well as the marble floors; statues and busts on pedestals, paintings, sketches, lithographs and prints. Everywhere I looked was perfection. 

I was pushed over to a door where a couple of workmen were packing up their tools. "Good day sir, welcome home, sir." I just nodded. 

The fella I took to be a butler pressed a panel on the wall and the door retracted into the wall to reveal an elevator. We stepped in and he pressed the "UP" button. I quickly found myself looking down a long hallway where two more maids in white awaited by yet another door. 

When the butler and I got there, the doors were opened to a huge suite fit for the kings of Araby. I remember thinking that at least six people could sleep in that bed without touching each other, even if they rolled over in the night. 


Life Is But a Dream



Jane quietly packed up her lab that night, not looking forward to the trip home. Ever since she'd come to Paradise Springs she'd been uncomfortable just walking outside.

It wasn't that it was a rough area, quite the opposite. It was a location of opulence, an affluent town where everyone was a millionaire and where someone like her just didn't belong.

She was not rich. It wasn't like she was broke either, but she was born into a working class family and every dollar she had was one she'd had to earn by working.

She was a research scientist for a large pharmaceutical company, recently released from the bonds of academia and apprenticeship to run her own small study. They'd known her work was a long shot but they'd also known it had a lot of potential, which was why they'd sent her to Paradise Springs. The bloated hospital there had all the resources she'd need, most of them barely used, and being so far away from their main offices they figured their competitors wouldn't even notice she was there.

Unfortunately, she couldn't say the same for the locals, who'd made it clear from day one that they knew she was there and they didn't like it.

She'd even intentionally pack up slowly at night, just hoping that she wouldn't run into any one on her way home. Still, as the darkness drew in, she knew she had to depart.

---

It wasn't much later when the door of her lab opened again. A small group of people began to sneak in, their leader one Martha Andrews. She was the town's 'queen bitch' and one of the strongest opponents of Jane's residence there, believing it was one step away from allowing in hoodlums and even blacks.

Behind her followed her husband Arthur and a few of their richest friends.

Martha eyed her desired target, a large white box situated on a bench across the room. She stepped as quickly towards it as her insistence upon decorum would allow, smiling a wicked grin. This will be delicious, she thought to herself.

"This is it," she said, signalling the others to come over. Her husband had located the light switch and illumination filled the room.

"Shouldn't we keep the lights off?" a voice asked from the back. "We don't want to be seen."

"It's my hospital, remember," Arthur harrumphed. "I can go into any lab I please, any time I please."

"Oh, right, sorry," the voice said apologetically, knowing it was a social sin to doubt the power of a man like Arthur in a town like this. Yet it was widely known that his wife held the power in the relationship.

"Will you hurry up?!" she scorned them all. They didn't need to be asked again, and were soon gathered around her.

"So what do we do, exactly?" another voice asked. Martha never took her eye off the machine to deign to discover who it actually was speaking. "Do we just speak into that machine and tell her to leave?"

"It's not that simple," Arthur answered. "The doctor's been studying the effects of subconscious beliefs. She's found a way to implant a belief in a person's mind, sort of like how you can have a strong intuitive feeling about someone without being able to explain it. We're going to make her believe that her machine doesn't work. We're also going to make her think that she doesn't belong here, that she should leave and never come back."

"Yes we are," Martha cut in. "But we're not going to make it that easy on her."

A series of exchanged glances passed around the room.

"But the plan was..."

"I don't care what the plan was. People like her are an affront to this town. She's not going to just want to leave because we tell her to. She is going to humiliate herself and leave because she has no choice."

Again, the group was uncertain, but at the same time no one liked the audacity of some poor person coming to this town for any other reason than to serve them. Slowly, the tone turned from concern to curiosity to eagerness.

"What did you have in mind?" Arthur asked, speaking first.

"It's simple," Martha replied with a malevolent smirk. "Have you ever heard of lucid dreaming?"

Only one person nodded.

"That's when you dream and you're aware it's a dream, so you can do whatever you want without consequences."

"Exactly," Martha confirmed. "We're going to make Miss Jane think that that's what's happening; that everything she's experiencing is a dream and she can do whatever she wants, no matter how embarrassing it would be to do so in the real world, or what dark truth it exposes. Then we just have to wait until she does something particularly humiliating before we let her know the truth. She'll never show her face in this town again."

Arthur laughed boldly, seeing why he fell in lust with Martha in the first place. He knew that if he thought he had the freedom of a dream he'd probably strut naked down the hospital corridors or introduce a nurse or five to his eager hands. For a woman as shy and repressed as he'd found this Jane to be, to do that sort of thing for real would be even worse than he could imagine.

Everyone murmured their agreement to Martha's plan.

Pleased, she pointed for her husband to start work on the controls. "You said you knew how to use this thing."

"She showed me how to use it," he said. "It's really quite basic. You just start by holding this button down and recording a message of what you want the person to believe."

He indicated a button on top of the device. Martha eagerly depressed it and began speaking into the little speaker on top of the device.

"This is just your dream..." she said, viciousness in her tone.

"Not like that," Arthur stopped her, hastily adding on, "honey." Martha eyed him and released the button. "Apparently it confuses the mind if you refer to the subject as 'you' because when they hear it from within their own mind, it's like saying 'you' yourself which must mean someone else. The same problem happens with calling them 'I' because hearing 'I' referred to in someone else's voice makes them reject the idea of the thought being about them. You need to refer to them in third person."

Though annoyed that he didn't mention this earlier, Martha depressed the button again.

"This is just Jane's dream. None of it is real. Jane will experience no consequences, no need for privacy. Jane can do whatever she wants and everyone else is just here to serve her, to cater for her whims."

Martha again released the button and this time Arthur nodded, pleased at his wife's deliciously evil streak. "Now all we have to do is to start transmitting the message to her."

"Good, and how do we do that?" 

"Well, basically the device works on subaudible soundwaves. You just have to broadcast those soundwaves to the subject. Given some of the people who were supposed to be treated by it will experience paranoia and try to get rid of any sort of speaker we gave them, she developed a way to broadcast it by the mobile phone network to a specific number. We just have to enter her number like this..." Arthur began to type the number which he'd acquired earlier from the staff register. "And hit send."

Martha happily did the honours and the machine began its transmission which would run all night, hopefully cementing the thought in place by tomorrow.

"Excellent. This time tomorrow, I think we'll all be in for quite a show."

---

That night, Jane went to bed with a strange feeling in her head. Maybe it was because it sounded like a side effect that some of her subjects had reported having when she was treating them, but she couldn't help but to wonder about the future of her research.

There was still so much uncertainty. At the moment she was still being forced to isolate her patients in protected rooms for their therapy so that the soundwaves didn't affect other patients nearby. She'd probably never get the mobile phone delivery system to work properly. As she fell asleep that night, all she was sure of was just how unsure of things she was.

---

The next day she went about her morning routine as always, brushing her teeth, getting dressed, doubting what she was doing in this town. 

She made it to her lab at the usual time and nothing immediately seemed different, though she felt that pervert Arthur Andrews watching her more than usual. It wasn't that he wasn't attractive, but he was the type of man who liked to take advantage of having power over women and that was a significant turnoff for her.

She continued to work throughout the morning, but nothing felt quite right. Sure everything looked normal, but then she began to question whether that was true or not. Suddenly the realisation struck her that maybe it was that sort of normal you experience in a dream, where nothing makes any real sense but until you wake up you think it does.

That didn't feel nearly as crazy as it should have.

"Could it be a dream?" she asked herself.

She was still in Paradise Springs, she'd spent her morning working in a lab, she'd even found a tear in one of her favourite shirts. It sure seemed like a waste of a dream to her.

Nonetheless, the thought dominated her mind as she took her break for lunch. She headed out to a nearby café where the employees were poor enough to be nice to her. The street looked normal, the people paying her as little attention as normal.

Unable to shake the feeling, she decided upon a simple test. Sandra, a socialite and utter bitch, was passing her, attempting not to even look at her like she was just a beggar who'd ask for loose change.

"Excuse me," Jane asked, "Can you tell me the time?"

"It's 12.15," Sandra answered, surprising both of them that she did so. She never spoke to someone of Jane's class unless ordering something.

Still, Sandra felt like none of this was real. Somehow she knew that this was Jane's dream and she had to give her whatever she wanted.

"Thanks, you know that's a really nice watch," Jane commented, and without even thinking Sandra handed it over. She found it strange that she'd never thought before about that fact that this was Jane's dream and she had to obey her, but now it seemed very clear.

Jane felt herself convinced of what she'd already known on some level already. This wasn't real.

Suddenly the thought of lunch at the café didn't seem quite fitting. There was a fancy restaurant nearby where she could never get a reservation but she was going to go there today. Still, her casual outfit just didn't seem appropriate for the place. She should be dressed in something elegant and black much more like what Sandra was wearing.

She snapped her fingers, expecting that it would make her outfit change into something new like when a genie on TV did that. Disappointed, she looked down to see nothing had changed. She still had no doubt that this was a dream, but it would seem that she was still forced to obey real world physics. Maybe if something impossible happened it would force her to wake up and she certainly didn't want that.

Looking at the waiting Sandra, who had until now held Jane in such contempt, Jane had an idea. She would have a fancy dress to go to the restaurant.

"Your dress," she said boldly. "Hand it over."

Shock filled Sandra's face as blushing, she stripped her dress down over her body and wiggled her way out of it. She then obediently placed it in Jane's waiting hands and brought her arms in to cover herself as best she could. She was standing Justin her bra and panties.

She'd never felt so exposed, as everyone passing by in the street turned to watch. Everyone thought it was just Jane's dream and so they couldn't intervene, but that didn't stop them appreciating and in many cases enjoying Sandra's humiliation. Surveying the woman before her, Jane decided that she just hadn't quite gone far enough.

"Your bra and panties too. I want them."

Resigned to her fate, though internally struggling with everything she had, Sandra unhooked her bra and then placed it over Jane's arm. She then put her thumbs in the waist of her panties and pushed them to the ground, quickly handing them over too.

Now she was left standing in the street, completely naked for everyone to see. One arm crossed over her breasts, the other hand moved between her legs to cover her vagina. Even still, she knew everyone on one side had seen her pubes and everything else when she was pulling down her panties, and everyone behind her could still see her ass.

Everyone was staring as Jane surveyed her handiwork. Now she really appreciated that fact that everyone here was at her whim.

She looked at Sandra's outfit in her hands, contemplating the best place to change into it, when she realised she didn't have to. Sandra watched with dread as Jane walked over to a nearby bin and happily threw her clothes in there, leaving her stranded in the nude, or at best rummaging through the trash in the hope that some of the dignity that had just been thrown away could be salvaged.

Happy with what she'd done, Jane looked at her and said, "Go home, Sandra. Go suck your husband's dick. Oh, and by the way, don't even think of covering yourself until after you're done."

To her horror, Sandra dropped her hands from her in front of her to her sides, and she bolted, letting everyone see everything from her supple breasts to the single mole on her fair white arse. She ran home as fast as she could, having to wait for the maid because she had no keys, then running into where her husband was sitting and dropping onto the floor in front of him.

---

"I like this dream," Jane said happily, as Sandra bolted away.

She had decided that there was no reason to dress up for a fancy restaurant, quite the opposite. She started by kicking off her shoes. Then in front of everyone in the street, she happily dropped her pants, revealing her shapely white legs and even winking at a watching man as she did so. Normally she'd never be so bold, but this was after all just a dream and so she had no reason to hold back.

Her panties were nothing special, just a plain red design. So she gladly dispensed with them next, standing proudly with her tidy bush on display for all to see.

Of course next she crossed her arms and pulled her shirt over her head, then as the piece de résistance she dropped her bra on the ground.

Everyone was looking at her naked body, her perfect round hips, her fair skin, her lush full breasts and her most feminine lips just right there between her legs.

She didn't mind at all. In fact, the sun felt great against her skin as she walked down the street. She quite liked that everyone was watching and she even noticed a few men had erections. 

She never normally felt that desirable, but here she had no doubt was. She walked up to a man who owned a local 'gentleman's club'. He liked showing off women's bodies, like she was showing off hers now.

He tried to hide his arousal, nervously shifting himself in his pants.

"No don't," Jane insisted, eyeing him up. Though she was the naked one, he was the one who now felt like he was in one of his shows. "I guess it's kind of a nice one you have there."

She placed her hand against the front of his pants and he moaned, then she began to stroke him through the fabric. He moved to lower his pants, anticipating that was what she wanted.

"No, keep them on," she replied, determined that if he came it would be in his pants and that everyone would know.

She continued to stroke him until he was moaning, embarrassed that everyone here could see him but not really caring as he felt himself drawing closer to orgasm.

"Oh God," he cried, so close...

Then she stopped.

"That was fun, but I'm bored now," she teased, and he looked at her pleadingly. He knew the world existed to serve her and he couldn't even touch himself for some relief if she didn't want him to.

"Don't worry, dear," she answered. "I'm not going to be too mean. You see that pole over there?"

There was a street lapy nearby and he nodded that he did, his erection straining against his pants.

"Well you can rub against it until you come," Jane said with a laugh, and in utter humiliation that's what he did.

She left on her way, hearing him behind her moaning and crying out in the unmistakable way of a man who's just come in his pants and will have to walk home like that.

Making it to the restaurant, she smiled as she walked inside, still completely naked and once again the centre of attention. Everyone stopped and looked at her naked body.

Casually Jane ran her fingers over her nipples, teasing them.

Martha and Andrew were there out for lunch, and at first as they realised what was happening they were overjoyed thinking that their plan had come to fruition and Jane was here to humiliate herself. Quickly however that was replaced with the knowledge that this was actually just Jane's dream.

"I want a table," Jane announced to the waiter who greeted her.

"Of course," the waiter answered. "As you can see we are fully booked at the moment, but..."

"It doesn't matter," Jane replied. She knew the man would find her a table, but she had a more fun idea.

She walked in to the restaurant, casually slipping between tables, even grabbing a carrot from someone's plate, rubbing it against her chest and then happily putting it back down.

She arrived at the Andrews' table to be met with a contemptuous stare from Martha and her husband.

It was amazing that even in her dream, some of their real life personalities seemed to be bleeding through.

"Get up, Martha," Jane demanded and the woman did so, standing up beside her own chair.

"You know Martha I always thought you were a slut," Jane added boldly. "More to the point though, you're a bully and I don't like bullies."

It was clear there were vile things just waiting on Martha's tongue which she wished to say but couldn't.

Jane happily took her seat from her, sitting naked at the table, her breasts still clearly visible to all.

"I want you to lie down over my knee and pull up your dress."

Her face burning with humiliation and anger that Jane was dreaming this, Martha reluctantly did so. She felt so certain that she was about to get a spanking in front of a restaurant full of people as Jane began to rub her hand over the round cheeks of her arse.

Martha tried to avert her gaze from the onlookers who would be watching everything that was about to happen.

Then she felt Jane's fingers gripping the top her panties and suddenly Jane yanked them upwards, wedging them in her arse crack and straining against her pussy.

"Ow, fuck!" Martha cried out.

"Well, that's not a very ladylike thing for you to say," Jane replied, thinking her punishment did indeed seem so much more appropriate for a bully than a simple spanking. It was also kind of funnier too, especially since Martha couldn't pull them down without Jane's permission and so her panties were permanently stuck up her arse until Jane told her otherwise.

Jane watched the woman wiggle in pain for a few moments longer before finally telling her to stand up, which she did, though her dress remained pulled up at the back showing off the fact that her panties were still lodged up her arse. Her posture clearly reflected this fact.

Amazingly, the woman still managed to maintain a degree of her natural bitchiness in her eyes. Jane had to wonder if perhaps their respective states of dress were helping Martha still feel superior, so she reached up and pulled down the front of her dress, plopping her breasts out for everyone to see.

Martha had never felt such humiliation as she realised that everyone could see her panties up her arse, her breasts on display and that she was doing everything this moneyless girl was telling her. Sure, it was only a dream, but somehow the humiliation felt real.

"How do you feel?" Jane asked her.

"Angry," Martha replied honestly.

"You don't like that everyone can see your breasts?" she asked teasingly. 




Life Is But a Dream



"No," Martha replied coldly.

If this were happening for real she'd have started feeling sorry for Martha by now, but since it was just a dream...

"Well, that's a shame because I think everyone should see your pussy too. Strip."

Without waiting a heartbeat, Martha did so. She dropped her dress to the ground, very gratefully pulled her panties down from unmentionable places, then let her bra fall to the floor.

Now she was exposed, no more so that Jane but in every way more that mattered. Jane was confident, sitting happily in her seat with her breasts jutting out and her nipples hard. She didn't mind that everyone could see. Martha on the other hand not only felt utter degradation, but felt her position at the town slipping away from her, as she lost all the respect she'd ever earned here. She couldn't even cover up, since Jane had made it clear she wanted people to see her breasts and pussy.

"Good girl, Martha. Tell me, do you ever get pedicures?"

"I do."

"Do you like them?"

"I do."

"You like having someone at your feet, don't you? It makes you feel superior?"

"I do. It does."

"Good, then you'll understand why I want you to kiss my feet."

Staring deathly arrows at Jane, Martha dropped to the ground. She then crawled on her hands and knees under the table where she'd so recently been sitting. She located Jane's feet, small and sexy, making her feel on top of everything else self-conscious about the size of her own arse that was still sticking out from the table top for the world to see.

In disgust, Martha bent down and placed her lips against the first foot. It tasted sweaty but at least it was clean. Martha hated anything unclean.

Jane actually moaned a little at the thrill of power of having this woman on the floor beneath the table kissing her feet. She felt her move on to her other foot.

"Really get in there between the toes," Jane insisted, and soon she felt Martha's tongue sliding between her toes.

Martha crinkled her nose as she tasted dirt that had accumulated between Jane's toes on the barefoot walk here.

Enjoying the sensation Jane looked into Arthur Andrews' eyes. He'd been sitting here this entire time across from her, unable to leave the table or to intervene to help his wife. 

She began to casually talk to him, all the time Martha keeping going, knowing she couldn't stop until she was told.

"So you own the hospital, do you? What's that like?"

As if she were having a perfectly normal conversation Jane sat and waited for an answer, even as she reached up and began to play with her own nipple. Under the table she stretched out her leg casually, knowing Martha had to follow.

"It's good. It pays well," Arthur answered, concerned for his wife but not able to do anything. 

"So where'd you get your degree?"

"Harvard."

"Good school," Jane nodded, taking a bite from Martha's food. "But you decided to settle here?"

"Yes, well Martha's from here and she hates travelling."

"Is that true, Martha. Do you hate travelling?"

"Yes," Martha said, having to force it out while she was drawing a breath between kisses.

"In that case, I think I'll have to go," Jane replied, and for the first time Martha felt a sense of relief. "Of course, Martha you're coming with me. You do not get to stop kissing until I tell you to."

Jane then happily stood up, her hands behind her back as she practically skipped around the restaurant, just moving between tables so that everyone could see her naked body, but more importantly so that Martha was forced to keep crawling faster, her arse in the air for all to see, so she could continue her degrading task of kissing Jane's feet.

Jane stopped to chat a couple of times with people allowing Martha a chance to catch her breath.

Of course, everyone was watching them. Everyone knew how defeated Martha now was, as she dove again and again into kisses for Jane's feet.

She stopped to talk to one couple in particular.

"Wow, those are great hands you've got," she told the husband, then turned to the wife. "You don't mind if I borrow these, do you?"

The woman shook her head that of course she didn't, so Jane pressed his hands against her pussy and had him begin to finger her, but as good as it felt she decided this wasn't how she wanted to come. 

First, she'd torment Martha a little more. She led her into the ladies' bathroom, forcing her to crawl along the dirty floor, still not letting her stop kissing her feet.

Jane stopped to survey herself in the mirror, thinking she'd never felt so beautiful as she did in this moment. 

Looking down, her servant was getting exhausted of her task, her kisses desperate but almost clumsy. Jane knew she could really degrade Martha right now.

"How would you like to drink from one of these toilets?" Jane teased.

"Please. No." Martha managed to get out between kisses.

Jane paused as if she was really considering it.

"Alright then," she decided...before leading Martha out and into the men's' room. 

The look of dread on Martha's face made it clear that she was afraid she'd be forced to drink from the toilets in here instead. She was so disgusted just being in here, being naked and crawling along the ground as four men stood at a urinal.

Jane however had no problem with her situation. She looked down at Martha with a smirk, then to the men in front of her.

"Turn around," she ordered the four men, "I want to see whose is bigger."

She looked them all up and down, mostly down, finding herself not surprised by the result. She'd guessed right which one would be the biggest.

"Now Martha," Jane started. "I'm here to play a game. Let's call it, choose the fluid. You can either be covered in piss by four men in here, or come by one man out there where everyone can see. Your choice."

Martha couldn't believe Jane could be serious.

"You can stop kissing to consider your options, but don't get up." Jane added as Martha looked up to the four men. She couldn't choose either option, both were so horrible.


"If you don't choose, the choice will be made for you," Jane noted, stepping back then turning to the men. "Take aim." All of the men pointed their dicks in Martha's direction.

"No wait, I choose come," she answered, unable to accept that those words had ever passed her lips.

Jane let a wicked smile appear on her face. "Alright you four, back to the urinal." She pointed at one of the men. "When you're done, don't put it away. I may want to use it later."

"Now kiss my feet again," Jane insisted and Martha was once more forced to that degrading task as Jane led her back to her table.


This time, she didn't take Martha's seat. Instead she climbed into Andrew's lap and began to kiss him, passionately, with Martha unable to do anything but watch from beneath the table as she continued her loving ministrations on Jane's feet.

Feeling him start to get hard, she reached down and unzipped his cock, then guided it inside of her. He reached up to touch her breasts.

"No, hands down. You do nothing I don't tell you."

She began to move up and down on his thick cock, moaning as she felt him itching to move into her.

"Thrust into me," she whispered, and he did so.

Soon they were groaning in unison as everyone watched. She could tell he was getting closer.

"Don't you dare come," she insisted.

He fought against it with everything he had as she drew nearer, gasping, her hands scrunching up the table top behind her. Even in her dream, she didn't know if this man could last long enough to please her on his own.

She quickly lifted herself up and turned around, her arse facing him now as she lowered herself back on his cock.

"Martha, kiss my pussy."

Without a second of hesitation Martha did, bringing her lips to kiss Jane's clit as her husband thrust again and again inside of her, Martha's face the closest it'd ever been to her husband's dick and certainly the closest it'd been to another woman's pussy.

"Oh, God." Jane moaned, pleasure welling up within her as she got closer and closer until finally she dropped over the edge.

"Yeeeeesssss!" she cried, coming and collapsing right there on Arthur Andrews' lap.

Panting and exhausted, she shooed Martha away from her clitoris and got up, hearing Arthur whimpering behind her.

Of course she hadn't let him come yet.

She stood up, leaving Arthur just where he was, faking that she would walk out without a word, before calling out over her shoulder.

"Arthur, come in your wife's hair."

Without hesitating, Arthur gave himself a couple more pumps until he was spurting come all over his wife's prized blonde hair. 

She gave an indignant scoff of disbelief, looking up at him with come in her hair, utterly degraded, humiliated and feeling truly worthless. She couldn't even get up since Jane hadn't let her. She probably wouldn't even be able to wash her hair, since Jane didn't seem to want that either.

"You know I don't think I will eat here today," Jane announced for the world. "Look at that come covered whore on the ground. This place clearly isn't as classy as I thought."

As if they'd thought her words were an instruction, everyone in the place did look at the come covered whore and Martha hung her head in shame.

Jane happily turned around and walked, still naked and careless, right out the restaurant door.

---

Eventually, Jane did figure out that her life wasn't actually a dream. Of course she was the first to figure it out when she went back to look at her research and found the recorded message on the machine.

She couldn't regret what had happened though and didn't feel even remotely embarrassed about having her private self so exposed. It actually felt quite good.

Before she released everyone else from the false belief, she knew she could have taken whatever revenge she wanted on the people who'd attempted to ruin her life. She could have turned Martha into a whore for real, had her sucking dick for $1 a piece.

Instead though she decided her revenge would be simple. She had her give all her and Arthur's money away to different charities, they even sold the hospital and donated the proceeds.

She works in the local café now, giving Jane scornful looks while she's making her latte, but being otherwise polite because she really needs the tips.



Life Is But A Dream



As she made her way home from a long meeting at work, she felt that urge, that desire, it was nagging at her, cranking up the a/c would help surely. As she winded around the dimly lit street towards her home she couldn't help but reach down and rub her hand lightly across the top of her black, sheer thigh highs that were worn over her nude pantyhose. Doing that made her do aware of how naughty she could be.

She loved how sexy they made her feel. She had laughed to herself during her meeting at the thought of what people would say had they known that under her well fitted black skirt that we wore only those underneath.

As she drove with one hand she continued with the other to trace the outline of the lace, she felt her chest rise and her nipples harden. It was sad to go home to an empty house with this all of this woman encased in her sexiest of business attire.

She moved her free hand and brushed lightly across her rock hard nipples and as she did, she began to wiggle in her leather seat. Almost, home she thought, and she would strip down, light some candles, take her long blonde tresses and pile them atop her head and slide into a warm bath. Not one to cleanse herself but one in which she would explore her body and daydream of what she would do had another person been present. 

She loved rainy nights, she almost always left her bedroom lamp on and curtains pulled just enough, so that if anyone would want a peek, she would be on display for a full showing. On her big luxurious, bed touching her slowly to start, wishing someone was outside looking, and then tearing her nylons at the crotch to bring herself to an amazing orgasm. She let out a long sigh as the drizzle became a downpour and she saw her driveway and began to turn in. 

She just sat there a moment and leaned her head back. Her mind gave way to the scenario that always brought her pleasure. She loved to imagine that as she wiggled around in her pantyhose and wearing nothing else that someone would be outside, watching, lurking, and aching to come in and rip them open and take her, to fill her slit with pleasure. 

A hot bath would have to suffice tonight.

She rain to the porch, fumbling with her keys and purse, the rain beating down on her so hard that she felt even more aroused and could barely contain herself to get inside and take pleasure in herself. 

As she quickly opened the door, she realized that her living room lamp happened to be on; she had been in such a hurry this morning that she must have left it on. She dropped her bag and keys on the side table, and as she attempted to shut and lock the door she felt a resistance. 

Before she could attempt to close it again she felt someone behind her, she wasn't imagining anything, and she could sense that someone was standing very close.

With her back to the door, she heard it close and lock. Her fright would not permit her to turn around, she glanced around and could see that her cell phone, which she had also forgotten in her scurry was what seemed a million miles away. 

Before she could take another step she felt the touch. She felt a hot breath upon her neck. Chills rose to her skin's surface and as she felt her skirt being pulled just above the waistband she felt fear but also arousal. 

He didn't say anything but her senses were now on full alert and the minute his hand touched her skin she felt that urge. He shoved her body over the arm of the chair face down, and before she could resist she felt his mouth come into contact with her tender lips, he dove right in, and he proceeded to slide his tongue completely into her tight hole. Her pussy lips becoming more swollen, he eased out and slightly blew across her pulsating pussy. She shivered and tried to turn and catch a glance of who was doing this to her. 

Was she resisting? Did she want this? The thoughts dissipated as he drove his tongue back into her now dripping wet hot box.

Her glasses began to slide down her face and as she reached to catch them and lay them aside, he abruptly brought her to a standing position and gave her the command, "Leave them on." 

She complied and every inch of being hoped she would get to see this man who had violated her and made her ach for more. 

No quicker than she could think it, she was now face to face with her "visitor". Her mind raced, who was this? And as the smile spread across her face she realized it was a man she knew casually from the neighborhood. She had always like seeing him around and had often had naughty thoughts of him while exchanging boring conversations. He wasn't a jock, he wasn't an old man, but he wasn't someone that you would envision such sexual heat from. His black hair and blue eyes complimented each other; the goatee that he kept neatly trimmed was an even bigger turn on. In her wildest dreams she never had thought he had noticed her.

"I have been watching you on several rainy nights just like tonight, and tonight instead of jacking off outside your window, I am going to make you the dirty whore that you are begging to be."

Her nipples protruded at just his very tone, he was determined, he wanted to take her on.

He looked down and noticed that her tits were untouched and he quickly and with much force ripped away her sheer white blouse, exposing her perfect breasts. Not huge, but enough to tit to play with, and nipples that were pink and solid. He didn't waste any time, he grabbed one with his large hands and pulled it and in one motion he grabbed her other nipple with his teeth and pulled on it until he heard her whimper. He never spoke above a faint whisper, but his tone lent to the fact that he was a man on a mission.

He roughed up her tits like nobody had ever touched her before, feeling the moisture between her legs run down her leg and on to her thigh highs, she wanted to beg for a good fucking but she let him have his way with her. 

He stopped and looked at her deeply; her eyes were shocked, but also signaling that she was overcome with lust. He took his hand and roughly smeared her lipstick across her face. She felt so degraded and nasty, and she loved it. He leaned it and kissed her with anger, as he released her from forcing his tongue in her mouth he spoke again" taste your juices whore." 

She glanced at the mirror hanging adjacent to the chair he was pressing her against. She looked like a filthy whore with her smeared lipstick, her eye liner now running down her cheeks from the pain of having her nipples bitten and tortured, her clothes a total wreck, her glasses still intact per his orders, she was in ecstasy. 

He grabbed a handful of her long, blonde hair and forced her to knees, "suck my cock bitch." 

She complied, he wasn't huge so she was able to take it all in without gagging, and he held her head in his rough hands and began pumping her mouth. She felt that quiver again, she had dreamed of being mouth fucked so many times but it was never as hot as it was right now. 

He continued on, her lips and throat becoming tired, she wanted to drink him down but she also needed to be fucked right now. As if reading her mind he grabbed her by the hair and flung her back over the arm of her big sturdy chair. She heard him spit on to his hand as he ferociously tore open her sheer hosiery and she wondered how she could have been anything but soaking, why did he need to lube? 

She flinched as she felt him slap her ass with cock. OMG! NO! Anal had never been something she had done, now real fear entered her body, he sensed it, and he leaned down and slyly blew into her ear" I am full of surprises slut, now take it." It hurt so badly, but at the same time it felt so wrong and so good. How could she be enjoying this? 

He fucked her so hard and with such anger than she began to sob. The louder her sobs the harder he fucked her tight ass, and finally when she thought the pain was bearable, he took one hand and dug his finger into the softest part of her ass, feeling his nails pierce her skin, was she sick for now enjoying this pain? She didn't care; she needed more of this man and his force. 

He exited her now stinging asshole and grabbed her once again by her hair, her feet fumbling and with one heel on and one somewhere behind her, he tossed her on to the couch, he shook his throbbing cock at her as she lay on her back, hoping for the fucking she had wanted since this ordeal had begun. 

He teased her cunt with the head of cock, the lamp light reflecting the blue of his eyes; he gave her a devilish grin and kept teasing her juicy pussy. "Look at that fat pussy, and look how wet you are whore."

Finally she spoke, but instead of the soft and barely audible tone he has used, it came out as a scream, "FUCK ME, please, I can't take it anymore!"

He looked down upon her body, and laughed, it was a sick but sensual laugh and she knew she was about to receive the best fuck of her life. 

She shook her head in a haze, what was going on? Where was he? 

She tried to regain her senses, the lamp still shining upon the couch, hearing the rain fall upon the window sill; she tried to move her hand and realized it was three fingers deep inside her.

She jumped up and ran to the mirror, her blouse still slightly damp from the rain, her lipstick still just as crisp as when she had applied it mid-evening before leaving work. 

Fuck, another dream!

Maybe one day she muttered as she slowly moped alone down the hall to take that bath she had planned earlier. 

And the rain kept falling down.



Life is but a Dream



I was escorted to the bed, undressed by the butler and placed in the bed for a "rest" before supper would be served. The butler said he would wake me up when it was time to get bathed and dressed. Who was I to argue? 

I had a good nap. When James woke me up, I bathed and my clothes were not only ready, they were placed upon my person. Geez, there are some things that a guy can actually do for himself...except for that dang old-school tux bow tie. The last time my mother put my pants on for me was a year before I learned to tie my own shoes. Conversely, I was still sore enough that it made dressing a lot easier than it might have been. I was also learning what it's like to have a butler stuck to my butt like flypaper. Oh well. 

I was permitted to walk, or rather limp on both legs, down the curled staircase this time, only to meet Christy in fine evening attire at the bottom. Sheesh! The only reason I didn't cum in my pants at that moment was that I didn't know how much it would cost me to replace them, and I didn't want to find out. She gave James a scathing look and led me into the dining room. 

The dining room with its chandeliers, candelabras, and Rookwood fireplace was exquisite, and the meal itself was ten times that good; but nothing at all could even begin to compare with the woman across the table from me. I'm glad she was an expert at small talk, because the extent of my repertoire at the moment was eating, nodding, and observation, with an occasional one-word answer thrown in as I could untangle my tongue...from the meal, and my emotions. 

With her lilac eyes, auburn hair up and twisted with dangling wisps, excellent build and good musculature, features that defied description; was there nothing about this woman that was not perfect? 

After dessert, we retired to the library. Once seated with our coffee, I asked the obvious question, "What is this place and why am I here? I mean, the hospital released me and I'd be okay in my condo. Please don't get me wrong, because this place is amazing and beautiful; but you didn't have to bring me here and treat me like some royal prince. I'm fine, really." 

"You are not fine...yet. The hospital would not have released you for at least two weeks, and probably more; but I have a skilled nurse on staff here. She will be monitoring you very closely in the days to come. Not many people survive having a two-story house fall on them and I thought you would be more comfortable recovering here than in that dreary hospital room." 

"There is a full gym on the lower level and both indoor and outdoor swimming pools for your rehab when you are ready to begin. My personal trainer will arrive next week to work with you. Until then, you are to rest and relax as much as possible. I've cleared everything with your boss and he has placed you on indefinite leave of absence. Your job will be awaiting you when you are ready. And there will be no more stair-climbing until further notice. I had the elevator installed for your use, and use it you will until the trainer instructs otherwise." 

"Now, for the more pressing business at hand: I am committed to a book-signing tour that would normally keep me away for at least a month straight, but I have re-negotiated this trip so that I will only be gone four days of each week until I have hit all the cities my publisher requires. I will be home every Thursday night and leave again Sunday afternoons, beginning this week."

"While I am gone, James your butler will see to all of your needs. All you need do is ask any of the staff. He has been instructed to meet any and all requests. If you will provide him with a list of your favorite foods, your choices will be mixed in with the diet recommended by my nutritionist, which I admit I found to be a little bland. Although your choices may not be as healthy, such as a big greasy cheeseburger and fries with a beer, I believe it beneficial to occasionally relieve some of the onerous tedium of oatmeal and chicken soup." 

There was no doubt in my mind about the wisdom in that statement. There was still that one lingering question that had not been answered; and another I hadn't hd the courage to ask yet.

"Missy, I've seen on the back jacket of your books that you live in England. What is this place...if I'm not being too inquisitive?"

"Yes, I have another house in the UK. This is your home for as long as you want to stay, years and years if you wish. There is also a stable out back of the house. The stableman is from the Russian Steppes and quite a capable horseman. His accent can be a little difficult to understand at times but he will assist you regarding the horses. Just be careful when there are only the two of you and there is a bottle, or six, of Stoly vodka lying about. He hides them everywhere." 

"Please consider everything in the house to be yours. The only rooms I ask you to respect are the living quarters, mine and those of the staff. There is a Bentley with a driver at your disposal; all you need do is tell James that you wish to go out. James will also assist your access to a small account in your name at the local bank. I trust it will be sufficient until I return. The manager there is holding a card in your name that you may use as you see fit."

"You must at least use it to replace the wardrobe they had to cut off of you. In fact, I suggest you do that in the morning, as my grandparents and brother will be here for supper tomorrow night to thank you. Take James and your tux along so that you may be refitted properly."

"I don't know what to say. This is all so much more than anyone deserves..."

"Don't even go there. If it wasn't for you, I would have no family left in this world. As I said, I owe you everything. My parents were killed in the Pan Am 103 plane bombing over Lockerbie and they are all I have left. In saving them, you saved me. That is a debt I can never repay, no matter what I do." 

"I do have one word of advice, however. That is to 'keep your head down'. You may not know it yet, but I spirited you out of that hospital in order to keep you sane. The moment you would have walked out of there, you would have been mobbed by the media. They have figured out my connection in this matter and they're clamoring for a story on you; but nobody has been able to find out anything." 

"My grandparents and David had hidden away in one of my other houses in the mountains. Your boss knows what your situation is but doesn't know where you are; and nobody else will say a word about you or where you are. The minute somebody recognizes your face, you will be swarmed by people and then the media. Believe me when I say that I know. Like it or not, you are now a celebrity, perhaps even more than I." 

"That's nonsense. I don't deserve that kind of attention. I'm just another guy on the street who did what needed to be done at a moment in time. Anybody would have done the same." 

"Correction - you WERE just another guy on the street; and, no, nobody else did what you did. The world needs a hero now and again, and it seems they've chosen you. They see you as being courageous beyond what they can muster up in themselves; and you are seen as being humble, in avoiding attention. That, to them, is a very attractive combination."

"If you had a personal webpage, you would be flooded with marriage proposals from all over the world. You would need a staff of secretaries just to try to keep with up the email and telegrams. It wouldn't surprise me to find that there are ten thousand women at this very moment who are dying to have your baby, and I doubt any of them would mind standing in line for the privilege." 

"Geez, all of this over a lousy tornado. I think I'd rather be back in the tornado." 

"Ha! That sir is, as they say, not an option. At this moment, you ARE the tornado. You seem to have attracted a bounty as well. I've heard that the bidding is up to $10,000 for the first person to get a current picture of you; and it's $25,000 and up if we're both in the shot. For the present, you are very attractive bait to the paparazzi. If they knew you were here, there would be a swarm of helicopters and small planes overhead at this very moment." 

"Come on now, I'm not that much of an attraction. The way you describe it, I'm some kind of Hollywood star or something." 

"That's part of it. You ARE a Hollywood attraction. At least three major studios are in the process of writing scripts for a movie about your two exploits that night. At this very second, they are hunting for you to get permission to start filming. My publisher is holding them at bay for the time being, but that will only last for so long. Get ready to be even more famous than you are." 

"I don't need this crap! All I want is my life back as it was." 

"I'm sorry, honey, but that life I fear is forever gone. There are some things in life from which you can never come back. In this case, what they say about never being able to go home again may well be true. I'm sorry, I wish I could give that back to you; but all I can do is to protect you now and for as long as I am able. Even I have my limits." 

"I did this to myself and would do it again with hesitation; but still, I miss my old inconspicuous life." 

"I know. I miss mine sometimes too. You will get used to it, in time; just as I had to. However, you do have an opportunity to become independently wealthy here, if you approach it properly. Perhaps you might consider having my publisher approach the studios regarding the rights for the movie they want to do. It would need to be done soon. I would even be permitted to put my next novel on hold in order to write the script. It would give you some measure of control, and you could sell that too as part of the deal. I would merely be a ghostwriter. The movie is expected to gross in the hundreds of millions worldwide within months of its release." 

"Hundreds..."

"Yes, that's what I've been told. Everybody wants a piece of you, right now." 

"Well, if it's all you say it is, then set it up. Will I have to go to your people? I mean..."

"No. For an opportunity such as this, they will come here to see you. They are just going to love you. I know it. If you thought a tornado is bad, wait until this next typhoon hits you between the eyes. You are going to feel swamped, drowned, and tossed about like a rag doll. But, don't worry; I'll be here for you whenever you need me. I'll be your anchor in the storm. Get ready for the ride of your life, and enjoy." 

"Missy, or if I may call you Christy when we are in this house, I do have another question I've been dying to ask you and just haven't had to guts until now."

"So, ask now."

"You don't look old enough to know all you do or have all this. May I ask how old you are?"

"My, what an impertinent question to ask a lady; but, nonetheless, I gave you permission to ask. I am 22 years old, or will be in about two months. As to what I have accomplished, I've been writing since I was very young and my first book was published when I was fourteen. That process has a way of making one grow up rather quickly. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, thank you. You know, you are amazing."

Well, the movie deal was worked out with the publisher as the middleman. Christy wrote the script, using what I thought was far too much 'poetic license'; but I must admit it was one heck of a good story. The cast included top-tier actors and actresses for everyone who was directly involved, with extras only for the crowd on the sidewalk. The supporting cast, including for the old couple on the porch from the car incident and the key hospital staff were also excellent. 

The movie itself took four months to film and another four in editing. When I saw the first screening at the studio, I was dumbfounded. They'd made me out to be some kind of superhero. 

I would have objected, but Christy was digging her nails from both hands into my upper arm and bouncing in her seat. I think she liked it, so I let things ride. 

And what a ride it was. The movie went ballistic, and the studio couldn't make enough prints to handle the demand from every theatre in every country on the planet it seemed. By the end of the first weekend, it had gone viral on-line and there were literally hundreds, thousands, and then millions of blogs flying around raving about it. I guess the people got what they wanted. 

Suddenly, I found myself having to deal with around a hundred million in the bank, thanks to the backend-loaded deal the publisher had worked out with the studio. And, most importantly, I was finally able to slide back into obscurity. 

Once the furor had subsided over her newest novel and the movie, Christy came home for an extended period...ostensibly to work on her next book, and to me. 

The second night she was home, I was already in bed and had slowly fallen into slumber while in the middle of her latest book when I heard a little tap on my bedroom door. "Come in," I mumbled, still in that almost dream state. They have a name for it, I just don't recall it. 

When the door opened, an ethereal vision floated in to my room, transparent diaphanous folds swirling around, vaguely revealing something that exceeded the Lord's finest miracle. 

Whoever she was, she was beyond gorgeous, beyond stunning, beyond beyond. 

When she softly came to rest on the edge of my bed, I was rendered completely without thought or the ability to move. I awaited anything. I belonged to her, to do with as ever she wished. Just to hear her speak would at that moment be a gift too precious to value.

To say that she was beautiful beyond dreams would devalue what I was I looking at. Aphrodite and Venus would run crying from her very presence. What chance did a mere mortal man have in the same room as this creature? I was certain that I'd been turned to stone...and I didn't care. 

She could not, by any means of imagination, be from this universe I'd been living in. There was simply nothing to compare her with. Every single one of her features had no references in this world. You know -- aquiline nose, arched eyebrows, almond eyes, flowing hair, and all such things. They all applied, yet she couldn't be described just in those standard terms we are all used to. 

Not Michelangelo, nor Rembrandt, Titian, or any of the Renaissance painters ever came close to this kind of perfection. 

The thing that stood out the most was something I noticed for the first time. Her eyes were the most captivating color of lilac. That's the only way I can describe them, a light purple; and they sucked me in so that I was incapable of looking at any other part of her body, not even using peripheral vision. 

I've heard the phrase, height-weight proportional. It did not seem to apply in this case. The way she had floated across the room, and the fact that the bed didn't sag when she rested on its edge, all indicated that she had no weight...no weight at all.  

Yet, at the same time, she gave the impression that she could grab a tornado by the tail and sling it around like Pecos Bill riding on Widowmaker from American folklore. And, I sincerely doubt Widowmaker could buck this wraith off to the moon as he did to Sluefoot Sue. 

For whatever reason, by the will of whatever god, the vision was sitting within a foot of my side. Wearing only my boxer shorts under my sheet, I felt severely underdressed, or was that overdressed? Whatever, I would have felt out of place no matter what I was wearing or not. 

When her hand moved over and her fingertips lightly grazed my breastbone, I died. Right then and right there, I died and went to heaven. Saint Peter bowed as I entered. 

I felt hands removing my shorts as I prepared to receive my white robe, but that's not what I got. Instead, there was this warm, wet feeling in my nether regions that grew and grew and grew until suddenly I was transported to another universe, maybe hers. I felt my hips rise up and my all life force and energy drained out of me in a steady sequence of pulses until only death remained. So this is what it's like to die. I always thought it would happen with my boots on, but I guess one doesn't get to choose the way one dies. I was dead just the same, or so I thought. 

I was resurrected when something soft touched my face. I opened my eyes to see something even more marvelous than the vision of before. A soft, full breast with a long and extended nipple was pressing against my lips. How could I refuse such a gift as this? I licked, sucked, and nibbled until the nipple was rigid and all around it crinkled; only to be presented with another just like it, with an implied request to please it equally to its twin. And so I did, before drifting back into my netherworld, as it too was withdrawn. 

The next thing I knew was something else was being presented to my lips. I opened my eyes again to see the most wondrous thing, a magenta form with plump sides and a narrow but slightly open slit down the center from which the most arousing scent emanated. At the top was a bulging protrusion an inch or more long with a reddened tip peeking out at me. 

What choice did I have? I kissed the plumpness up and down both sides, before wetting my tongue and slipping it up that crease in the center, though not quite to the top. Reversing course, I went back down, re-wet my tongue, and returned northward deeper this time. I continued to repeat that until I noticed a cavern down toward the southern end. I re-wet once again and began to explore it, delving as deeply as I was able with my all too inadequate instrument. 

Having plumbed the depths, I returned to again kiss the plumpness on both sides of the now-open crevasse, before finally approaching that enigmatic protrusion. Working from the northern-most place I could reach, I kissed and licked my way south until I reached its upper boundary where I placed a soft gentle kiss and then allowed my moist lips to slide down its full length until I dropped off and back into the crease. 

The response from whom or whatever owned this marvelous piece of real estate seemed to be favorable, as evidenced by shivers and moans. So, I continued my efforts...over and over again; adding licking and sucking. It seems that was greatly appreciated as well. 

Finally, I felt an earthquake-like shudder, heard a load groan, and experienced a deluge of biblical proportions envelope my face, after which the real estate fell away from my reach. I hoped that it might return. It really was a delightful thing, even as I laid there with sweet liquid in my nose and ears. 

I didn't open my eyes again, at least not yet. I could hear heavy panting that slowly faded away to near silence for some amount of time, time that didn't for some reason to matter to me in the least. I think I drifted off through the galaxies and stars for a while. 

Suddenly I felt something again in my nether region. A warm wetness...no, a heat, and then a tightness constricting me and slowly enveloping me, taking me inside to the depths until I felt the end press against me and further progress stopped. Ever so slowly, the constriction receded until I was nearly free, before I was again taken in to the very depths of my prison. 

This went on and on and on, the speed and force increasing over time, until something inside of me began to build. It was something I couldn't stop, didn't want to stop. I had to set it free, be rid of it, let it loose. Whatever it was, it demanded release; and I gave it its freedom. All I remember was an explosion, a concussion that shook me to the core, and then -- blackness, nothing but blackness. 

Then next thing I knew, it was morning and the butler was ringing the bell he'd left beside my bed, rousing me for a morning bath. Breakfast would be ready in thirty minutes in the kitchen nook. I groaned and stretched and as he left the room, I began to vaguely remember my dream of the night before. It was a most extraordinary dream, so detailed, so exquisite, and so real. 




Life is but a Dream



Once showered and shaved, I took the elevator down to the main floor and entered the breakfast nook where the cook was just putting my plate down in front of what was apparently my place. 

The food was delicious as of course it would be. I was famished for some reason. I just couldn't shake that dream. 

I asked about Christy's whereabouts and was told that she was getting ready for the first leg of her signing tour. She had already eaten and would be down in a half-hour or so to join me, if I wished to take coffee on the rear patio. 

As I sat looking at the rippling blue water of the outdoor pool, listening to the birds and tree frogs in the old-growth forest surrounding the estate, my mind kept returning to that dream...that indescribable dream. It just seemed too real to have been a dream, but it had to be, right? 

That was a question I may never be able to answer, but at least I was blessed to have had it at all, even if it were only a dream. No man would ever deserve something so fine to actually happen to them in this lifetime. I would have to be content with that overly-generous consolation.

Then I remembered! I had been at least somewhat awake when the dream began! It WAS real, it did happen; or something did. It's just that I couldn't figure out exactly what it was. I had been at least somewhat awake and then I was fully inside a dream, living a dream...a dream of something, someone, some other place, a vision. 

I was a grown man and not at all given to fantasy. I had, up to that moment, lived my life exclusively within the realms of reality. To me, dreams had always merely been a method the mind used to sort through life's events and organize them in memory for later use. Of what use was this, as a memory? What was its source and what possible purpose could it serve? Still, I had no good answers. 

My ruminations ceased the moment that Christy came out to join me on the patio. With a mutual exchange of smiles and "good mornings", we sat alongside each other and shared in looking and listening as the day unfolded itself. It was quite comforting when I realized that one could have perfect companionship even in silence. 

That was suddenly and forcibly terminated when something rocketed out of the French doors and launched itself into Christy's lap, where I finally got a look at the beast attacking Christy. It was a child, a boy actually; and he appeared to be mauling her. I sat up, only to see her smile. "Good morning, little brother. You are early. Here, I have someone I would like you to finally meet. John, meet David; David, John." 

"You're the man who saved us aren't you? I know. Grandma and Grandpa said nobody else could help us, but you did. They said we're all alive because of you. They also said you were hurt real bad and had to go to the hospital for a long time. I'm grown up now and can't hug you like I can with my sister but can I at least shake your hand and thank you?" 

"Yes, David. I would very much like to shake your hand, young man; and you are quite welcome. I just did what I thought was right." 

"Grandma, Grandpa, look who's here. It's John. He saved us...remember?" 

From over my shoulder, I heard a baritone voice. "Yes, David, we know. That's one reason we came here today, to finally meet John in person. John, I'm Raeph and this is my wife of fifty some odd years, Liza." 

I turned around as far as I could to see them coming around and into view. They joined us in adjacent chairs and we talked for some time about family things and particularly about Christy's success as a writer and the overwhelming (to me) success of my movie. Then, thank heavens, we moved on to more mundane subjects like what the future might hold for Christy and me. 

Danger, Will Robinson!

Grandma Liza didn't hold back any punches. She went straight to the heart of the matter. 

"So, Christy, when are you going to rope this fella in and convince him to marry you? Dad and I aren't getting any younger you know, and we want some great-grandkids to spoil rotten. John, have you given any thought to the matter?" That opened up a whole new universe of its own. 

'Stuck in the middle with you' was the song phrase that immediately came to mind. And it was obvious that there would be nowhere to hide for Christy or me. I suspected there were more than one set of eyes and ears at the doors and windows overlooking the patio at this very moment, anxiously awaiting my answer with bated breath. Tread softly, young man, very softly. 

"Ma'am..."

"Liza, please."

"Liza, we're just now getting to know anything about each other. We will need time to decide what our feelings for each other are. I think I can say that Christy and I will always be friends and you three as well; but beyond that, I can't say right now. Give us time, and perhaps your dreams, and mine, will come true. Only time will tell." Whew, I evaded that landmine, or so I thought. Sadly, that was not to be. 

"Young man, you only have so many years on this earth and you can't afford to waste a minute of the beauty it can bring into your life. You must go after what you want, or risk losing it forever." 

Then the baritone rejoined the fray. "John, there was a saying back in my day, 'Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead'. I believe that applies very well to the situation at hand. All indications are that Christy has fallen head-over-heels for you; and I can't believe that you have missed her charms either. If you have any feelings for her, tell her, tell her soon. Come on Granny, let's go get unpacked; you too, David. Let's leave these two lovebirds alone." 

Christy and I were left with our mouths open and gathering flies as the three left us alone once again. I looked at her as we closed our maws. She looked somehow different now. Whereas before, she'd always been outgoing and gregarious, she now seemed shy and withdrawn, almost as if she wanted to hide but wanted to stay as well. It was very curious indeed. 

I looked back out across the pool and the estate as I sorted out my own inner feelings. Was she beautiful...yes, most definitely. Was she fun to be with...yes, again without a doubt. Was she warm, caring, nurturing, motherly (as evidenced with David)...again, yes, no question. Was she intelligent, curious, and conversant...you're kidding me, right? 

What was it that was holding me back? Suddenly, I knew why. The answer was starkly clear. It was because I wasn't good enough for her. I wasn't worthy to hold a candle in the choir box, or the bag of rice on the sidewalk for everybody else outside after her wedding. Who would ever think I would ever qualify to be the groom at such an event? That was simply above and beyond all reason.

"John, what my grandparents said was right. I am in love with you. I have been ever since those long days and nights I sat beside you in the hospital. I decided then that if you would have me, I would marry you, should you ever do me the honor of asking for my hand. Where we go from here is entirely up to you. I can only continue adding little things to my 'hope chest' as I have been."

There was no easy way out of this situation. I'd been cornered better than if I'd been fighting Mohammed Ali. Between Christy's 'float like a butterfly' and her grandparents' 'sting like a bee' (more like a hive of them), I could see only one way out of this with my honor and general personage still intact. 

"Christy, I'm not at all ready for this, but..." "Would you do me the greatest honor and marry me, to be my wife and the mother of my children?" 

"Yes."

Well, that was simple enough. 

"Yes?" 

"Y-E-S, yes! I would love to marry you, be your wife and have all your babies." 

"You do realize, don't you, that this is insane. We were brought together by chance. We are only now just beginning to really get to know one another, and..." 

"Yes, and we will continue to do so for many years to come, I hope. Now, will you please use those sweet lips for something other than talking and kiss your fiancée before she changes her mind? We women are allowed to do that, you know." 

"Yes, dear."

"That's better, I like that. You come already trained. Grandma will be so pleased. Now get ready because I'm going to wreck your day, your night, and probably most of tomorrow."

With that, she jumped into my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck, and proceeded to bend my pecker into a pretzel around the firm cheeks of her ass. 

From somewhere above us, there was a chorus of hoots, hollers, whistles, and clapping from multiple windows that didn't stop until Christy finally came up for air. It seems that I wasn't the only one getting what they wanted. I couldn't be sure, but I thought either James or Raeph was leading the pack, or was it Grandma Liza? 

The weeks passed swiftly and we were all so busy that I'd forgotten all about that strange dream. 

Christy and I were learning a lot about each other. For example, she didn't know I'd been in the military, and I didn't know she owned her own Gulfstream jet and had two pilots standing by at all times; not to mention the little Hummingbird two-person helicopter she was licensed to fly and used to get from home to her hanger at the local jetport. 

Let me tell you, that first trip out to begin our honeymoon was a real eye-opener. It's little more than a glass bubble dangling under a big spinning blade. And here I'd always thought dropping out of a Huey into a fire zone in 'nam was scary. HA! That wasn't shit! Christy could do everything in that little bird but loops and barrel rolls. Of course, maybe she was just taking it easy on me. 

And the first time I saw her jet, I thought I was hallucinating. It couldn't be real. That thing is positively huge, and the inside...the inside is like a hotel suite, just long and narrow...and oh so comfortable. The flight to Hawaii seemed to be over before it started. 

I even got to sit in the cockpit jump seat while Christy took the controls for a couple of hours just after we refueled and took off from Orange county airport. That was another experience. Did you know there is a gauge that shows how fast you're going in terms of "mach"? She was flying a twin-engine jet at a little over 0.90 of the speed of sound. Damn! 

The copilot told me that she only needed about another thirty hours or so before she would be certified to fly this type of plane on her own. Of course, she'd need a copilot along to relieve her, since this baby just wasn't made for short 'hamburger' hops. This little rocket could cross the Atlantic a whole lot faster than Lindberg ever thought of, but it was still a long way without a 'potty stop'.

Me...once I got used to the idea that Christy knew what she was doing, I simply enjoyed the ride. I was used to small planes and altitudes topping off at about 12,000 feet; but on the CA to HI run, I watched as Christy took us up to 45,000 feet and eased the throttles back to a barely subsonic cruising speed. Even an ocean liner looked like a tiny toy boat in a fish tank.

Christy handled the pre-approach descent but thank heavens the pilot took over for the approach and landing. I'm still a young man, but I think I would have had a heart attack if it had been my new wife taking us in. Until today, I didn't even know she had a pilot's license. What else about her don't I know? 

Once down, Christy told the pilots to have a good time for the next week, but be ready for a return trip seven to ten days from now. We caught the waiting limo to a secluded little "shack" at the edge of a cliff overlooking the azure blue ocean. Not that we got to see much of it. It seems that Christy was quite serious about having my babies, and she meant to start right now, today, this minute in fact. Who was I to argue? 

She told me to shower, open the folding doors to the veranda, or lanai as they call it here; and wait for her in the bedroom. About ten minutes after I got back and was letting the champagne air out, she reappeared. Now I remembered the dream...and the flowing diaphanous folds that now billowed in the sea breeze. 

That afternoon, she confirmed that dream I could never forget. It had been her first time with a man. I didn't know because she'd lost her hymen from hours on horseback, not from another man. I was her first. It was my intention to also be her last and only. 

Geezal Petes, how much of this can a man take in one lifetime? I had no idea, but immediately volunteered to push the envelope as far as this one man possibly could. And so I did; it was two days before we even got up long enough to eat, and then we were right back at it. 

In the entire eight days we were there, I doubt if I went limp for more than about twenty minutes total. I got used to peeing outside where it could shoot straight up in the air. All I had to do, all I could do, was to face downwind and press down on it so as not to get any splashback in the breeze. It's the same thing as spitting into the wind, and no more pleasant when it happens. 

I don't know why God gave me this woman, but I'll never dishonor her love or ever let her get away from me. She is mine, just as I am hers for whatever she asks of me, even if it hurts. 

On the return trip, Christy actually did the takeoff herself in the left chair and the captain in the copilot's seat. She managed the radio communications with the tower and navigated without any assistance through the various course changes required upon departure, and took the first three hours of the flight home on her own. 

The pilot kept an eye on the gauges, but mostly just kept up a light-hearted banter with Christy, the copilot and myself. I must admit, I was proud of her as she boogied right along at just under the speed of sound. That's my wife, author and jet pilot. I recall thinking that I had to get a better job.

This time, Christy actually took over the controls just before the approach; and, using the ILS, actually brought us in on what is referred to as a three-pointer that was as smooth as a baby's behind. It was so good that I barely noticed the Hummingbird flight back to the house. 

We were welcomed home by the whole staff, the grandfolks and David, as well as her publisher and primary editor. It had been a long trip and quite a party, but finally Christy and I were near dead on our feet, jet lag and all. We retired for the night, leaving the others to carry on without us. Oh, did that bed feel good. Even better was how it felt to spoon up against my wife for the night, too tired for anything else. Not that it would have mattered; I figured it would be another month before I would be able to muster up another 'stiffie'. 

Two weeks later, I was waiting breakfast until Christy came downstairs, when she suddenly burst out onto the patio and launched herself at me from almost ten feet away. What the...? Wham; me, the chair and Christy all landed in a heap; and she was waving something in front of my face, too closely for me to focus on it. I grabbed her hand to see it was some kind of plastic stick. 

"We did it! We did it!" We did what?

"You're gonna be a daddy...you're gonna be a daddy..." is what I heard in a singsong voice. 

I'm gonna be...........a daddy? 

As beautiful as Christy had been in my eyes before, as her pregnancy blossomed so did she. I believe the ancient goddesses who would run from her before would now sing lullabies to both her and the baby she was carrying for us. 

It was an easy go for Christy, with few mood swings and and increased desire for what had put her in that condition, not that I was about to complain. I also think the cocoa butter rubs and the massages helped a lot to improve her state of mind. She knows who loves her and how much. 

Well folks, that's not the whole story, but it's where I'm going to stop. To conclude this little tale, I will tell you that we ended up having five children in all. All of us, grandparents included, are doing well. And, Christy and I, well...let's just say we would never have had it any other way. I got that better job, negotiating the deals for Christy's books, movie deals, deadlines, scheduling, tours, and most importantly -- enforced downtime. She's even had a cameo appearance in a movie based on one of her books. Me? My life is naught but a continuation of that same old wonderful dream. Life is but a dream. But, oh, what a dream it is.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

As a fledgling author, I find it difficult to get better without your feedback. Your votes will tell me how well or poorly I've done with this effort. Your comments will help me greatly to improve as a writer. I would appreciate any constructive assistance that will permit me to make my future offerings more appealing to the discerning reader. I will respond to contacts, but only if requested.