“Well, it’s like this Doctor Parish:—I realize I’ve strayed too far into my dream, the moment my surroundings become unrecognizable.  It happens like clockwork.  Everything that I am familiar with, suddenly disappears.  My home, my family, my friends:—they simply vanish.  And once that happens, my reality, as I know it in my head, also changes.  I transform into something else, something, something, quite ghastly, and unnatural.”

“You do realize my darling Lily, that what you’ve just described is quite par for the course when it comes to dreaming, and it’s simply a matter of your subconscious rearranging, purging, all the buried poo-poo stuff, that’s just itching to come out and make your day.”

“Yes, I am fully aware, Doctor Parish.  Just as you are also keenly aware that I’ve earned my Psy.D. in Psychology; and that I AM an active tending doctor of psychology!”

“Yes, yes, of course, Doctor Aldura.  But if only I was immune to the alluring sight and draw of your sexy beautiful legs, I'd be less inclined to have you lying on the couch tantalizing me beyond measure, versus holding you snugly in my arms, here upon my lap.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Johnathon, must our discussions always detour off course in the direction of your overactive libido?  And, if you would please, please, for the love of god, just refrain this one time, from telling me how ‘hard’ you are!!”

“Hahaha, well, well, … Lily, you know …”

“Johnathon, I swear if you say another word, or mention the hardness of your cock presently, I’ll throw this pillow at your head.” 

Suppressing an amused smile; Lily purposely allowed the slit in her skirt to hike slightly above her slender thigh, as she pretended to adjust the pillow comfortably beneath her head, before falling into gentle repose upon the luxury buttoned tufted leather chaise lounge.

“Alrighty, then,” said Johnathon, leaning into the matching swiveling leather armchair adjacent to her. 

Casually slipping his designer Italian loafers off, he said, while taking a semi-serious tone and turn; “Now that we’ve made ourselves comfortable,” he said, hungrily eyeing the slit of Lily’s black skirt, as it gradually makes its sensuous hike up her supple alabaster thigh.  “Tell me everything.  And, I promise not to interrupt, or make light of your feelings, or address the hardness of my cock,” he said with a chuckle.  As he was simply unable to resist letting her know, just how much he, sexually, desired her.

Lily pretending to ignore his latter remark, and his indecent lascivious nature; coyly replied, “I appreciate your attention Doctor Parish,” as she seductively eased her body enticingly into the chaise with just enough subtle ‘wiggle’ to let him know, she was receptive to his advances, despite her verbal protests.

Johnathon, all eyes:—grinned rapaciously, licking his lips.

Seeing she’d fully engaged Johnathon’s attention; Lily gave in to the psychoanalysis process of reiterating and stating her dream.  Her eyes dreamily fell shut, before speaking.  Her tone, although mesmerizing:— was altered, estranged, and seemingly remote.  She spoke irregular, as if compelled, or swayed under hypnosis.

Intrigued, Johnathon furtively swiped his cellphone to “record”, just as Lily commenced her narrative:

So, where was I?  Oh, yes:—Well, by the time reality fades from consciousness, in relation to how I currently register it in my wakening hours; I am instantly transported into the midst of a dense dim wilderness, abounding with colorful lush vegetation, multi-varied forest trees, of yellow, green, red, and orange.

An eerie, opaque and pale grayish-white glassy stream, flows nearby.  It renders a disquieting scene of sharp ragged protruding boulders poking through its brackish waters, along with thick tangled tree roots all covered in dark, slimy, moss:—stained, corroded, eroded, by the mere fierceness of existence, and time itself.

In this bleak harbinger scenario, Nature knows no bounds in unveiling her truth.  The vegetative atmosphere resonates to a somber-like facsimile of Eden; yet gravely void of its warmth, and mirth, that arrives freely with the presence of blue sky, and golden sunlight.  Instead, a wretched dispassionate climate of detachment, of coldness, abounds.  Which chills my senses, my heart:—to its very core, to where I am swept into gloom, into a knowing state of realization of knowing what it feels like to be immured, alone, within the womb, waiting to be born.

Uncanny stillness linger in this genesis:—it is but a pause, in which I am awake, cognizant, that I am fallen:—perched, upon the brink of everlasting ruin?:—I know nix.

And then, at exactly at that precise moment of comprehension, an ornately carved gold framed mirror magically appears, standing ever so impressive, singular, in the midst of the murky unclean stream.  And, I witness the appearance of a younger likeness, version of myself:—with long beautiful flowing dark auburn colored hair, swaying, dangling as a pendulum at my tailbone.

Modestly clad, in a white-cotton granny’s-gown, I watch, with bated breath, as the virtuous, unblemished, image of self move towards the mirror without wonderment, or reservation. She, I, approach … and, when I look into the mirror, I see my younger self raise her smooth pink palms innocently, firmly, against the smooth glass, as a genuine invitation for us to intimately, connect.

Oh, how my heart leaps, breaks, that She should deem me worthy of consideration:—Me, an unclad, self-exposed ungodly abomination:—turned incubus.