Fantasy, and the beginning of an unfinished novel

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I’ve been talking about dreaming a lot lately. Unfortunately, my sleep patterns haven’t been cooperating. I can’t get to sleep, so I concoct some kind of fantasy. Then I fall deeply asleep before I get to the interesting bit. I wake up and think about having to get up, regardless of what time it is. At the moment, there is no semi-sleep, which is where the most interesting dreams come from for me.

So … fantasy. I’ve been avoiding it, since I have so many projects in the air at any one time that I don’t want to start another. (I should be choosing the poetry for my anthology. I’m hoping that will help me make a final decision on the title of the collection.)

So again … fantasy. What do I fantasize about? Duh … sex. But what about beyond that?

Well, that depends. Sometimes I will see someone during the day, and that starts something. Ooh, the gym, hot bods all around while I’m on the treadmill. That gets old quickly. Time travel … been there. Metamorphosis … yes, there, too. Robots … why would I fantasize about robots? Being a robot. Done that. OK, here is an edited version of the first chapter:

I had hoped it was another bad dream, but I awoke face down with my wrists lashed together behind my back and my ankles tied to the table legs.  I knew trying to move around would have only brought the flimsy table to the floor on top of me.

My cell was padded and completely white.  My naked body was the only color in the room, and I admit that I haven’t gotten much sun lately.  Why my legs had been tied spread open filled me with dread.  My bum hurt with just the thought of my vulnerability.

I’d gotten pissed off my head last night, and if I wasn’t sure that I’d made it home, I would have suspected that one of my drinks had been laced with – I couldn’t remember what that drug was.  HGH came to mind, but a human growth hormone wouldn’t make me forget the evening.  H – G … no … G – H.  Struggling to remember was something to help take my mind off my predicament.  It wasn’t coming, so I’d have to try another mental trick to forget what was happening – or what wasn’t.  I’d been awake for an hour already, but I’d had no contact.  I’d seen nothing, heard nothing.  I couldn’t even smell anything other than my own sweat.

Why I was so sweaty had no explanation.  The room was at the perfect temperature, although the air didn’t move.  No breeze, no vents – no door.

No door?  Another anomaly.  How did I get in?  How would I get out?

Why didn’t I have a hangover?  Admittedly, my predicament was worse than the worst hangover I’d ever had.

Somebody had cut my hair, too.  Not completely, but short enough that I couldn’t see it.  I had a mannerism of brushing it out of my eyes when I was nervous.  Not only did my bonds prevent that, they had shorn the offending hair.

“Hey! Anybody home?” I shouted.

No reply.

That would teach me to go to a Halloween party and get plastered.  I had gone as a witch, even died my hair black.  Alec kept doing pornographic things with my pointy hat.  He’s got to find a more interesting method of flirting if I’m ever going to let him take me out on a date.

I hadn’t dressed as an ordinary witch.  40-something Witchy Becca liked rubber clothing – revealing rubber clothing!  That was Anna’s idea, and her clothes, too.  She’s got a few more curves than I have, but every single one of mine showed, partly because I’m probably a size bigger than she is.  “Latex stretches,” she assured me.  Ordinarily, I would have been self-conscious, but it was Halloween, and I was role playing – a slutty exhibitionist witch.

Martin kept making rude comments about my nipples.  The more he mentioned them, the more they showed, so I kept bringing up his prick, err, in conversation, but that had the desired effect.  He was dressed in a hospital gown, supposedly as a mental patient.  No hiding there!  All the guys kept plying me with drinks, I think hoping that they would get to help me squeeze out of my latex afterward, but no one succeeded.  The one guy that might have, hadn’t shown up: Eric.  He was invited, but he was going to another party.  Becca Myers in latex wasn’t enough to draw him there.  We’d had a hot and heavy fling years ago, but I can always hope for a repeat, can’t I?

Anna poured me into her car and deposited me at home; I vaguely remember drinking a couple of glasses of water in the kitchen.  Walking upstairs got a little fuzzier, then sitting on my bed.  Nothing more, except the dreams.

My advice?  Never get pissed wearing a catsuit.

[Description of a series of weird dreams.]

I’d become like a captive wingless angel.  I was afraid to look – my cleavage.  I could feel a little more weight than normal, and sure enough, I had somehow grown larger, as in my dream.  Shit, I’m still dreaming, I thought, but I knew I wasn’t.  These thoughts were too contiguous and less vague.  I wondered why I had been bound, since there was no obvious escape.

Somebody had to be watching me, so I decided that the only way I would get some interaction was to be a nuisance.  I knew that meant a tumble onto the floor.  The padding would cushion the blow, but with my hands behind my back, I couldn’t control my fall.  I hoped also that it might break the table and partially free my legs.

I crawled to the side of the table, and taking a deep breath, hurled myself off of it, bringing it clattering on top of me.  It hit me hard on the cheekbone, but aside from a possible shiner, I was otherwise unscathed.  Still nobody came to rescue me.  In a fit of rage I kicked at the table, shearing off one of the legs that I was bound to.

Another anomaly – it was steel and shouldn’t have torn so easily.  I kicked at the other corner, which broke as well, but the leg swung around and bashed my hip – another bruise to mar my perfect skin.  It didn’t come right away, but I’ve always bruised easily.  Fortunately, I could now slip the ties down the table leg and off.  The wire was still looped around my ankles, but I was free to walk around, and I could just barely slip my bound wrists around them so my hands were in the front.  They had been bound with a single strand of white coated electrical wire, but I couldn’t find where they were tied or wound together.  It was one single loop, too tight to squeeze my hands through.  I wondered briefly how they could have slipped the loops on.  Likewise, the loops around my ankles were the same, and I was surprised to find that I hadn’t cut myself on them.

Standing, I searched the walls for the hidden seams of a doorway, but couldn’t find them.  “Get me the hell out of here,” I yelled to no avail.

Damn, I thought, pulling at the wire on my wrists.  In a rage I bit at it with my teeth, and it snapped right away, like I’d used wire cutters.  I had succeeded in freeing myself, but I was still a captive.

“Congratulations,” I heard a man say behind me.  “You’ve passed the first test.”

I turned, and before me a man stood dressed neck to ankle in white Lycra, only slightly less revealing than the latex of my dreams, but now I was completely naked in front of him and quickly covered myself.

He chuckled at me.  “I know every inch of you intimately.  You haven’t worn anything other than a body bag in centuries.”


3 thoughts on “Fantasy, and the beginning of an unfinished novel

  1. Key Lamp September 3, 2019 / 11:44 pm

    Annedroid, I am impressed. Cyborg Kimbot could only dream of being so synthetic. My cortex isn’t very imaginative to transcend beyond the realm of my extra ordinary reality machine.

    • thecultofanne September 4, 2019 / 2:57 am

      Thanks. I have about 10 chapters of it, but I may have written myself into a hole.

      • Key Lamp September 4, 2019 / 3:02 am

        Excavator activate. Dig dig dig dig up, young annekin nightcrawler

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