breasts that were high firm mounds with stiff jutting nipples. Her hips were wide and smooth, her belly flat. Lower, she had a glossy curve without so much as a trace of whiskers—as if she’d never grown any hair at all down there.
“I don’t know what to do,” I told her. “I’m out of heads.”
She shrugged her shoulders, which made her breasts lift and descend wonderfully.
“Do you know where your head is?” I asked her.
Again, that lovely shrug.
I checked the horizon and saw the last sliver of the sun easing out of sight.
Fast as I could, I snatched off my own head and shoved it onto her neck.
“There!” I yelled in triumph.
The yell didn’t come from my mouth, though. I was looking at my mouth, my face, my head, on top of that gorgeous body.
Not a match!
In my haste to provide a head for her, I’d forgotten that the rules called for a match.
Not just any old head would do.
But mine did!
Figure that one out.
Anyway, I watched my own face give me a very nice, friendly smile.
Then my dream woman said, “Thanks, Rupert.” (Not my voice, I’m glad to report. It sounded more like Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not, and a lot like Billie.) “You won,” she told me. “You saved us all, do you know that? You should be very proud of yourself.”
It made me feel really good.
“Of course,” she said, “now you don’t have a head.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” I can be quite the gallant fellow, sometimes. “I don’t need it that much,” I told her. “I’m just glad I was able to match everyone up.”
“Do you know what you get for winning?”
I shook my head. (Well, maybe not. I thought I did, though.)
“You get me,” she said.
“Oh boy!” I said.
She came forward. She took me in her arms, and I felt her body against me. Unfortunately, she had my face. When she tried to kiss me, I turned away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t know about this. I don’t think I wanta be kissing my own face.”
“Okay. That can be fixed. Whose do you want?”
“You can change your face?”
I watched myself give me a knowing smile. “Sure. Just tell me who you want me to be.”
“Yourself,” I said.
“I am myself. I’m your dream lover. I’m whoever you want me to be.”
“I sure don’t want you being me.”
“Who, then?” she asked.
“Can it be anyone?”
“Anyone you’d like.”
“How about Kimberly?”
“Excellent choice,” she said. Immediately, the face of my dream lover stopped being me and became Kimberly.
Then things really sizzled.
Somewhere along the way, my nightmare had gotten left behind, leaving me with a fantastic erotic dream. Probably the best dream I’ve ever had.
It stayed great, too. The worst thing about it, from the moment after I saved her with the donation of my head, was when I woke up very suddenly and the dream ended.
I remembered her (Oh, God, did I ever!), but she had fled, along with my sleep, and I couldn’t bring her back.
I would gladly let myself get knocked out today, if I thought she would return.
Of all the dreams and nightmares that came to me at the bottom of the chasm, though, she only put in the one appearance.
In my last dream down there, I found myself on the beach in a wheelchair, trying to get away from someone. I couldn’t turn my head around to see who was chasing me, but I was plenty scared. I kept shoving at the wheel rims, trying to pick up speed, but the wheels were bogged down in the sand. They kept sinking deeper and deeper, until my chair wouldn’t move at all.
Finally, screaming in terror, I hurled myself out of the chair and started to run away. My legs worked fine. What the hell had I been doing in the wheelchair? Elated, I sprinted for safety. But my feet started sinking in the sand.
With each step, I sank deeper. Pretty soon, the sand reached my waist. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wade any farther. I was trapped. It hugged me like tight, heavy trousers.
I was terrified.
Now, he’d catch me. He would come running up behind me with his ax or machete or… chainsaw.
It’ll be a chainsaw, I suddenly realized.
I couldn’t hear it, though. Not yet.
Had he given up the chase?
I listened. Ocean sounds, bird sounds, bug sounds, but no cough, sputter and roar of a chainsaw.
I smiled with relief.
All of a sudden, down deep in the sand, hands caressed my legs.
I woke up with a yell of night and a splitting headache, and that was the end of my odyssey through a hundred dreams and nightmares at the bottom of the chasm.
Some of my worst nightmares, though, were more pleasant than what I found on my return to reality.
I was sprawled on my back, my head pounding with pain. I felt as if every bone in my body had been hammered. In some places, I felt numb. In others, I itched. In still others, sharp pains stabbed me.
Above me, swarms of flies and other winged bugs zipped this way and that. Some landed on me, while others were happy to circle.
A vulture suddenly flapped up into my line of vision, startling me.
I saw the chasm walls towering above me on both sides.
The gray sky above the chasm held a promise of sunrise—or night.
Beneath me, I felt Matt.
Waking Up Is Hard to Do
Matt felt like lumpy, warm goo.
I shouldn’t complain, though. Without him, I would probably be lumpy, warm goo.
Still, he disgusted me.
I had been napping for at least a couple of days, probably longer, on top of a naked, decomposing corpse.
I, at least, wasn’t naked. Thank God I had my shorts on. Where my bare back pressed against him, we seemed to be stuck together. My skin, there, itched like crazy. Also, I felt squirming, crawling things; various critters that had apparently gotten sandwiched between us.
Let’s not dwell on all that.
I won’t even mention the smell.
The moment I realized where I was—and what was under me—I let out a cry and rolled off him.
