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Sleeper By Waldo([email protected]) "Mister Davis, I assure that it's perfectly normal to have erotic dreams. In fact, if you've never had an erotic dream, you wouldn't be normal at all." "Doctor Brantley, you weren't listening to me. I said that I've had the same damn dream every night for the last three months. And nothing about it, is the least exotic to me. It scares the shit out of me when I wake up and the memory is so .. vivid, so fresh in my mind that I remember every detail as if it actually happened to me. I can't take too many more nights of dreaming that same dream. I'm almost scared now to go to sleep." "Please Mister Davis, my statement's intent wasn't to upset you but rather to let you know that as your new psychologist, that I hear about many of my patients dreams so I'm trained to classify them; and when necessary to recommend specific treatment to correct inappropriate dreaming patterns. What you've described so far, doesn't sound the least abnormal to me. Lot's of men have dreams about what it's probably like to be a woman." Paul Davis breaks eye contact with his new doctor and momentarily glances at the door as he wonders if he should walk out of the doctor's office and never come back. But it took him a couple of weeks to build up the courage to agree to the initial appointment, then there was the week of waiting while he dreaded not only what he was going to have to tell the doctor but also what the doctor might tell him. Before he can decide anything, the doctor responds to the noticeable hesitation "Before I can help you resolve your problems, I must know more about you. After all, two minutes of basic introductory conversation and what you described to my nurse when you set up the appointment last week, isn't enough to make a diagnosis yet. Why don't you tell me why you're here?" Leaning forward slightly in the comfortable recliner and nervously cupping his hands tightly together above his groin, Paul begins to recite the story that he's rehearsed so many times in preparation for this meeting "First you need to know that I'm a normal heterosexual 'all-American male'. I met my wife while we were in undergraduate school and we got married immediately after we graduated. Her name is Bernice and we've been married about seven months now. Except for two other girls in high school, I've never been with anyone else. I fell in love with Bernice the first day that I saw her beautiful dimples, large boobs hidden under that tight sweater and her kissable ass walking away from me. Since then, I can't think about being with anyone else. It was a rocky road for a long time for us because she treated me nothing more than a good friend while she dated all those big muscular college jocks. But toward the end of our senior year, something magical suddenly clicked between us and I became the luckiest man in the world." "Mister Davis, I think that for the record, I should inform you that I know your wife and that she has done some of her research here in my office with some of my patients. After all, the University program that she's currently enrolled in, relies very heavy upon local practitioners to augment the University's teaching staff. I've been very impressed with her work, as she completes her graduate degree. I've submitted a list of twelve students to the Dean that I would feel privileged to have as a junior associate working with me full time after graduation. Your wife is near the top of that list and is the only reason that you were worked into my overbooked schedule so quickly. I assure you that nothing that you discuss with me will be shared with her. Your health is my only concern. Please continue." "Like yeah, I knew that she knew you and that she thinks that you're the best. So when she begin to notice that I was. staying nervous a lot, she tried to talk to me. But it's not the sort of thing that a man can discuss with his wife. Hell, it's not even the sort of thing that you can really discuss with another man." Paul stares at Doctor Brantley who is staring back with an inscrutable blank expression as he jots some notes into his notebook. Recognizing that the doctor expects him to do most of the talking, Paul continues "So she suggested that we get away for the weekend. We rented a hotel at the beach and .. Well, you know how much easier it is to talk when you're all mellow. After about four to five hours of sharing a bed with her, I was so mellow that I couldn't think straight. The things that she can do with her body can hypnotize me and turn me into a raving fool. I suddenly started blabbing to her about all these weird dreams that I've been having. Before I knew what I was saying, I told her everything. That's when she suggested that I needed to see someone at a professional level and talked me into calling your secretary to get an appointment with you. I knew that she called to let them know that she was trying to use her school association with you to get me in sooner. So as soon as the appointment was locked in, I began thinking about what I was going to say when I got here. At first, I was going to be a macho man and not really describe the dream beyond saying that it was a recurring dream that upset me. But after a week of imagining what you would probably ask and what I would say, I came to the conclusion that it wouldn't do me any good if I didn't tell the complete truth. After all, you're trained to see when someone is lying or not telling the real story. So I decided that I would open up and tell you everything." Glancing over at the doctor who is still writing notes in his book without looking back at his new patient, Paul continues after giving the doctor a few seconds to make a comment "So I have one problem. It's a small one when you look at the overall picture but Bernice is right. It does bug me and I'm getting upset as I wake up every morning feeling so damn confused and frustrated. My problem is a dream. But it feels so damn real that I can't instantly forget it as I used to forget all my other dreams. And it's the same damn dream every night. I've got so that I'm having a difficult time going to sleep because I'm afraid that I'll dream the same dream. I have to take a sleeping pill to help me fall asleep." "Describe your dream for me. Leave no details out." Clearing his throat and leaning his head against the soft chair's back, Paul stares up at a small speck on the ceiling as he begins describing his dream "It's always the same. I feel as if I'm awakening from a deep sleep in the middle of the night. It's my apartment but Bernice isn't in bed with me. I don't know where she is but there's no sign of her anywhere in the apartment. In my dream I don't care that she's not there so I get out of my bed and I've got a tremendous erection. I always look at it and smile as if it's exactly what I want at that moment. Then I walk slowly into the bathroom as I stroke myself, keeping myself as hard as a small baseball bat. I'll stand in front of the bathroom mirror and look at my face as I softly stroke my erection." A light coating of perspiration begins to lightly coat Paul's forehead as he shuts his eyes and tries to force himself to talk about the dream. After ten seconds of silence, the doctor's words are intended to help him complete his story "Lots of men masturbate. The bathroom is a favorite place because it's close to the bedroom and offers a chance to clean up afterwards, removing all traces of the self-indulgence. As for staring at your face in the mirror, perhaps you have a slight narcissism fantasy. Nothing unusual about your story so far. You sound like a normal man awakening with a sleep hard-on and you've found that you like to look at yourself in the mirror as you masturbate." "But I don't masturbate then. Yes, I stroke myself, but it's only until I get into the bathroom and am standing in front of the mirror. Then.. I open the mirror and select one of Bernice's red lipsticks. I always go for the same shade of red. Shutting the mirror, I spend a few moments stroking myself with one hand while I carefully apply the lipstick to my lips." The doctor is looking over the rim of his glasses and staring at Paul. He's stopped taking notes and from the quizzical look in his eyes for the first two seconds, it's apparent that he's got several questions to ask. Then the doctor's eyes become the normal friendly look as he asks "I see. Well, having a recurring fantasy is a normal part of life. And your dream about you putting your wife's lipstick on your lips while you masturbate, is a fantasy. What else do you do in your dream?" "When my lips are perfect, I put the lipstick back in its place. Then still softly stroking myself, I go through my wife's lingerie drawer. I select a matching pair of white panties and bra. It seems so real when I pull the panties up my legs. I can feel the silky soft smoothness and it makes my coc.. penis even harder. I spend a moment adjusting my erection straight up my belly then put on her bra. I have to adjust it slightly but not much because we're very similar in size. She's large for a woman and I'm small for a man so we're almost the same exact size in everything but shoes. Anyhow I adjust her bra and put some rolled up pantyhose in the bra's large cups to fill them out slightly so that it's more realistic looking. Then I unroll some pantyhose up over my legs. Then I go through my wife's clothes in our closet and select something to wear. It's always a dress. I usually select one of her leisure-time outfits. There's a beige blouse and dark skirt that I select more than the rest of the outfits. After I'm dressed in her clothes, I slip on a pair of her sandals because the rest of her shoes are slightly too small for my feet. Then I pull the box from the closet's top shelf. It's got a red wig that Bernice wears once in awhile to break up the monotony of always being a honey-blonde. I carefully remove the red wig from the box's dummy head and put it on my head. Then I go back into the bathroom and brush the wig and put on a little more makeup. Then ... uhhh, do you mind if I smoke?" Recognizing that the new client is nervous, the doctor quickly smiles and nods an approval to sooth his patient's nervousness "So far, I'm not hearing anything unusual Mister Davis. It might seem abnormal to you but I assure you that it's not abnormal for about five percent of the general population. The desire to dress in the opposite sex's clothes is something that is done by a lot of people. By dressing in your wife's clothes and using her makeup and wig, you're expressing a fantasy to enjoy life from your wife's perception. It's another common fantasy while masturbating, to pretend that you're your favorite lover and enjoying the sex from both perspectives. I've frequently wondered what it would be to make love to myself and have occasionally had a minor fantasy whereby I seduced myself." Puffing heavily on the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, Paul's voice rises an octave as he rebuts what he thinks the doctor is thinking "I could live with that. What I do next is worse. I go into the living room and call a phone number. It's always the same number but I can't remember it when I'm awake. A man answers. Then I have phone sex with him. I know that he's masturbating himself and I pretend that I'm his girlfriend. I spend ten to twenty minutes talking him into an orgasm as if I'm really his girlfriend. After his grunting subsides and he's all friendly, we spend a few minutes cooing and promising each other that we're going to spend the weekend in bed fucking each other. Everything that I say to him, is as if I'm a real woman. My voice even changes, becoming softer, more feminine and more seductive. I talk to him as if he's my man and I'm his very horny woman who can't wait to let him fuck me. I tell him how I want to suck his big cock and he tells me how he wants to bury his cock so deep within me that it hurts both of us. All the time that we're talking very intimate dirty sex to each other, my erection is still rock hard within the panties." "What number do you call? Write it down on this pad." The doctor turns to a fresh page as he hands his notebook to Paul. Paul holds the notebook for several long seconds and stares at the blank page before answering "I don't remember it. In my dream, I'm able to dial it without looking it up but when I'm awake, I can't remember it." Taking his notebook back, the doctor says "So you think that you have a boyfriend that you call every time that you have this dream. Yet when I ask for the number so that we can call it today, you can't remember it. Do you know what your boyfriend looks like?" "No. I just know that he's handsome... and has a very big cock. When I'm on the phone talking to him, I have a sort of mental image of someone that looks like Rock Hudson back when he was a young stud. I have more mental images of what his cock looks like then I have of his face." "I see. Have you ever dreamed that you've met your boyfriend?" "No. Yes. I mean no. I know him, know what he looks like and we have had some sort of physical relationship in the past as well apparently in the future from the direction of our repeating discussions. So I know him, but that other relationship has never been part of one of my dreams." "What would you do if your dream lover asked you to meet him? Do you think that you would leave your apartment to go meet him?" A flush of embarrassment rushes across Paul's face. He plays with the cigarette for a couple of seconds before answering "I probably would. I do everything else that he tells me when we talk on the phone. I've only told you part of my dreams. Each dream seems to be getting a little longer and I'm doing a little more in each dream. The first time. I guess it was about a month ago. that I dreamed that I left the apartment, I went to a bar that is really about four blocks from the house. It actually exists. I've never been into that bar but it's one of my favorite places in my dreams now. In my borrowed woman's clothes, I walk out of my apartment, taking some money and cigarettes in one of Bernice's purses. I go to the bar and sit at the bar where I sip a wine as various men flirt with me. They think that I'm the real thing. The bartender knows me as if I've been coming there for years. He calls me Sylvia so I begin answering to that new name. So I sit at the bar, talk to the bartender as if we're really old friends, drink a couple of glasses of wine and flirt with some men who are trying to pick me up. I've frequently let some of the more persuasive men lead me out onto the dance floor. Then I pay my bill and go back home. As soon as I get back home, I carefully put Bernice's borrowed clothes away and clean the makeup from my face. Then I ease into my big old lonely bed and masturbate myself into a tremendous orgasm then fall asleep. When I awaken in the morning, Bernice is in bed beside me and I realize that it was just a dream." "Have you ever tried dressing in her clothes during the daytime when you're absolutely sure that you're awake?" "NO! I. I. I.. I.DAMN IT. I can't reach into the closet to get my clothes without staring at her clothes and feeling a deep desire to try something on. You don't know how many times that I've stood there and fought the urge to pull that damn wig box off the top shelf and to dress as my dream self just to see what it really feels like to do something like that. I find myself frequently touching her clothes and smelling them as I recall my last dream. Bernice has caught me a couple of times holding her lingerie just a little too friendly when I've been helping her with the laundry." "I see. It sounds like.." "DAMN IT. It gets even worse. There's a small mall near the house. One of those places that stays open all night so you can go shopping at two in the morning. About a week ago, when I left the bar, I didn't go straight home. Instead I went to the mall and did some shopping. I bought a new blouse and skirt. I used one of Bernice's credit cards which I found in the purse. There was also an old employment I.D. card where she worked at a store in her junior year. The ID card had a photograph of her in the red wig and I used that as identification for the purchase. That's how much I look like her with a little makeup, her clothes and the damn red wig. Anyhow I took the new blouse and skirt home, tried them on, then hung them up in the closet. When Bernice and I awakened in each other's arms in our bed the next morning, I rushed to the closet as soon as Bernice went into the bathroom to pee. The blouse and skirt were hanging there so I knew that I didn't dream about buying them. I was holding the new clothes tightly clutched against my naked body when she came out of the bathroom and saw me. I tried to tell her about the new direction that my dream was going in, but she laughed at me. She told me that she showed me that outfit when she brought it in last night. I sure as hell didn't remember her showing me the outfit and I kept insisting that that somehow I purchased it in my dream. She laughed and opened her purse as she searched for something. Then she held the receipt out to me. Not only did she have a receipt filled out in her handwriting, but she also showed me that there wasn't any way that my dream could have been true. Remember that I said that I tried on the blouse and skirt once I got them back to the apartment. Well, she showed me where the little plastic security tags and prices were still on the outfit which means that no one had ever tried on the clothing. The rest of the day I moped around, feeling confused. She tried to sooth my confusion by taking the blouse and skirt back to the mall. Then.. I had another dream that night." Lighting another cigarette, Paul continues "Bernice and I went to bed. She talked to me and kept telling me to relax but I couldn't get it up. My cock which was so rock hard only a few hours earlier was then nothing more than a pee spout. Then I fell asleep in her arms. In my dream, I did my usual thing but this time I dressed in the outfit that I bought the previous night. The same outfit that she took back earlier. After my usual phone sex with my 'boyfriend', I went to the bar again and flirted with some man. Yeah, in my dreams, I don't care or worry about any of the things that bother me during the day. So I go to the bar, let some man ease me off the dance floor back into a phone booth. We crowd into it and he pins me against the wall as we kiss. He kept trying to rub his hands against my non-existent boobs but I stopped him and didn't let it go any further than some French kissing. After I escaped his clutches, I rushed to the mall and found some of those silicone falsies which I purchased. I rushed back to the bar, taking time to jerk out my rolled-up pantyhose and put the falsies into the bra's cups. Now that my phony boobs had some weight and felt more realistic, I went looking for that man. I found him talking to some woman and I took him away from her. I lured him back to the phone booth and this time, I let him cup my breasts with his large hands as we kissed. He tried to run his hand up under my blouse but I stopped him. Then I left him standing there and returned home. I removed the clothes and hung them among Bernice's clothes. I hid the falsies in the wig box. Next morning when I awakened in Bernice's arms, I rushed to the closet and discovered that neither the new clothes of falsies were there. I freaked out and sat down in the middle of the bedroom floor and cried. That's when Bernice called your office and pushed me to come see you. Since that night a little over a week ago, the dreams have always been the same. Sometimes it's the same man in the bar but usually it's a different man that I lure back to the phone booth for a quick heated mutual groping session. About three or four days ago, while I was wide awake and absolutely sure that I wasn't dreaming, I did something very unusual. I normally take showers but I took a bath for some reason that day. I saw Bernice's razor resting on the tub and I.. I shaved my legs. Look here." Paul bends forward in the chair and pulls up one trouser leg, showing a very smooth leg that looks very feminine because of its hairless appearance. Dropping the trousers and leaning back in the recliner, Paul's hurried words reveal his anxiety "So you see, it's crossing over from my dreams. Instead of just dreaming about transforming myself into a woman while I'm asleep, I'm now doing things to transform myself while I'm awake. I answered the phone the other day and used my 'her' voice. You know, the sexy, seductive soft voice that I use when I'm doing phone sex in my dreams. I've caught myself several times getting ready to put some lipstick on when I'm at the bathroom mirror. And the worst thing, is that I share a closet with Bernice. I can't open our closet without seeing her clothes next to my clothes and feeling a strong impulse to select one of her outfits instead of my male clothes. I tell you, doc, I'm going out of my mind with all these weird feelings. It's got so bad that I can't even get it up sometimes when I'm in bed with my wife. She has to do all sorts of things to get it even slightly hard. All I can think about while she's going down on me, is what it would feel like if I was dressed as Sylvia." Glancing up at the clock on the wall, the doctor starts winding down this session "Mister Davis, it sounds like you're having a hard time separating your fantasy life from your real life. There are a couple of ways to handle this. We can try to help you forget about your fantasy life and to start concentrating on your real life again so that you become more like your old self. Or we can help you adapt to your fantasy life so that you still have it but it doesn't cost you so much mental confusion. Normal procedure is to turn you back into your old self, but in a lot of cases, that's impossible. I don't know what to tell you because we've just started our sessions. What I would like for you to do, is to pick up a small tape recorder and keep it beside your bed. Whenever you feel like you're turning into your feminine self, I want you to use the recorder to describe your new feelings and thoughts. Then when you come in to see me next week, bring the tape with you. If it's blank, that's good because it means that you're dreaming your life as a woman. If it has something on it, that's also good because it gives me further insight into the other personality that you say that you're developing. I also want you to get a Polaroid camera and start taking some photographs of yourself when you think that you're dressed as a woman. Again, it will be proof that it's all a dream." After five more minutes of quick instructions, the doctor eases Paul to the door and shakes hands with him as he dismisses the confused young man. Walking back to his desk, he turns on his tape recorder and begins summarizing his notes and observations about his new patient. "Paul Davis is a twenty-two year old man, happily married to the lovely Bernice Davis who is on track to be my personal research assistant when she graduates next year. At this time, they've been married seven months. The patient is currently experiencing severe mental confusion and is having problems separating his nighttime dream life from his real life. The patient has the same recurring fantasies every night and has recently started expanding the fantasies into other aspects of life as a single woman. Based upon the patient's own observation, his real sex life is dying while his fantasy sex life is improving. The patient has got to the point where aspects of his fantasy life are working into his real life. He sometimes answers the phone using his woman's voice and has started shaving his legs. If this trend keeps up, he'll soon be wearing his wife's clothes in real life and will start living his fantasy life as his real life. The patient described the revulsion that he felt at first with the phone sex, but now has accepted some of the changes in his attitude. This was noted when he described buying some falsies for his bra and going back to let the strange man in the bar kiss him. Mister Davis has some strong compulsions which I probably won't be able to help him hide." Turning off the recorder, he glances at the time and his schedule. It's another half hour until his next appointment. Opening a small cabinet behind his desk, he pours himself a glass of vodka. Carrying his glass as he sips on his drink, he goes through the door that leads into the private adjoining office where his personal research assistant is working on their current research project. Sitting down in a comfortable chair across from her as she continues with her task of labeling and storing the film and tapes that she's just made, the doctor stares at the young woman's beauty. If this woman was dark-haired, she would make a perfect Xena, with her strong chin, naturally-rosy red cheeks and deep blue eyes combined with a tall body that looks like a natural Amazonian blonde-haired Virgin. Her body isn't bulky or overly masculine looking, but rather reminds people of a lithe deadly cobra that you don't want to mess with. That is, unless you're willing to pay the ultimate price for displeasing her. As always, he's quite pleased with how lucky he is to have such a beautiful, intelligent and dedicated woman working with him on this research project. Not many people would be so willing to become so personally involved in a research project such as their current one. Not many people would be so willing to participate so that they marry someone just because the potential spouse is a perfect candidate for their research project. Bernice Davis is that dedicated. Holding up his glass in a congratulatory gesture, Doctor Brantley toasts their success so far "Seven months into the project and we're a month ahead of schedule. If we keep this pace going, in only two short months, Paul Davis will cease to exist and Sylvia Davis will take her rightful place in your bed. By that time, Paul will be so ready to become a woman that he'll beg me to medically authorize him to proceed with the breast implants. Another two, maybe three months later and the new Sylvia will suggest to you that your marriage relationship is over and that she wants you to be her best friend. Then after the divorce, she'll move in with her new boyfriend and complete our project. At that time, we can stop our nightly hypnotic sessions and let nature take its own course at the further conversion of our research project." She looks up from the video tape that she's just recorded of Paul's discussion with the doctor. Smiling at her co-conspirator, she laughs "I almost burst out laughing loud when he described the little trick that we pulled on him with the blouse and skirt. I followed him through the store and bought the same outfit only minutes after he left. Then substituted my never-been-worn outfit for his just-tried-on outfit in the closet. Yeah, that was great but the best was when you handed him the notebook and told him to write the number down. I told you that I have him so much in my hypnotic control that he wouldn't be able to remember the number except when he's dressed as Sylvia. And did you notice that he also didn't recognize your voice. He would have shit in his britches if he'd realized that the man who Sylvia talks through phone sex every night, is you. Thanks to my hypnotic skills, he's got a strong image of a virile handsome man on the other end of the phone and even if he had recognized your voice, he wouldn't have believed it because of my nightly hypnotic session with him." The doctor laughs "Yeah, it's going so great. I thought that you were taking too long to prepare him, but now I see that you've got him so much under control that there's no way that he won't turn himself into a woman. When you came to me about nine months ago and told me that you wanted to do this for your research project, I didn't believe that you would pull it off. After all, it involved marrying him, moving in with him and having sex with him on a frequent basis." She puts the tape away then opens a folder. Reading from the folder, she says "So this started out as simply a research project for me and something for you to grade so that I get my degree on schedule. Now that we're into it, I'm finding messing with people's minds so much fun that I don't think I can quit. I made some mistakes with Paul and took much too long to get him to this stage. Looking back at what we did, I know that we could've done it in one third of the time. What would you say if I found someone else and messed with their mind and sense of identity? If we're careful about who we select and what the final result is, we could provide a very effective service. Now that we've got confidence in our methods, we can make a difference in the world. I know that there's people out there that want to be transformed but don't have the courage to proceed." "How would you find your next subject?" "Through the Internet. I'll document Paul's story and write it as if it's a story. Then I'll post it on a couple of appropriate newsgroups and wait for the e-mails to start rolling in. There will be people who read the story and can read beyond it as being a lot more than just an act of fantasy. Those people will respond with their desires and describe what they want to be transformed into. I'll send them e-mail's with hypnotic suggestions in the e-mail. Before you know it, we'll have several Sylvia's happily living the new life that I've built for them." A broad smile brightens the doctor's normal placid expression. Holding up a single finger as if to ask a question, he peers over the rim of his glasses at the attractive young blonde while asking "Hypnotizing people through an e-mail? Impossible." She rises to her feet, thrusting out her chest and chin with just a hint of stubborn pride in her voice "No. It can be done. I know it. All I need is a chance. I'll write a story describing what I've done to Paul so far, being careful to change Paul's name so that our secret is still safe and within my story, I'll tell them what I can do to them. Then the ones that believe in me and my hypnotic e-mail ability, will write directly to me and tell me what they want me to do to them. I'll carefully read their responses and pick a select couple of subjects for the proof. Anyone who sends a message with the subject 'TAKE ME FIRST MISTRESS' will be among my first converts. First, I'll write back to them to flush out the details of their desired transformation with each e-mail taking them to a deeper layer of hypnotic control. That'll lull them into opening up to me and becoming my friend. Then I'll write a short story about how I sent them my hypnotic e-mails and transformed them. When they read the final story in a month or so, the combined effects of my hypnotic e-mails and reading my story will transform them into the heroine of my story." "I don't know about this. Fooling with the Internet can be very unpredictable. You're liable to get thousands of responses and then piss off a hell of a lot of people because you don't have time to select all of them." She laughs a throaty laugh as she throws her head back slightly, causing her already out-thrust full breasts to almost burst the delicate bra cups restraining her womanly curves. Putting her hands on her hips and standing in a spread-wide stance so that she looked like she was welcoming his challenge, she answers his prophecy "You don't know shit about the people that read stories on the Internet. Most of them don't know how to respond to stories and just sit on their fat asses waiting for someone to write another story for their ten minutes of pleasure. No, those fools will be too lazy to respond, even once to let someone know that it was a decent story. Out of the thousands of people who will read my eventual story, only a couple of select few will have the balls.. Hell, only a few will have the common decency to respond to my story. And those select few are the ones that I'm after. Just by them responding, means that I've got initial dominance over them. Then if they are so bold as to initially tell me what I've requested without me having to draw it out of them in subsequent e-mails, I've got them in an early stage two. Yes, there will be a few that respond and those are my chosen few. By Christmas, I'll have them wearing panties full time and acknowledging me as being the ultimate goddess. By this time next year, at least half of those select few will be living the new life that I'm going to build for them." The doctor holds his glass in both hands and stares at it as if looking into the remaining vodka will reveal the future to him. When he speaks, his words are slow and deliberate as if the discussion is going beyond the joking phase and he's seriously considering her suggestions "Mathematically, it might work. If you get your story out so that thousands, or even millions read it, then it increases your potential of finding the select few. How do you plan to make sure that your so-called story gets the widest distribution?" She walks across the room toward him, walking seductively so that his attention is pulled away from the half-filled glass and staring at her lush body. Standing in front of his chair, she easily pulls the glass from his limp hands. Tilting her head back, she easily swallows the remaining vodka in one quick gulp. Dropping the empty glass onto his lap, she whispers "I'm going to pretend that I'm someone who's already built a fairly large reader base. I've found someone that writes some very readable stories that attracts the most intelligent of the general story reader population. He was badly hurt in an automobile wreck last year and between problems with his injuries which still continue to bother him, his constant travel because of work and other personal problems, he hasn't been on the Internet much over the last couple of years. I've found a way to intercept his e-mail so all of the responses to that story will come to me. When his readers see an announcement of a new story, they'll sit down in a quite room and stare at their computer tube as they read what they think is his story. Then. BOOM!!! I've got them. When they respond to his e-mail address, my server robot will re-direct his mail to me and my subsequent e-mail to them will have his address. That way, if anything ever goes wrong, they'll go after the poor slob thinking that he was doing this and I'll move on to better things." The doctor slowly rises to his feet and locks eyes with the beautiful but headstrong woman. He knows that there isn't any way that he'll ever refuse her. Just like Paul, this woman dominates him and he'll do whatever she wants him to do. Nodding his head as his approval for her to proceed, he walks slowly back toward his office and next appointment. As soon as the door has shut behind him, Bernice makes the universal motion recognized as "YES". Going back to her desk, she pushes a tape into the player. Sitting in front of the computer, she puts a headphone on her ears and listens to the first part of the tape for a minute. Then she types the following into her computer: _Sleeper By Waldo([email protected]) "Mister Davis, I assure that it's perfectly normal to have erotic dreams. In fact, if you've never had an erotic dream, you wouldn't be normal at all." "Doctor Brantley, you weren't listening to me. I said that I've had the same damn dream every night for the last three months. And nothing about it, is the least exotic to me. It scares the shit out of me when I wake up and the memory is so .. vivid, so fresh in my mind that I remember every detail as if it actually happened to me. I can't take too many more nights of dreaming that same dream. I'm almost scared now to go to sleep." Opening a desk drawer, she pulls out a bottle of vodka that she removed from the doctor's office earlier. Taking a stiff drink of the liquid, she briefly shuts her eyes as the first burning drops of liquid coat her throat. Pressing the play button on the tape again, she listens to the next minute of tape that she recorded earlier. On her face is a grinning smile that few people have ever seen. It's similar to the smile that a cat has after it has somehow found its way into a bird cage filled with captive birds. THE END (at least of this story)