WHAT DREAMS MAY COME....

 WHAT DREAMS MAY COME...

By:  Randy Gillis

I have a cadre of favorite on-line information depositories that I like to skim through on a regular basis; TIME, NEWSWEEK, JOE.MY.GOD, HarrisonFordnaked.com, THE DAILY BEAST, CNN, MSNBC, THE HUFFINGTON POST and CHARISMA MAGAZINE.  I like to keep my fingers on the pulse of current events in this world and the netherworld (and on Harrison Ford’s nether parts). 

For my spiritual nourishment, nothing fills me faster than CHARISMA MAGAZINE.  I was skimming the latest update when one title in particular leapt off the screen and practically bitch-slapped my slack-jawed face.  ‘CAN YOU BE RAPED BY THE DEVIL?’ 

 

As you can probably guess, I couldn’t read fast enough.  And the faster I read, the angrier I got.  For example, the author references a work by Contessa Adams, a former stripper who found Christ in 1979 (it was a slow night and he was lingering in the VIP lounge):

“These spiritual rapists, as Adams describes in her book, CONSEQUENCES, often prey on people by performing sexual acts through nightmares and erotic dreams.  Some people become so dependent upon these demonic experiences that they actually look forward to them.”

I don’t have much in this life, but I at least have my nightmares and erotic sex dreams.  Or so I thought.  Apparently not even my dreams are my own.  I continued reading and there it was, spelled out for me:

“The two most identifiable sexual demons are the incubus, which is a male sexual demon that traditionally assaults women, and the succubus, which is a female sexual demon that traditionally assaults men…..”

….and then there’s…..KYYYYYLE!  

I printed the article and stormed into the living room.  Kyle was curled up on the couch, licking himself and watching a HELL’S KITCHEN marathon.  I threw the article down in front of him.  “Is this true?” I screamed.  Kyle skimmed the article and calmly looked up at me.  “In all the years I’ve been having erotic dreams and sexual nightmares,” I lectured, “I’ve never once had a…a….nocturnal emission, and I want to know why!” I demanded.  “Were all those dream ‘situations’ really implants from you?  And if they were, why couldn’t you at least once…pull the train into the station as it were?”  Kyle just stared at me.  “Answer me!” I screamed.  “And another thing,” I continued, not giving him time to respond.  “Are you an incubus moonlighting as a succubus or a succubus trapped in an incubus’ body!?  And another thing,” I screeched. “Why don’t PHD-level physicists ever have to deal with this kind of bullshit?”  

Kyle slowly uncoiled himself and sat perfectly prim and proper.  I got a tad nervous as you should probably not scream at a gay demon while he’s ‘grooming’ himself.

“First of all,” Kyle began, with a slow patience that only superior intelligence can afford, “I will ignore the ‘tone’ of your question as I’m sure it’s something you regret already.  Secondly, though I have tried my hand at dream weaving with you, all my suggestions fell on deaf ears.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.  “I mean, when it comes to homoerotic imagery, you needed no help whatsoever,” he replied.  I sighed with relief.  “So my perversions really are my own,” I boasted.  “Not only are they your own, they’re some of the best I’ve seen.  My favorite is the one of you and Indiana Jones climbing up that rope ladder against the side of the cliff, you know, he’s climbing first holding his magic stones and you are following….and he’s wearing Daisy Dukes and no underwear.”  “That’s one of my favorites too,” I blushed.

“How about the one where I implant myself into the battle scene in 300 and slowly, one soldier at a time, turn it into a veritable love fest,” I asked.  “Oh my god,” Kyle said, “I still bring that one up in lectures.”

I plopped down on the couch next to Kyle, relieved that my mind is really my own and not some dandy devil's playground.  “And then there were the ‘Jean-Luc Picard’ years,” Kyle continued.  “Patrick Stewart single-handedly got me through the 90’s,” I pined.

“Of course there’s that one dream that I still to this day can’t explain,” I said.  “I mean, it came from so far out of left field.  That time that I dreamt I was having sex with Lilly Tomlin, or rather, that dream where Lilly Tomlin told me I was going to have sex with her,” I corrected.  I looked over and Kyle had a sheepish grin on his face.  “Hey!” I protested.  “I thought you said…” “I said I attempted,” Kyle interrupted.  “That was my attempt.”  “But, why Lilly Tomlin,” I asked.  “She was so bossy.  It was all ‘now you’re going to do this’ and ‘no, you’re doing it wrong’ and ‘no, more like this.’  It was very….clinical.”  “I don’t know,” Kyle said.  “I was watching that YouTube video of her and that director throwing things and cussing each other out.  I just thought it would be funny.”

“Well, I’m glad that we got that settled,” I said as I stood up and headed to the door.  “I can sleep peacefully tonight, knowing that my dreams are truly mine.”  I stopped at the door and turned to Kyle.  “Right?” I reaffirmed.  “Absolutely sweet cheeks,” Kyle said as I continued to my bedroom.  “It’s all you…and Turner Home Classics…and Cinemax After Dark…and.....
Netflix …and...here's to more unpleasant dreams.....