Dream Lover

After an hour long wait, and another half hour being poked and prodded in a degrading yet purely clinical way during his physical exam, Sally was eager to ditch the useless paper gown and get back into her own clothes. There was just one last piece of business to attend to.

“Doc, I’ve been having a bunch of trouble sleeping lately, and the Ambien doesn’t seem to work anymore. Any chance you could prescribe that new sleeping pill, Slumberol?”

“Perhaps. But you’ll need to see if it can help you first. I have some samples I can give you to try. But you’ll need authorization from your insurance company for a full prescription, and of course, stop taking it if you start to have the dreams.”

“Silly man!” Sally thought. “The dreams are exactly WHY I want the prescription!”

Slumberol was perhaps eclipsing Oxycontin as the most abused drug in the country right now, which is why one had to jump through a lot of hoops to get a prescription. But most physicians handed out samples freely, and Sally had collected samples from nearly a dozen different sources lately. She could not bring herself to buy the pills off the street, because there were rumors about people getting really screwed up taking knock-off formulations.

The reason Slumberol was so popular was because a common side-effect was particularly vivid dreams. Sexual dreams. The kind of sex dreams that leave you weak in the knees and craving a cigarette. Every fantasy fulfilled in gloriously rich detail without the risk of an unwanted pregnancy, an STD, or finding out he’s an asshole when he’s been drinking and he owes money to the IRS.

Sally sipped on her glass of wine, and stepped into her favorite nightie. It felt silky against her skin, with titillating lace inserts in all the right places. It made the most of her average cleavage, showed off the toned legs she worked hard to achieve at the gym, yet was still quite comfortable to wear. Of course, it really didn’t matter how she was dressed once she fell asleep, but why not set the right mood while she was still awake? Already, she felt much sexier than her job as a payroll clerk would indicate. She then carefully remade her bed with the waterproof sheets. While the dreams were imaginary, the orgasms were not. And they could be… messy. One night she counted 19 separate climaxes. Needless to say, that night she was the run-away victor in her fantasy game show, “Keep The Money Cumming”.

As the warmth of the wine spread from her stomach outward, Sally began to relax. Every muscle eschewed tension and her body became as pliable as a warm noodle. Her eyes were heavy as the Slumberol began to kick in. Slowly, the pinks and greens of her girly apartment bedroom gave way to the white tile and stainless of the doctor’s office from earlier today. The tiny patient gown (that now felt much more like satin than paper) hugged her curves and rode high up on her thighs. The only thing she was wearing was a pair of insanely high heels in Lucifer Red. Sally always felt sexy and powerful in high heels. The cold steel of the examination table was stimulating against her bare butt. Eagerly, she anticipated the doctor’s arrival.

“Good afternoon!” called a warm, masculine voice from just outside the door. This was not the chunky, middle-aged doctor from earlier today. As he entered, she saw he was taller and in his mid-thirties, with a lean tennis body and a natural tan, set off with nearly black wavy hair and crystal blue eyes as inviting as a warm, Caribbean pool. He flashed a perfect white smile at Sally as those blue eyes practically twinkled. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I can’t seem to find… release.” She said coyly. “Is there something you can do to help?” Sally brushed her hair back from her eyes, making sure that the tiny gown shifted, offering a peek of an exposed nipple. She was careful not to fix it when she lowered her arm. She felt it harden under his gaze.

“Just lay back, and we’ll see if there’s a physical reason for your problem.”

Sally did as she was told, submitting herself to his control. She was sure he could see her excitement now. He put his warm hands on either side of her face, and looked deeply into her eyes. He reached for his flashlight and checked her pupils’ reaction to the light. He then then slid his hands along her neck, pausing to check for swollen glands. Satisfied, he worked his hands lower and raised her arms – first the left and then the right. He slid his hand alongside her breasts, lingering, teasing, as he gently palpated the area just below her armpit feeling for tender lymph nodes. His hands glided to her abdomen, pushing firmly with the tips of his fingers, first on the left, then on the right.

“Let me know if this hurts.”

Sally practically moaned her reply, “You’re doing just fine, Doc!”

His hands slid lower, just above Sally’s neatly trimmed pubic hair. “How about now?” “Or now?”

“Even better!” Sally breathed, eyes closed and her face flushed. The gown was now somewhere up around her waist.

“Hmmm. I think I see your problem. I can fix you up right here and now.”

Sally’s lips quivered with anticipation as the doctor turned away from the table.

There was a slight pause, and then the snap of a latex glove. “This may be a little unorthodox and messy, but I guarantee you will feel immediate relief!”

Sally finally opened her eyes, eagerly anticipating a glimpse of the doctor’s naked, muscled chest. Instead, the doctor had donned a splatter shield and apron in addition to his gloves. An enormous knife was poised just above her abdomen. Shocked, she felt the blade pierce skin, then muscle, then vital organs as the doctor slowly applied his weight to the handle, driving it deeper and deeper into her body. At some point he severed an artery, and blood spurted all over the ceiling and the doctor’s face shield. He smiled that perfect smile, his perfect white teeth stained with her bright red blood. She could feel the life draining out of her. The edges of her vision closed in as the pulsing arterial flow around the blade slowed to a stop.

“Code Blue Room 221!” came the call over the intercom. Nurses and doctors hustled down the hallway pushing several carts full of gear. “Get the adrenaline ready!” “Start compressions!”

“Not again!” muttered the floor nurse. Poor woman!

“We’ve got a rhythm!” “Start her on oxygen!”

The darkness retreated from Sally’s vision, as a searing heat caused her chest to squeeze excruciatingly tight. She had a quick vision of a masked nurse hooking a flexible hose to the hard plastic tube running down her throat. The cold, dry oxygen stung her raw throat as it flowed into her lungs, but moments later she gently drifted back into the embrace of unconsciousness.

As the nurses and doctors slowly filed out of the room, the floor nurse went into the room to clean up. Paper wrappers and other discarded bits from sterile bandages, syringes, and wire leads littered the floor. She survived yet another one. Thankfully, the woman remained sedated. Half a dozen burn marks from the defibrillator scarred her chest. This was the third time she arrested just this week. That was the problem with these Slumberol overdoses. The nightmares would literally kill them. And without a DNR order, it could kill them a dozen times or more before their bodies became too weak to resuscitate…