You're back in your own house. It's daylight, but something's wrong. You see stuff is wrong. The doorway is
too narrow, and the stove is on the wrong side of the kitchen. But otherwise you know it's your house alright,
just someone else's dream version of it. Someone is seated at your dad's place at the table, but all you can
see is hands holding a newspaper. The hands don't look like your dad's.
"Good morning?" you say as you head to your place at the breakfast table.
"Good morning, Roxanne," says your cousin's father lowering his newspaper.
"Uh, what's going on?" you ask uncertainly.
"Oh, you mean where is everybody? Well, my wife made breakfast and then rushed off to do her hair, she's got
something to do with her women's club later this morning. And since it is a Saturday, I guess my son Richard
decided to sleep in."
"About my parents?" you ask uncertainly.
"Oh, yes, Roxanne, we told you at the funeral that your parents' will left you well provided, so you can stay
here with us until you're 25," he said sympathetically.
Okay, whose dream is this? Auntie's? Or Richard's?
The room shifted. Suddenly, Uncle Joe and Auntie Elaine were next to the door. Joe was dressed in khaki slacks
and bright green polo shirt now and had a golf bag. Auntie Elaine was wearing her Sunday best. They bother
were pretty lovey dovey.
"Well, I'll drop Elaine off at the Country Club for her Women's group, and play around of golf. Roxanne, make
sure that Richard eats all his breakfast, and have a good day. We should be home by 7 or 8 tonight."
Then they were gone.
You look down at yourself. You're in a flannel nightgown, but you're still most definitely your old male self.
Why are they calling you Roxanne. You look at your reflection in the toaster and your own face stares back.
"Hey, Roxy, my morning wood needs attention," Dick says as he enters wearing your black and grey checked robe.
It's not tied, and hanging open you can see he's wearing your monogrammed boxer shorts that Grandmother gave
you for Christmas. The boxers are tented with his morning erection.
You open your mouth, but suddenly you're not seated in the chair but on your knees facing it, as Dick
straddles it and sits down.
"How can this be your nightmare, Dick?" you ask.
"What?" there's a confused look on his face, "Bro, what are you doing on your knees? Are you gay or
something?"
You're no longer dressed in a flannel nightgown, but in little boy pajamas with Spider-Man on them. You get
up silently, and sit at the other plate of food at the breakfast table. It is usually Dick's place. His
dream version is more muscular and confident looking than his real self, and he's got hair on his normally
smooth chest.
You both eat silently. Then suddenly, you're in the shower. Both of you! You're naked and lathering each
other up. You step under the torrent of water rinsing off, and say, "I'm done." Then hastily get out of the
shower leaving Dick alone in the shower.
Does he have some sort of weird attraction to you or maybe in his nightmare he thinks you have one to him?
What's causing this choppy weird dream? You grab the only towel on the towel bar - it's a hand towel and rush
out of the bathroom to your bedroom.
"Alp!" you shout.
The door flies open, and naked and dripping Dick stands there. His eyes and teeth sparkle, "What's the matter,
bro? I'm here to help!"
He freezes in mid stride with his naked dick freezing in mid-flop. Alp is there.
"You can see why I assigned you to Dick's nightmare. You seem to play a pivotal role," he explained.
"Is he gay or does he think he's gay? Or what?"
"Couldn't say, but this isn't his dream, anymore than that Snaky dream was yours. An outside source is
creating it. Perhaps because the source thinks Dick is gay or a homophobe or just because the incestuous
nature of the dream would and is freaking him out. It could be the source of this nightmare is actually
attracted to Dick, and is using you vicariously as Roxanne. You see in Cyrano - Roxanne is wooed by a
surrogate, so you may be the surrogate for the interloper or perhaps your cousin's dream was intended for you.
The source of the interference in my domain is strongest in your house. Everyone is having nightmares,
perhaps they aren't having the intended ones. Or perhaps someone has placed a dream curse on your whole
household," Alp rattles on hurriedly, "Since I'm not in control here, I can only pause the dream so long." You
notice sweat on the child's brow. He trembles from the strain. He looks around, and continues, "We need
something for you to be rescued from. How about the snake from the other dream?" He waves his hand and it
appears on the bed. He glances at you and Dick, and waves his hand again. You both are wrapped around the
waist in full-size towels. Then he is gone and Dick continues to stride forward.
"S-s-snake!" you say pointing at the bed.
He stares at you and then at the bed as though this wasn't what he was expecting. Then he grabs the snake by
the tail and swings it like a whip smashing its head against the wall.
Holding the big lifeless snake in his hand, Dick looks at it, and asks, "Where did he come from? It looks
just like the snake my buddy had when I was 12, but that thing died 3 or 4 years ago?"
Mixed up dreams?
"What did your friend look like?"
"Oh, Al? He was my age and had long straight black hair and green eyes. Oh, and he did the best magic tricks,
even had a tuxedo, cape, top hat and cane," Dick said as he reminisced. He sighed, "I haven't seen him since
the divorce. Divorce?" He sounded confused, his parents were at the Country Club, they weren't divorced. Or
were they? He rubbed his head with his free hand.
"No. No. No."
The words are muffled and seem to be coming from the ceiling or attic.
"Something's interfering - I know!"
Suddenly, everything shifted again.
This time you are wearing black leather shorts with a steel chain belt secured by a padlock and chained to the
pool table in the basement. A tennis ball is jammed in your mouth and secured by a jockstrap gag. This time
Dick is in a black leather harness wearing black leather chaps and a black leather jockstrap. He's staring at
the bullwhip in his hand which had been the dead snake just a moment ago. You notice his chest hair is gone,
and his muscular body seems more muscular and freshly oiled.
"Now what?" he says uncertainly.
You shout into the tennis ball. The fuzz seems to be coming off on your tongue.