Chapter 1: Dream a Little Dream

Dead asleep, I soon became aware that I was dreaming. Dreaming was common, being aware of the fact was not. Intrigued, I allegorically "sat back" to see where this dream was heading.

From what I have read, we dream and, so doing, organize our recollections of the events of the day. It seemed that I was doing so tonight, as I recalled watching Maryann move through her part of our day. I recalled admiring her derriere, and bathing in the sunshine of her smile. She was cute, glowing with the beauty of a woman of 20 or 22 years, not the thirty the calendar had graced her with.

I wondered if I could skew the narrative of my dream. I "thought" I could nudge Maryann a bit, as if I were to plant inside her mind the suggestion that she might smile at me for a moment longer than was proper. Surprisingly, "Dream Maryann" did just that, and it was as if the interaction opened a window into her heart. Her steady gaze appeared to be that of a lover, not colleague, and she drew her lower lip inward, lowering her gaze but not her eyes. The entire effect was of a woman, innocent and tempting, both naïve and self aware of the effect she had upon vulnerable men. Such as me.

This was encouraging. I wondered if she would skip wearing a bra tomorrow. Her dream self spoke not, instead responding with a teasing slight grin. She rocked back and forth, as if to wag her head "No," but her hand crept to twirl a lock of hair.

I grinned back in my imagination, and internally figured that I would see if this lucid dreaming business had anything to it. I repeated my "suggestion" that she not wear a bra to work tomorrow, and she again performed the flirtatious young girl dance. Unwilling to push overly far, I again "sat back", and decided that I would watch the rest of the dream unfold. Right around then was when I was awakened when the dog decided that the cat was breathing too much of her air, and needed to be chased, squalling, from the bedroom.

Separating the warring pets, I returned to bed and, settling in, returned to sleep. I did not recall any further dreaming once I awakened for work the next day.

Waiting for the coffee to perk (And, I can tell you, from extensive steely eyed observation, that staring at the coffeepot does in no way speed up the production of coffee!), my mind wandered. I recalled the dream "conversation" with Maryann, and wondered if she thought that it had happened, as well. How would she react? Would she simply wonder why she would dream about an older guy admiring her, or might she in fact be susceptible to my attentions? If she were receptive, how might she demonstrate this? Contemplating her potential braless state today at work, and where that might lead, started to produce an erection. Maryann was petite, and curvy. Her dark hair framed a face with elvin features, dark eyes, ever present smile, clear glowing skin, and a demeanor of one who was waiting to see if you could identify the little trick that she had played upon you.

After several moments of reverie, the ending of the wheezing of the coffeemaker shook me back to the present, and I made my coffee, and got organized for my day.

Once at work, I tried to surreptitiously gauge her wardrobe choices. No perky nipples showed themselves, and I could see no bra strap shadow through the tee shirt she wore beneath her scrubs.

Working in a clinic, you occasionally encounter someone who appears to be gunning for that Darwin Award. One such soul appeared, Darwinian in choice of friends (dolts), even if you discount the genius involved in letting your diabetes run you over. The Lead Dolt burst into our lobby, and announced that Our Hero had "done fell out", and that we needed to Do Something. As this clever assessment was being shared, Thing One and Thing Two were manhandling Our Hero from the vehicle and into our lobby, as well, there to dump him upon the floor with a thud.

Our poor receptionist issued a call to action, and we meandered into the lobby. Once there, Sandra directed the receptionist to call Our Friends At The Fire Department, to elicit an ambulance. The rest of us hoisted Our Hero onto a stretcher, and trundled him into our procedure room.

Maryann got vitals (He was breathing! Score!), and Karen started an IV. I figured that too much of a good thing was just about enough, and stepped behind Maryann to get another IV setup. I steadied her (and myself) by placing my hand in the middle of her back (right about the level of her bra strap, as it happened), and noted in passing that there was no bra strap there. I extricated myself from the supply cart corner, and took Our Hero's other arm, starting a second IV. About that time Sandra announced that the blood sugar meter was reading "HIGH!" (yes, it shouts just like that. That's when you know this soul's sugar Is Really High!) (No, not really. That simply tells you it is north of 600. Normally, it hovers around 100. Not good. When it is higher than 600, and you are inert, you are, however, really, really sick.)

We poured in the IV fluids, and started charting. Sandra got on the phone with The Big City Big Time Hospital Trauma Center And Emergency Department (I will never know how they fit all that onto their letterhead!), and gave report. Our Friends At The Fire Department arrived, started their own brand of Pre Hospital Magic, and whisked Our Hero off to the ER. We exhaled. Curiously, once we went to the lobby to talk with The Lead Dolt, Thing One and Thing Two, they had disappeared, as if supernatural forces had intervened.

We scattered, Sandra to chart, Maryann to restock, Karen and I to start to work our way through the patients already present when the drama had started.

A couple of hours later, things had slowed enough for us to start taking our lunches. Maryann and I happened to be first. I was just digging in to my reheated left overs, when Maryann breezed in to the lunch room. As her food heated, she sat next to me. She looked at me for a long moment, and, just as I was about to ask her what I had stuck in my teeth, she spoke.

"Bob, do you ever remember your dreams?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

"I had this dream the other night, and it was kind of unusual."

"How so?"

"Well, you were in it, for one thing. The other is, we were sort of talking."

"Oh? Talking about what?"

"Well, you wanted me to hold your gaze. I got sort of tingly when our eyes met, and then you told me you didn't want me to wear a bra today. I don't do that, but with you telling me to, it seemed like that would make it OK." She paused. "You know, I have talked with Sandra."

"And what did she tell you?"

"She has had those same kind of dreams, and they included you. You made her do things, she told me."

"'Made' her? What do you mean? How? And, what sort of 'things'?"

"You told her to not wear a bra, and you told her to do things, and she did them! When you told her, in her dream, she couldn't not do it!"

I regarded her for a moment. Maryann was flushed, and breathing more rapidly than the dinging of the "microwave finished" alarm would account for. I asked her, again. "What sort of things? Do you mean to tell me that, telling her, as you term it, in some sort of dream, compels her to perform as I direct? How is it that I can intrude on a woman's dreams, and direct her to do things?"