PHANTOM IMPULSE

B. McGILLICUDDY

He was lying on his back, just like in reality, so he thought he had woken up, and right beside him was a vision of an impossible lover. She was sitting back, with her reading glasses on and a book, thickly paged, opened at its center.
"What are you doing here?" He asked her.
"I'm reading a book, numbnuts. What's it look like?"
"I mean, here, on my bed, in your pajamas."
"Iiiit's my bed tooooo!" She said in that atonal sing-songy way she said things when stating the obvious. This was her typical princess moment, where he felt like he was denying her something even if she had it all. He sat up and looked down at his feet. The bed was clean, and he didn't remember cleaning it.
"I'm at this part in the book where Sylvan lunges at Minerva! He pins her wrists to the wall of the dining hall and voraciously begins making out with her!"
"You know, as much as I adore you, I truly do not care about your love stories. Never have, never will."
"I know, but sometimes you just need to vent you know? I'm feeling so much passion in my mind, and there's no one to share it with, except you hubbie-dubbie!"
Hubbie? Fuck. I'm in a dream. I'm in a dream where we're married. Awesome.
"Sluggerfuck." He said aloud.
"What's wrong?" She said, making her "I'm genuinely interested in how you're feeling" face and voice, even looking over her glasses for effect. This dream was too much, the details too real. He suddenly really, really, really just wanted to wake up and order some pizza, but then she asked again.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
"I, uh, I need to get out of here."
"Wait. Why! What's the problem?"
"I just, this is uber stressful. I can't handle it."
"Awww, what? Something happen with your work today? Is something bugging you about tonight's editing session?"
"Tonight's edit? What edit?"
"You said you were editing the fight sequence in your movie today. You're always saying," she began mocking his oafishness, "'fight scenes are always so haaaarrrrd, because I'm always fighting convention! Crouching Tiger this, Matrix that, eff the Wachowski sibs! Blah bl-blah bla-blaaaah.'" All of this she said with the cute, unadulterated mannerisms of a four year old. She had a way of making fun of him that made him fall more and more in love with her. He then decided to stick this one out. She went back again to genuinely caring, like she ever-so-suddenly would in their platonic heyday. "That's probably it huh?" She reached over and started rubbing his shoulders with her left hand. She put the book on the coffee table and started massaging him. To his surprise, it was actually making him feel extremely calm. She stopped for a moment, like she was teasing him, but when he looked over to her, she had gotten out from beneath the comforter and was pulling it off of him too. He said no words, just watched, because in reality they had never gotten too friendly, and he was curious what this dreamgirl version was inclined to do.
She straddled him, taking off her bulky bedtime shirt, and she looked down at him with a comedic version of a puppy's curious face, her head cocked to the side. She bounced her boobs up and down with her hands. "Boing, boing! You hard yet?"
He cracked an ear-to-ear grin, "Yes ma'am, very much so," he said.
As she leaned in, putting her hands on the backboard, slowly enveloping him, she whispered, to his face, "You're going to make me lots and lots of babies."
"AAAAAHHH!"
He was awake. Wet dream. Awesome. I really, really, really need to get laid. Wonder if Dominos is open.

B. McGILLICUDDY