Chapter 12:
To Uranus and Beyond
I drove north to Reno and then headed west toward the high mountain pass where the Donner party had had each other for dinner. The violent scene with Tina kept replaying in my mind, since my still-stinging eyebrow kept reminding me of it. Tina's and Angie's obsession with the current UFO media frenzy had inspired her to rave about fetuses being abducted by "cocksuckin' aliens", which I thought ridiculous even though every lab technician I had seen at the fertility clinic sported blond hair and blue eyes. Crossing over Donner Pass, I chuckled at what Tina had said, and told myself with a tinge of reassurance: Aliens are very real but that idea is fucking stupid. No sense freaking-out over nothing - those bozos at the clinic just made a mistake, that's all. I can't believe all the UFO stuff on TV lately - half of it is bullshit.
Three hours later I arrived in sun scorched Yuba City, California, and on to nearby Beale Air Force Base, home of the incredible Lockheed SR-71 spy plane, nicknamed "Blackbird". When the Blackbird became operational in the early 60s, its design was light-years ahead of any other aircraft in the world, and its existence was not even acknowledged by the U.S. government. Its top speed was supposedly 2,200 MPH, but it was really more like 2,500. It could fly so high, at over 100,000 feet, that it could almost be considered a spacecraft. Even in 1991 the Blackbird still had the most advanced airframe in the world. It had been designed as a truly stealth aircraft. By trial-and-error experimentation - using radar beams - Lockheed designed the fuselage with a unique concave diamond shape, rendering it almost invisible to radar.
At the main gate of the air base, a very tall and squeaky-clean gate guard examined my Air Force I.D. card and said, "Just a second, sir." He checked his clipboard. "You need to report to the 9th Recon Wing Headquarters - briefing room number one. Just go two blocks and hang a right - you can't miss it."
Wing HQ was inside a three-story cinder block building which had all the charm of a housing-project apartment building. The duty officer at the front desk pointed the way to the briefing room.
As I signed-in at the front desk, I ran into Megan O'Sullivan, an ex-colleague of mine from the Remote Viewer Project, who smiled at me as she brushed aside a lock of long, red hair. She followed me into the briefing room, where Major Mel Function was waiting for us. Instead of an army uniform, Mel was dressed in Air Force blues. "Nice to see you again Megan, Denny. You two were judged as overall the most qualified remote viewers for Project Brainstorm. After showing the Air Force what you can do, by flying several test missions, you'll take turns flying over an as-yet unspecified target, to search for WMD using remote viewing techniques. We have the use of two SR-71s, which are specially modified to accommodate a third crew member. "
An hour later, after briefing us on our training schedule, Mel said, "Arrangements have been made for you to stay at the Bachelor Officer's Quarters. Get some rest, do some meditation - the usual RV preparations. At 0700 tomorrow, see the Flight Surgeon at the base hospital to start on your medical tests. Let's meet here at 1000 hours tomorrow. Oh, Denny - Lieutenant Lewis prescribed these for you" It was a 100-count bottle of fake Bayer aspirin containing THC extract. Each pill packed the punch of several pipe loads of good marijuana bud.
While walking with Megan to the parking lot, I complained, "I just had a huge fight with my girlfriend. Can you believe she threw me out of my own house?" For the first time in my adult life, I felt lonely and needed a shoulder to cry on.
Megan laughed. "I happen to know that you live with two girlfriends, Denny - I caught you daydreaming at work once. You're very naughty, you know."
"Very good, Snoopy - so they both threw me out. Hey, let's get drunk or something - it's still early. I might even let you try my magic aspirins."
"I don't use drugs to enhance my psychic skills, Stoner. Sex is much better."
"No kidding? Hmm. Well, here's my car. See you in a little while." Then it occurred to me that I hadn't thought about sex all day, which was something of a first for me.
At the BOQ, we discovered that we had been assigned adjacent rooms. I wondered if that was deliberate. I visited Megan in her room, which, like mine, came equipped with a 9-inch black-and-white TV. She was watching The Opal Winifred Show and the topic was husbands who get battered by their wives. Opal then announced, "Don't miss tomorrow's show - children who claim to have been abducted by aliens!..." After the first bottle of wine, Megan asked, "Have you ever studied Tantric Yoga, Denny? Hindus believe that sex can transport a person to other dimensions - be one with God."
"I used to practice it every day, years ago, but my chakras might be a little out of shape by now. I tried to get Angie into it once, but she’s not really the type."
"I might fit the bill - ha-ha. But seriously, can you imagine what would happen if we deliberately merged our minds during sex? Hypothetically, of course."
"You mean if we tried to feel what the other was feeling?” Now we locked eyes.
"Yes - feelings stacked on top of feelings - into Nirvana." She walked from her chair to a spot on her small bed.
"I sorta like you, Megan - you’re very attractive, but it would be much better if we were really in love. That's a lot of psychic energy to tap into."
"Let's pretend anyway," she replied sweetly. The waves of lustful emotion emanating from her made me forget about the possible consequences (certainly worse than a cut eyebrow and wounded pride), so I kissed her moaning mouth deeply.
Megan wrapped a long leg around one of mine, and then we got into bed - such as it was. The springs under the skimpy mattress groaned and squeaked as we kicked off our pants. I fell into her laughing Irish-green eyes and caressed her very soft, freckly white skin. We seemingly transformed into one another, and then we reached an equilibrium. My rough man-hands were squeezing my swollen, sensitive woman-breasts. I was falling in love with myself. I thought: I’m getting turned inside out! God, how can women stand it? Then: I’m fucking myself! O possess me, please, please! I sensed triumph sweeping across Megan’s mind: Yeah! Ride that cock, bitch! Hard enough for you? You know you love it! Then some rather more tender sentiments: Denny-I-love-you-so-much! As we climaxed explosively together, memories of Megan’s past sexual experiences replayed at high speed in my own mind. Now I knew what it was like to have a mouthful of semen - not particularly tasty.
Lying there quietly, holding each other, our minds were one, our spirits departing from our bodies as we shot into low Earth orbit before slinging round the far side of the Moon. In a flash, we quantum-jumped far beyond Saturn. Blotting out the stars, the translucent green Uranus glowed in front of us. "Let's rest here...God, Megan, I love you like I love myself."
"I can't stop coming - I feel so - O God!" Our spirits welded together. The saucers circling around us pulsed brightly at every crescendo of our ecstasy. Megan moaned, "Oh...Oh, this is starting to get scary! How do we get home?"
"Well, increased sexual stimuli usually brings me back to normal. Try to make your mouth suck my cock." Merely by my saying those words, and picturing it in my mind, we plummeted headlong down a billion-mile long shaft of brilliant light, splitting into our separate personalities.
Back in Megan's uncomfortable bed, I glanced at the clock. Only a minute had passed since we had begun our voyage, but it had felt like an hour.
Megan rubbed my stomach and then her hand worked its way down. “As you were saying? Heh-heh.” So she began fulfilling my previous suggestion. One minute later, after experiencing a giant, sloppy climax, I mumbled, "That was so…incredible.” Seconds later, reality set in: “I know I said I love you, Megan. But there's no way I could dump Angie or Tina. I’m a real jerk, I know - "
"Be quiet." A freckled finger crossed my lips. "I've wanted to do that with you since the first time we met. When I read your thoughts while you were daydreaming at work, I knew that I’d never be able to break up the three of you." Her cupid-bow lips touched my neck.
* * *
After Megan and I were medically certified for flight, we spent hours inside of a hyperbaric chamber in order to get accustomed to high-altitude air pressure. To test our ability to withstand high g-forces, we were spun in a centrifuge.
Before Mel briefed us about the upcoming missions over Iraq, he told me and Megan: "Please sign the NTD forms in front of you.” NTD stands for Never To Disclose. ”Your security clearance upgrades have been tentatively approved - Top Secret/Ultra, with need-to-know access to SCI Level-23(m)." SCI stands for Sensitive Compartmentalized Information - there are 33 main levels of SCI (just like Freemasonry, incidentally). I wasn't sure what (m) stood for. Years before, there was an MJ or Maj (for "Majestic") classification, pertaining to high-level access to government UFO secrets, until the MJ-12 media disclosures during the mid-1980s immediately stifled further use of those designations.
Mel said, "Okay - now that you've signed, I can brief you about Project Brainstorm. President Hedges and the Joint Chiefs of Staff now believe, based on the latest CIA intel, that there are dozens of Iraqi facilities producing weapons of mass destruction." I did not voice my skepticism, trusting that U.S. intelligence agency knew things about Iraq that I did not. On a screen was projected a map of Iraq with a multitude of symbols on it, each signifying the location of a suspected nuclear, biological or chemical facility. Mel continued: "However, air and water samples taken in Iraq revealed no large-scale production of plutonium.” No shit, I thought. “A more likely scenario is that Iraq had already purchased plutonium or enriched uranium on the open market - prior to the trade embargo, of course. Once they got it, they needed to store and guard the stuff. You can't just stash it in a warehouse, so it must be kept in a laboratory with strict security and strict scientific protocol. We have a hunch that several pounds of plutonium are being hidden in the physics lab at major Iraqi universities. So, after your aircrew training session today, study these floor plans of the physics departments of the University of Mosul and University of Baghdad. On Thursday you'll attend a three-hour lecture on the manufacture of plutonium and enriched uranium, so that you'll know what you are looking at during your Remote View." Mel glanced at his watch and said, "It's 11 o'clock now, so let's get to the flight line and meet your aircrews. We have a rough week ahead, people, so you'll be seeing them much more than each other," he added innocently.
Suddenly my skin got ice-cold and goosepimply. I said, "I have a bad feeling about the mission, Mel, but I have no idea why." I had had similar anxiety at Lance Steele house, just before it got flushed over a cliff.
"Uh-oh - I don't like to hear you talk like that, because it comes true more often than not! But the Blackbird has a good safety record and has never been shot down, so let’s not worry about it – unless you can give me a good reason to worry."
"I'm not trying to back out - I would have told you right off the bat if I were," I said defensively.
In a giant aircraft hanger, Pratt & Whitney employees and Air Force mechanics swarmed over the jet engines that had been removed from our specially modified SR-71. Lieutenant Colonel Jed "Wahoo" McCoy, my mission commander, gave me a tour of the facilities. Megan had gone to another hanger to train with her own aircrew. With pride, McCoy drawled, "The Blackbird sure is purty, huh. Them engines need lots of work to keep her flyin', though. My ground crew’s real sharp, so they should have it fixed by 0600 tomorrow. Uh, Sergeant - or whatever you are - can we talk turkey for a minute?" I nodded, getting suddenly nervous. "I'm retirin' in a month, and lookin' to live long enough to get back to my favorite fishin' hole. This harebrained scheme is the durndest thing I ever heard of, but orders are orders. Just don't fuck it up, is all I’m sayin'."
Awkwardly I replied, "Um, I'll do my best, at any rate. I wanna get the job done and get home in one piece too."
McCoy and I stood near the stern of the mean-looking airplane. "Well here's yer home away from home, Sarge." I was to be strapped into a sleek midget plane which rode on the back of the Blackbird. This “parasitic” plane, officially called the D-5, was originally intended to be launched from the back of the Blackbird over foreign territory, but now, with its jet engine and fuel tank removed, it was just being used to carry a passenger - me. Incidentally, an example of this modified SR-71 is now on permanent display at the Museum of Flight in Seattle, Washington.
I re-joined Megan in the flight simulator building, where we practiced emergency procedures in a simulator that looked exactly like the cockpit of our piggy-backed aircraft. We spent the first of many hours learning the pre-flight checklist, communications systems, fire suppression and ejection systems.
Later, back at Bachelor Officers’ Quarter, I said, "Megan, these missions they plan to send us on remind me of what we did back at the Army Depot. Maybe we can get some practice. The major never said we couldn’t. We're due west of Sagebrush, Nevada, so we should be able to find our way to Iraq - let's go."
Since we had done dozens of remote views of Iraq during the recent war, we got there within a few seconds. I sensed Megan's presence near me. Suddenly, as we hovered over the Tigris/Euphrates area, scores of spherical metal craft crowded around us. We felt our minds being probed. Mentally, I exclaimed, "Cut the connection!" We immediately shot back to California.
"Denny, why are they so interested in Iraq?"
"We can't talk about it. Let's go get something to eat." Then I held an index finger against my lips, indicating that the room was probably bugged. Once outside the building, I told her, "I could feel them trying to get into my head, and there's a ton of classified data in here." I tapped my head. "That's why I ended the remote view so quick."
On the way to the base cafeteria, I thought about the possible connection between Iraq and extra-terrestrials. From my clerical duties, working with CIA reports in the late-1970s, I learned that civilization began when BLOB alien beings from the star Sirius gave technological help to the Sumerians around the year 3500 BCE. The center of Sumerian civilization was in what is now modern Iraq. The Sumerians called these Blond Haired-Blue Eyed beings the Anunaki (BLOB, in CIA terminology), People of the Great God Anu, who introduced agriculture, astronomy, metalworking, and medicine. Of course, Ayn Rand would say that this was all suspiciously altruistic.
In addition to providing technical know-how, the BLOBs told the Sumerians a bunch of lies, easily convincing them that the brilliant new planet in the night sky was a god. Today some gullible people believe that Anu and his cohorts Enlil and Enki live on this planet, which orbits our sun in an extremely elliptical orbit and comes close to the Earth every 3,600 years or so. But it is ridiculous to believe that intelligent life could develop on a planet whose orbit was usually beyond that of Pluto. In 1984, astronomers at the US Naval Observatory confirmed that a large planet was indeed orbiting our sun in a long elliptical orbit. They deduced this from the fact that the orbits of the planets Neptune and Uranus are slightly erratic, due to the influence of a mysterious large mass from billions of miles beyond the orbit of Pluto.
The CIA speculated that the Great Flood of the Old Testament (and of many other ancient cultures) was caused by “Anu” (otherwise known as Niburu or Planet X), theorized to be much larger than Earth, during a close approach to Earth, in around the year 7300 BC. Planet X reappeared briefly in the inner solar system circa 3600 BC, and again about the time of the birth of Christ. Fortunately for us, Earth was on the other side of the sun on both of those occasions. In 1991 AD, this probable “Star of Bethlehem” was just beginning to head back toward our sun, and nobody yet knew if Earth would again avoid catastrophe in approximately 3700 AD.
The UFOs that Megan and I had observed were in the vicinity of Basra, near the former great city of Ur. According to Sumerian history, the city of Ur was wiped out by "clouds of death" during a war between gods who were fighting for control over Mesopotamia, Earth's lone civilization at the time, which soon collapsed due to that alien squabble.
* * *
Back at our cinderblock-walled quarters, I said to Megan: "I'm still nervous about the mission. I keep thinking I won't make it back from Iraq." Sheepishly I added, "Maybe I'm just chickening-out."
"Denny, nobody'll hold it against you if you can't go through with it."
"I'm in it up to my neck, Megan. For some stupid reason - pride, I guess - I wanted to play with the Big Boys, so I'll just have to suck it up til this shit's over with. As the Chinese say: Life is Interesting. Anyway, I don't have much choice, because I know too many secrets to just walk away scot-free." A wistful yearning for the past washed over me: "I wish that I was back in my broken-down mobile home in Seattle, with no responsibilities except for smoking a lot of weed and screwing Angie to a fare-thee-well. God, I miss her so much, and I even miss Tina." Then I said with a yawn, "Well, it's late, and I'm getting maudlin. I guess I'll head over to my room and get some sleep, Megan." I stood up and stretched. "Good night."
Her eyes betrayed disappointment. “Yeah, 5am comes pretty early.”
In my room, I phoned home. Tina picked up the receiver and barked, “Yeah?”
"Don't hang-up on me, Amazon."
"Now why would I do that, Hercules?"
"Oh! You don't want to kill me anymore? We'll have kids, Gorgeous. Maybe we'll adopt, after all."
"Just come back to me alive, Mr Bond. Here's Ange - down, girl."
Angie bawled, "Den-ny! Ah-ha-ha-hoooo!"
Later that night, I had a vivid erotic dream about Angie and Tina. While they gave me a tag-team blowjob, Megan suddenly materialized into the scene. She said, "I'm trying to get into your dream, Denny. Do you mind?"
“Uh, hi, Megan.”
"Hey, who's this bitch?" Tina wondered, as she hand-pumped my throbbing cock in the direction of Angie's waiting mouth.
I replied, "It's just a dream, Amazon. I can't control who shows-up."
"I don't give a fuck if it’s only a dream! Wake-up, chump!"
Jolted awake, I laughed to myself and then fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
On the first day of my flight-training missions, I arrived at the squadron ready-room at 5am. I met Lieutenant Francona, our Reconnaissance Systems Officer (RSO). She was about 5' 2", with shiny black hair - her dark eyes an exotic almond shape. Colonel Harder, the Wing Commander, gave us the mission briefing. He had taken an instant dislike to me, as had Wahoo. They considered me a Washington bureaucrat, but they were wrong - I was a Las Vegas bureaucrat.
Gray-haired Harder regarded me with hawk-like eyes as he pointed to a polar display of the northern hemisphere on a large projection screen. Harder growled, "The President of the Russian Republic has unofficially granted permission for us to use Russian airspace for 30 days. This will enable you to get to Iraq within seven hours. We aren’t taking any chances, though, so once you cross the Russian border, you shall fly at the extreme altitude.”
I politely asked, “Colonel Harder, how high does the SR-71 fly?”
“Oh, about 100,000 feet. High enough for you, Sergeant Smith?”
“Yes sir.”
* * *
The ground crew strapped me into my seat and sealed the hatch. McCoy and Francona were running through their pre-flight checklist as I plugged into the intercom and life support system. I booted my computer and tested the TV cameras. A digital image of the tarmac underneath the plane appeared on the monitor. I turned on my mike, which was patched-in to the Interphone system. "Sir, I'm ready to go over my pre-flight checklist."
"Ah-right. Call me Wahoo – and that's my call sign, remember?"
“Roger.” Wahoo had dubbed me “Sarge” for my call sign.
Soon we were rolling down the runway. As the nose wheels lifted off the ground, Wahoo engaged full military power to the twin power plants under the tail. On the monitor, the earth fell away at a 45-degree angle. Within seconds we were at 5,000 feet and accelerating upward at an ever increasing rate. Even in a pressure suit, it felt like I was carrying a load of bricks on my lap as the Blackbird punched through the clouds.
We leveled-off at 30,000 feet and rendezvoused with an Air Force KC-135 refueling tanker. After topping-off the tanks, we rocketed up to 80,000 feet, just to give me my first taste of the plane’s capabilities.
Settling down at 60,000 feet, we flew south to 30 degrees north latitude, and once we were over Texas one hour later, we turned due east. My GPS display read 30.00.00 degrees. Kuwait and Iraq lay exactly along the same latitude.
Interestingly (or not), 30 degrees north also passes through the Great Pyramid of Giza, through the ancient Ziggarat (step-pyramid) of Ur, and through the Dali Lama's palace near Llasa, Tibet. I had no clue as to the significance of these facts.
The so-called Anunaki demi-gods - 6,000 years ago - supposedly built a spaceport at Ur. According to Sumerian history, the Ziggarat of Ur (which still exists,) was a "resting place for the gods prior to their ascent to heaven". Many other "resting places" along the 30th Parallel were provided to their alien guests, whom they reportedly feted to good meals and comfortable beds.
On my computer monitor was displayed a large-scale satellite map of West Texas. I noticed that we were going to over-fly the town of Marfa, Texas, which I knew to be the home of the famous "Marfa Lights," globes of light that floated and danced over a neighboring mountain range. For some unknown reason, I began to wonder: Is there an alien spaceport hidden inside those mountains?
I had no "need-to-know" about such matters, even though I had read about them in mass-market paperbacks. Mr Webb would have said, "That's Formerly Restricted Data, smart ass!"
Wahoo interrupted my thoughts. "Test Area Number One is comin' up on my mark in 10 seconds...mark."
I stroked the keyboard and then the TV cameras displayed a four-hundred square-mile section of West Texas on my monitor. Without being informed of the target area in advance, I had been instructed to identify underground storage places of US nuclear weapons. Now I was to select my target choice and enter the GPS co-ordinates into the computer. I then got the unwelcome urge to Remote View the inside of the Glass Mountains, which almost certainly were not a nuclear storage area, since no roads came anywhere near them. Our aircraft was now directly over the Glass Mountains, still flying at exactly 30 degrees latitude. This wasn't part of the mission, but I couldn't help myself. I forced the image of Wahoo admonishing "Just don't fuck it up!" from my mind, and began my deep breathing and mantra-chanting: "go-go-go..." I very soon got the familiar tingling sensation, similar to a limb going numb during sleep.
And now the "aspirins" were beginning to take effect, deepening my trance. My consciousness fell into the monitor and zeroed-in on the cross-hairs on the screen. I was then blasted with a fierce white light. I heard - or rather, sensed - these words: "Please inform your superiors to avoid this airspace, as per prior agreement."
I mindlessly replied, "We apologize for our poor navigation. We're on a training exercise."
"That is non sequitur. This incursion will be reported to higher authority. Depart the area at once. Depart the area - "
I snapped out of the spell and yelled into the mike: "Wahoo, I think we need to high-tail it!"
"What the fuck for, Sarge? You fixin' to shit yer pants? I figgered you'd screw the pooch, son - but not this fast!"
Francona cut-in on the Interphone, "Wahoo we got three bogies at seven o'clock - 20 miles away and holding. Looks like Santa and his helpers." Santa or Santa Claus was air force code for "UFO".
"Is that what you were squawkin' about, Sarge? Santy Claus?"
"Affirmative," I replied. "He politely informed me that we should consider flying somewhere else, or we'd find coal in our stockings."
"Shoot. This ain't marked as restricted airspace, so I ain't abortin' the mission til ordered." But by then, we were already many miles east of the Glass Mountains and Test Area One. "Sarge, we enter Test Area Number Two on my mark in 10 seconds so get ready to work...mark."
I got the distinct impression that the Glass Mountain incident had been part of the mission, to test if I would detect the aliens who were living there. Was it mere coincidence that we had entered the test area at that exact moment?
The rest of that day's training mission, to detect nuclear warheads by psychic means, was less stressful. I successfully located several underground Air Force nuclear weapons bunkers near Kelly AFB near San Antonio. On the return trip to Beale, I wrote a report of our alleged incursion into E.T. airspace.
Later, after hearing my report, Gall told me: "You did okay - you were thinking on your feet, although it wasn't part of the plan. Why did you try to contact them, anyway? I'm going to have some explaining to do with the Old Man," he said, as if it hadn't been planned in the first place. I didn't believe him.
Trying not to lose patience, I said, "Hey I can't always control it, or just snap my fingers and predict tomorrow's races at Santa Anita, John."
"Now don't go flying off the handle, Denny. It's great that we have somebody like you, who can deal with them on their own level. You might have a future in the State Department, or on the NSC staff." He paused and then added, "Especially if your friend wins the election."
"Er...I was wondering when you would bring up that subject. I wasn't working for you guys when I started the committee, but it looks bad, huh. Hell, the committee doesn't even need me anymore, so I'll get out of it if I have to."
"Even then, you'd still be close to the action. But it's not a problem, Denny. The Old Man will let you know if it starts to become one."
"You mean he doesn't mind?" I asked incredulously. But Gall had already hung-up. I suspected that Gall had not informed President Hedges as yet, but that he would if I ever tried to back out of an assignment or question his authority. If that was true, I only had myself to blame.
* * *
A few hours later, I asked Megan: Did you have any strange dreams last night?" Megan's long red hair shook as she giggled into her freckled hands.
"No, but you sure did! I was doing my nightly meditation - I tried an experiment. I went out-of-body and watched you as you slept." Megan's green eyes stared into space. "I kissed you and touched your face - then I became one with you."
"And that's when you walked in on us in my dream. So, did the black woman look familiar?"
Searching her memory, she answered, "As a matter of fact...yeah! I saw her on TV last month - when she saved Lance Steele's life. I saw her picture in the paper, too."
"Life's been real strange lately. Hey, I'll try to get into your dreams tonight."
"That sounds like fun. I practice lucid dreaming, y'know."
"I'm not very good at that, although I've tried several times. I have prophetic dreams - can't control 'em, though."
"We both have to get up early, so good night, Denny. I'll be asleep in a half-hour.”
I performed a Remote View of Megan at 8:30. She was breathing steadily, so I mentally laid myself down beside her and touched her face. When her eyes began darting behind the lids as she entered REM sleep, I attempted to get inside her head. I tried to suppress any sexual feelings, which would have interfered with my attempt to merge minds with her.
I found myself on a big sailboat - Megan was at the tiller. We were cruising through blue-green water. Verdant islands dotted the horizon, and the sun shined in a blue-purple sky. "Wow - this is beautiful, Megan. Where are we?"
"We're in the Aegean Sea - near Greece. I've always wanted to do this!"
"Man, I feel like getting naked, don't you?" Suddenly, another sailboat came along side of us. I recognized the crew; "Hey, that's Marcus and Marta! I thought this was your dream."
"You must have fallen asleep. Are those people all right?"
"Sure, yeah - you'll probably like Marcus a lot. Marta is very nice." With them standing side-by-side, it struck me how much alike they looked, like brother and sister. Even their names were similar. I quickly became aroused at the sight of Marta, but the dream didn't end, however, even though sexual thoughts interfere with out-of-body experiences. I was locked-in on Megan's dream. Apparently, our brain waves had synchronized.
Marcus hailed, "Permission to come aboard, Denny. Who's your beautiful captain?" Megan smiled involuntarily, and her large breasts heaved in a bikini top. Her white flesh became goose-pimply.
Megan said, "Hi! Denny said that you're friends of his. Come aboard and have a drink or join us for lunch." Instantly, the four of us were inside the mahogany-paneled cabin. Our clothes melted away. Waves slapped the side of the boat, which gently rocked.
When I touched the smooth skin of Marta's neck, Marcus took his cue. He stage-whispered to Megan: "I am going to have you now." He caressed the backs of Megan's freckled forearms. She sighed profusely and dropped to a bed.
As I kissed the delicious Marta, I was dazzled by a searing red-yellow light. This was a bad sign, the sign of a recurring nightmare I had been having for years. When the light faded, I was horrified to see that I was once more kissing the devil-possessed girl - Regan from the movie The Exorcist. Her disgustingly long, slimy, chancre-covered tongue plunged past my tonsils as she grabbed my nuts and wrapped a leg around my ass. When I pushed her away, she punched me in the jaw and I reeled drunkenly to a neutral corner.
I glanced at Marcus, who had transformed into Boris Karloff made-up like Frankenstein's Monster. The Monster dropped his filthy trousers and exposed a blue-veined erection. He grumbled at Megan, "Rarr! Uhhh!"
Megan screamed at me, "Wake-up, you idiot! Think of something else - anything!" as I ran in slow-motion, trying to escape "Regan", who then cornered me, squatted down and wrapped her snaky, bleeding tongue around my cock. I was frozen in place, scared half to death yet getting a big erection.
The Frankenstein Monster's giant, gnarled hands pinned Megan's thighs against her convulsing ribcage. "Megan Regan Megan Regan," I uttered distractedly while getting a demonic blow job. "Your name must have triggered the dream. Oooh...I can't...uhh...can’t wake-up. Maybe after I...cum!"
"Oh shit! HE'S IN ME!" Megan shrieked, apparently causing the violent storm that suddenly lashed our boat, pitching it bow to stern, while lightning flashed and thunder boomed. To my horror, the boat began to keel over sickeningly. Megan, Regan and The Monster had been wise enough to abandon ship by now - but the dream didn't end there for me. Tons of icy seawater gushed through the hatch and I was seconds away from drowning. Churning brine quickly rose to my nostrils and I screamed in panic underwater, with the top of my head bumping against the floor of the upturned cabin.
I woke-up in a sweat at that point, but I quickly recovered from the nightmare - just another weird dream in a long line of them. Hurrying to Megan's room, I entered her unlocked room. She stared at me with wide-eyed revulsion from her narrow bed. Then she turned her back on me and tossed the covers over her head. "Um...I promise never to do that again, Megan. Well, good night."
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