I'm having the dream again. I walk in the rain, with a thick fog around me. I can't see a sky, I can't see any walls. My feet splash through the all-encompassing half-inch puddle. I would reflect off the water, if raindrops didn't plop down and send ripples everywhere. My hair is damp, my clothes are soaked and cling to my skin, my nipples stiff from the cold. I can feel the floor through the puddle. It's glass-like, but not slippery.
I'm going in one direction. I always go in one direction, though I can't tell directions in this rainy mist. I know it's the same direction because I always arrive at the same place.
It emerges from the mist as I get closer to it. It's a room in the rain. Its glass floor is raised, with glass steps up to the platform. 4 black square pillars at the corners hold up the black roof. Inside, a sheetless black bed and an occupied black stuffed chair stand, lonely. The uniform grey perpetrates even the room.
I always walk up the steps. I'm doing it now. My feet exit the flooded world and step onto a flat translucent panel, water droplets dripping from my soles.
As my feet touch upon the floor, the chair's occupant stirs. She opens her yellow eyes, lights like the headlights of a car, to stare at me. "Don't you hate it when it rains?" she asks in a smooth, synthetic voice.
I don't answer. I never can. My first dream ended here. The dreams since continued onwards, each going further than the last. I feel mechanical in them. A thing is asked of me without asking and I comply.
The woman stretches lazily and stands up. She is graceful, but she is inhuman. Her skin is a smooth silver, and she is completely bald. Her feet are like high-heeled shoes, propped up on a strut with a blunt triangular toe. She is improbably curved, with ample buttocks and firm, almost spherical breasts. A black x-shaped harness covers her nipples, and a black thong covers her snatch. There is a strip of cloth on the back of the thong covering her buttocks.
But what makes this woman inhuman is her belly, and what it exposes. She is missing her body from ribcage to pelvis, and she only has a metal spinal column there. Her entire body is synthetic and fleshless. She is a machine in the shape of a woman.
She moves and stands in front of me. She is taller than me. She places her hands around my shoulders and directs me closer to the chair. Her fingers pick with the buttons on my pajama top, and it falls to the floor. Her fingers play with the buttons on my pants, and it slides off. I am left naked, soaked from the rain, in front of this woman. She smiles in delight.
She picks up a towel that blends in with the chair. Slowly, she rubs me down, drying me off. The towel rubs around my shoulders, neck, head, arms. It tickles and strokes my breasts and my nipples. It rubs down my cheeks and legs, and rubs my feet dry. She is close to me while she dries me. Her breasts casually bump into my back. I can feel stiff buttons under that harness.
