JonBingus

Chris and I are in a truck. We're driving up north to a cottage, and we're talking about how he used to come up here as a kid. Loose wooded patches pass us by through the windows, and the grey light outside doesn't reveal any animals of sorts.

"When I was a kid, I had a dirt bike up here. That thing was fast, you cloud rip it anywhere up here pretty fast."

We got to his place, and left pretty quickly, with our little brothers in tow. We first went to a pavilion. Under it's roof was a small model of the surrounding woods. It had the mountains, rivers, and full typography modeled out in clay and paint. I picked up some pieces and saw that they were live, that they would expand naturally as I explored the place. Good, a map. We went for a walk down a forest path and came across an old barn. There were deep muddy trenches around it on either side, carved by trucks and heavy rain. More reason why the sky was so grey, thank god it was dry so far. I was looking at the barn, thinking about how pointless it would be to walk around just to soak myself in mud, when I saw something out the corner of my eye. Chris is standing with a cheeky grin, and next to him is a little pocket bike, like the ones for little kids. It has a little motor and wheels the size of canteloups. I hop on and kickstart the thing, and immediately it reveals to me that it has more power than it looks. The boys must have done some work on her in their childhood. I look around for some possible places to ride, but most areas are full of muddy water. There's back where we came from, or a path that strangely has snow cover. I choose snow, more adventure.

"Try it out, see if it still works."

It did. I was ripping off through the woods as fast as you could say 'wear a helmet'. I didn't need one, this was a land of childhood innocence and the forest would protect me. Down the path I went, through snow and patches of frozen ground. Soon I came upon a large circular depression carved into the snow, maybe 6 feet down and 50 feet in diameter, with a few expertly crafted snowmen spaced around the clearing seemingly at random. Aa staircase of snow at one edge lead to a deep uinderground network of snow carved tunnelsl; or so I assumed.

"Hey"

A man walked out from behind a particularly large snow man.

"You come to build?"

No I hadn't. So there were people here, strange. I had thought Chris' family owned all the land. And he roamed freely here as a child, strange. I noticed the guy was carving a perfect snail, with small delicate flowers growing from its shell, entirely from snow. I recognized this snail, and I knew that I must have seen the man before.

"I know you."

"Probably. Been coming here for years. Join in if you'd like."

What a weird dude. I nodded goodbye and headed off on the bike, bringing that little hopped-up motor to life and aiming her force back at the pavilion. I arrived to find Chris talking to my mom. They greeted me and showed me the map. More had been filled in! Strangely, some portion of it seemed off.. There was a mountain nearby that was covered in strange mud or rot that was obscuring the detail of the clay typography before. I wiped most of it off with my hand and then placed that section back on the map, not really any clearer on why it was like that. I resolved never to go near there. Chris said I could keep using ol' betsy, so I just immediately turned it around and went back toward the snow. When I saw the depression again I went clear around it and saw a rocky path going up a hill back into normal, non permafrost woods. Going up the hill I realized that the bike didn't have as much power as I'd hoped. It was a bit of a struggle to get up, but when I reached the top I saw something pretty iincredible. Beyond me the path continued down into a valley, and at the bottom was the ruins of a pretty massive pioneer era building. I ripped down the hill toward the place, but the closer I got the more of it was complete. It wasn't being built by magic, it was just the draw distance of my dream had not allowed those sections to load visually. By the time I got there I could hear people inside. I put the kickstand up and went in. I was not prepared for the inside.

I am surrounded by naked women. Some of them are insanely beautiful, some more average looking, but none who wouldn't turn a head on the sidewalk. I walk through the house, seemingly ignored by the occupants. I think they're part of the building, and I am the only guest. None of them engage me or pay me much mind, they just continue on with seemingly scripted movements and conversations. Two of them in another room begin to kiss. I walk downstairs to the basement, it's warmly lit. Entering the first room on the right, I see a bed and sit down for a moment to collect my thoughts. Where the hell am I.

"Hey"

A soft voice, like a tired girlfriend welcoming me back home in the early hours of the morning. The smell of hot cocoa. I look up. It's Scarlett Johansson. Spread so effortlessly on a chaise longue, she smiled softly at me, her eyes locked on mine. Sitting next to her against the other wall was another actress, a beautiful girl who I surely recognized but could not place. I said nothing, just waiting to see what was to happen. It happened quickly, yet at a glacier's pace all the same. Scarlett rose up, slinking with the practiced elegance of a feline huntress. She turned to the girl with a smile.

"Wait here for me baby"

She was soundlessi in her approach. I find her arms around me, her mouth kissing mine. She pulled back and smiled again, holding my complete consciousness in palm. Her eyes telegraphed a message to me. There was more to come. The giddy fire of a child on christmas rose up inside me. She had presents. She held my hand and lead me up the stairs. We were giong somewhere, but I knew that every inch of this house was crawling with other women, and I wanted just her. This place must be designed to fulfill your wildest carnal dreams. I had a greater idea of where I was now.
I grabbed Scarlett, finding myself already naked, and slid in her. I will forever be amazed by the power of this sensation when dreaming. The element of reality is missing, and it cannot be compared to the real thing in all of it's delicacy and presence, but that does not detract from the raw bliss.

I am at the top of an old wooden staircase, slamming one of the world's most beautiful women from behind. And somehow, I remember to pull out. I guess all of my practice in the real world has trained my subconscious for this moment in a deep way. She smiles at me, and then walks away, continuing on her scripted path through the halls. This place must have a lot of money, because she is the real thing, no android or lookalike, and this is what she does. I walk through the house and see more and more famous women, and a few patrons who have entered since I did. I leave, and go up the hill. I find a place crowded with people and carnival games. This entire woods must be one spread out retreat. I head back down to the shack to take it all in, and I see my dad and Paul M on a hill nearby looking down at it. My father is purchasing the pleasure cabin as his retirement investment. How he has so much money I have no idea. They leave to go celebrate the moment, and I speak to a man on the hill, which I now see is covered in hundreds of shirtless old men, like an old roman bath.

In the final moments of my dream, I look up and see the rain finally pouring, the grey sky giving in to its own weight. I open my mouth and feel the rain on my tongue, and then spit some out.

I wake up, and realize that I just spit a big gob of saliva onto my pillow. Gross.