Another Dream: Man or Machine?

It’s pouring tonight, and I’m sitting on the patio as I type. After so many warm, dry days, I feel clean and refreshed. I love the rain.

I just spent the last half hour watching the shimmer of it sleet down and chatting pleasantly with an old friend of mine. We hadn’t talked at all since last month, but I’d had a dream about him the other night and felt compelled to call. Of course, I didn’t tell him what my dream had been about, or the call might have been less idyllic. Most probably, it would have gone something like this: “!@#$%^&*, Jenna! Where do you @#$%#%&$%&$ get off thinking ??]>???+&%$#! me?!” Of course, he’ll probably be reading this soon after I post it, so my ulterior motive is less that subtle.

Fair warning, O Pud Muffin: Avert thine eyes or witnesseth the renting asunder of thine asshole. And I mean that lovingly.

I mention rain because it featured largely in my dream. By no means was it the most outstanding feature, being merely a minor theme threading throughout and highlighting the scene. Like most of my dreams lately, the setting is phantasmagorical with little connection to my everyday life, but they do spring from some of my wilder musings.

I wandered through several darkly lurid worlds before reaching his apartment. Stopping on the rain-washed street below his complex, I peered through the blurring downfall at the lighted top floor. I sighed, wondering if I would make it past the many floors separating us. Resolutely, I shifted my hips, mentally hefting the tiny burden weighing heavily in my pocket and entered the lobby. As always in my dreams, the elevator filled me with trepidation, making my stomach squirm as it tried to hide behind my backbone. Trying to repress my shudders, I stepped into the elevator, not bothering to turn towards the doors when the susurration signaled the beginning of my journey. With a gut-twisting wrench, the lift shot through the bowels of the complex, rapidly shooting through a winding labyrinth, spinning off in wild directions during its ascent. I clutched the handrail, holding my head down, worried that my artifact might unravel and spring open. It seemed as if hours of jolting turns and heart-stopping plummets had passed before I reached my friend’s floor. Fighting to regain my equilibrium and choking down my nausea, I staggered through the open apartment door opposite the elevator. Flames shot out, obscuring my vision, licking over my features and through my hair, searing me. I fought through the blaze, infuriated at the game play.

My friend stood before me, arms raised, fingers pointing at me. Wisps of flame caressed his forearms, rippling sensuously over his shoulders and chest.

“It’s new,” he grinned as the fire died to sullen embers. “What do you think?”

“You’ll set the entire convention ablaze,” I told him crossly, drop-kicking my backpack into a corner. I flopped down on the couch and stared moodily out the floor-to-ceiling window across from me, watching lightning play around the tops of the city’s high-rises.

“We have to have something to show them. It’s been too long since we’ve presented any evidence. We need to show them,” he repeated for the thousandth time. “We’re the super computers, organic machines. It’s in us to be more.”

Nonsense, I thought. We weren’t philosophers, we were inventors. Toy makers. Leave religion to the sheep, I always said.

“Show me,” I commanded him.

He raised his arms and stood still for a long moment. I doubted he was breathing. My eyes traveled over his bare chest and thighs, wondering why his shorts hadn’t been singed. What foolishness was this? It couldn’t be more than a trick. I could do him one better, I assured myself. I had science backing me. With a suddenness that took my own breath away, flames burst behind his back and quickly twined around his torso, eagerly lapping his arms and neck. He turned towards me, wreathed in red, yellow, and orange, his head encircled by a fiery corona. I watched him through lidded eyes, my heart pounding as desire lent its own fire to the heat surrounding us.

“We’re machines that can think,” he panted as the flames kindled his passion into incandescence. “We can affect the physical with mere thoughts,” he raved.

Laughing, I sprang to my feet, my hand thrust in my pocket. My fingers curled around the small polyhedron. I pulled it out and sent it skittering across the floor towards the window. As it tumbled, it grew. The ends blossomed, one reaching towards us even as it slid away. The other burst through the picture window, showering us with glass splinters. It grew. The furthest end tipped forward under its own weight and dropped. The top of the closest end sheared through the ceiling and followed, disappearing into the stormy darkness. The floor rumbled beneath us. I turned to my friend, watching him as he stared blankly as the behemoth reappeared, growing from the street far below, reaching towards the lightning-lanced sky. Quivering in the semi-dark, wider and taller than the building we were now in, a tower hulked a bare few feet from us.

I grabbed his hand and dashed towards it, leaping the separating distance towards the round mouth of one of its windows, dragging him with me. We tumbled onto a slick, dark featureless floor, our momentum spinning us around on our sides. I reached for him, clasping his heated body against mine.

“How?” he murmured against the curve of my neck.

“A mere thought,” I told him, feverishly tugging his shorts down with one hand. “Mass, but little weight. Two dimensions.”

“Ahh,” he moaned, whether from my touch or my answer I didn’t know, nor did I care.

Our bodies melded, his fire embracing us, feeding on our hunger. The tower swayed dangerously as the winds lashed around it, thunder sending a tremor to its base. With every shift he thrust deeper into me, the movement sending us careening across the floor. I twisted around, rising up, my back to him, still impaled on his cock. I hooked my ankles around his hips, keeping him pinned to the floor as I bent forward, flames slicked over my arms and hands. The fire was smooth, almost oily. I reached down and slid three fingers just inside his ass, savoring the ease with which I penetrated him. I pushed deeper, my fingertips stroking his walls, running over the hard knob of his prostate. I curled my hand into a ball and shoved. Flames poured from him, curling around his legs and my forearm. He cried out, body convulsing and bucking beneath me. The tower swayed dangerously, grinding us together, forcing our mutual orgasm to come to a head. My hips twisted sharply, sending my climax shooting through my core. Moaning, every sense heightened, I could feel his cock pulsing as he came. Spent, I fell back against him, our legs tangled as I sprawled over his body. The fires died slowly.

“We didn’t burn,” he mused as sleep claimed him. “This can’t be Hell, though.”

“Turing argued that God could confer a soul on an elephant or a machine if he saw fit,” I said as he faded sideways and my dream body drifted through the storm towards the next realm. “Evidently we two machines didn’t make the grade.”

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