A short, "short" (story). This "short" came to me in a dream. It was so vivid yet I could never identify the Lady, but I sort of recalled the Living Room.
I found her standing in the middle of the living room. But whose? This is not my house but for some reason it’s familiar. How did I get here? Who is this woman?
Attractive, stylish, middle-aged woman, dressed like 60’s women, complete with non-bufont hairdo. She’s in a silver-white business suit with dress buttons down front leading to a big belt buckle.
She’s actually from the sixties. Aside from her appearance, I seem to know that for some reason.
She never says her name.
Gazing intently into my eyes, she seems to know what I’m thinking and wondering. She then proceeds to undress.
She gradually strips off her clothing, asking for some assistance from me. During so, she openly talks about having black underwear but not like the conservative styles of sixties’ fashion for “women her age.”
She embraces me and coyly purrs that she’s ten years older – – how does she know?
The Lady stands there before me, completely nude except for shiny black dress high heels. She appears to be completely comfortable and says she’s always been very open and passionate about sex, and with men of all ages.
We embrace and have a passionate kiss. Only then do I break away to get a drink when I discover the surroundings have changed.
We’re still in a house but not “that” house. Don’t know what’s happened but now I seem to be back in the sixties.
What power has she? Can I get back to my reality? Have I changed? Why has she done this?
“You told me I looked like a lady from the sixties,” she declares. “Well, you’re right; I am a lady from the sixties. And now you’re back in the sixties, too, dah-ling,” she purrs rather matter-of-factly.
“Where you’ll stay!” she blurts out flatly.
She starts laughing slowly; first a chuckle, then intensifying into full blown, hysterical laughter, all the while having a slight but wicked twinkle in her eye.
Then in a flash, she’s gone. Poof!
Startled, I begin to look around when I notice the windows and how pretty a day it is outside. Maybe my reality still exists beyond that window. As I near the window, however, I’m shocked to see that it’s just a painting. That’s not all; as I look around the room, I notice that ALL the windows are paintings.
What’s going on?
I move toward another window/painting, but as I pass in front of what I know is a mirror, I stop dead in my tracks. The reflection is of myself; yet, it can’t be.
Then I hear, faintly but distinctly, her hysterical laughter once again.
It appears I have now become the Lady of the Living Room.