Sweet Dreams Are Made Of…

Ever looked at someone who’s had a name inscribed on their body and (particularly if it appears to be their own) wondered why? It’s one of those questions that excises me occasionally, like when did footballers get bored of spending their afternoons on the golf course and decide to spend them in tattoo parlours instead? It’s an image that was also the starting point for my latest Total-e-bound release.

Her Dream Lovers, a short story in their Lust Bites range, tells the story of Vanessa, whose dreams predict the future. Enrolling in a research  programme to help understand why these dreams happen and what she can do to present the disasters and misfortunes she dreams of, she instead sees herself having an erotic encounter with a tattooed man – a dream that comes true very shortly afterwards. Guilt racks Vanessa as she doesn’t usually sleep with married men – but fate has plenty more in store for her, particularly when the mysterious Nicky becomes involved…

Here’s an extract to give you a flavour of the story:

The arm he had wrapped around me had his wife’s name tattooed on it. We were lying together, skin against skin, our bodies glowing with the flushed sweatiness of great sex, and as his fingers traced idle circles on my hip, I wondered if he would ever come to regret those Gothic letters spelling out ‘Nicky’.

I paused, wondering how much detail I should go into. Dr. Hector had stressed that I should write down every significant point of the dream, but this all felt too intimate.

When I had agreed to take part into this research into the existence of pre-cognitive dreams, it was because when puberty hit I had somehow been given the knack of predicting disasters. Over the years, I had witnessed everything from rail crashes to devastating tropical storms. They had appeared in my dreams in vivid, unforgettable detail a day or two before they had actually taken place. And though I’d known they were going to happen, I had never been able to do anything to stop them. So I had hoped I would be able to give the scientists more information about why these images appeared in my brain, and how these warnings might be used to help save lives. I was sure Dr. Hector and his assistants had thought the same.

But since the first night I attended the university’s sleep research laboratory it had all been very different. Three times a week, I settled between those crisp white bedsheets and allowed the researcher on duty to attach electronic sensors to my temples to monitor my brain activity. Then I closed my eyes and dreamed about nothing but sex. Hot, raw, filthily explicit sex.

If that’s whetted your appetite to find out more, you can get a copy of Her Dream Lovers here.  And if you really need any more prompting, let’s just say the storyline includes a hunky fireman…

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