I meet a nightmare. Nightmare's beautiful. A lovely, lithe black mare, with pale mane and tail, moon-silver.

My nightmare's in heat. She backs toward me, raises her tail, baring her cunt, and wiggles seductively, eagerly.

My pulse rises.

My cock does too.

A human girl standing by me says coolly, "I read a study that said people occasionally get a rare disease from having sex with horses."

I read that too--the odds are low, but not zero. And of course my nightmare could kick me! A lot more likely.

I'm hesitant to fuck her. But she desperately wants me to, and if I won't get hurt, I want to. More than I want the girl beside me. I don't understand her.

Nightmare, I understand.

• The mare = my dreams. Not just nightmares...
• She wants sex with me = my dreams are eager to reconnect with me. I've been slow to record them lately.
• Fear being kicked or getting sick = I fear nightmares? Fear not just the immediate emotional 'kick' of the dreams, but illness as a fallout of learning things I may not want to know. "The truth shall set you free, but first it'll make you miserable." Yet... the mare is friendly, eager. It's her time. The risk is as low as it'll ever be.
• Human girl = the voice of convention, discouraging the primitive, animalistic practice of dreamwork? Or is she jealous, unwilling to come onto me blatantly like the mare, yet hurt I'd ignore her for a dream? A sort of jilted reality principle? Well, notice that SHE wasn't making me any offers!
• ACTION = actively incubate my dreams this week, and WRITE THEM DOWN! Make them high priority again.

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