I know of no way of escaping it when it's upon me, luckily it doesn't strike me often. I can't discuss it with anyone outside my old profession, as mo...t people would be both shocked and appalled with my admission. This epistle, if it's discovered after my demise, will be my last will and testament and my admission, no; acceptance, of guilt.Today I am an, if not a pillar, at least an accepted member of the community. The man I once was, was another form of animal much likened to the vulture or. "Dunsany, my city calls to you for she needs her king," the city's voice entreats you once again. "When will you come to us, O dream-traveler?" I... want... to..." you stammer, finally finding yourself able to speak. "I want to, but I can't reach you..."You feel yourself floating further from the beautiful city. This part of the dream is familiar. You know you'll be waking up soon, back to the real world, and away from the City of Dreams and its newfound voice."But you must," the voice calls. And in our talks during those hours we grew closer. The conversations got more intimate. She was shameless. Told me about her past lovers, one night stands and masturbation. She had this amazing story about a guy she took home, but never had the intention to fuck. He was so pushy she had let him jerk of over her feet, which seemingly was a hilarious situation. One morning I was preparing for work and texted if she wanted to ride along. The response I got was not what I expected. Layla texted:. We walked another fifteen minutes in silence, winding up back at my car. Tasha gave me a searing French kiss, and then we got in so I could take her home. At her door, I received a chaste kiss, and then Tasha went into the house, turning to wink as she closed the door. I, and my thoroughly addled brain, went back to my car and drove home.August 19, 1982, West Monroe, OhioBy Thursday morning I’d mostly recovered from my date with Tasha. I thought back to things some of the girls had said about.