Carniepunk: The Inside Man by Nicole Peeler

Author:Nicole Peeler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star Books

Moo, however, hadn’t moved a muscle since I walked up. She stood like a statue, her eyes haunted. God only knows where she was trapped. Knowing her tragic history, it couldn’t be pleasant.

I made my decision. Shar was a famous over-sharer, so any secrets she had were probably things she knew we’d be squicked out by. I could handle a Tijuana donkey show or a romp with Hanson much more easily than I could Moo’s vast, undoubtedly horrifying secrets.

I turned and walked right into Shar’s shadow.

The smell of sex in the air as the girl’s fingers played deep inside me, bringing out the moan lingering on my lips. Her mouth found mine, and then we both turned to the man kneeling in front of us. . . .

The sensuality of Shar’s memories threatened to drag me under. Her memories of sensation were more powerful than some of my actual experiences, and for a split second I envied her ability to let go and just be . . .

. . . Now he was moaning, our tongues meeting each other around his hard shaft. . . .

I pulled myself back, the lure of Shar’s sexuality too powerful. If I let her suck me in (no pun intended), I’d never leave. But I’d once again pulled out (wink wink, nudge nudge) too far, finding myself again standing next to my shadow friend rather than in her memories, where I needed to be.

I tried again, walking into her . . .

. . . my lips wrapped around him, the girl kissing down my neck, to my breasts. . . .

Yanking out, I stood next to Shar. I swore. I needed to be in the dream, but not as Shar. She was occupied, after all, and I needed to get her attention.

The good thing about having a mom who was a staunch New Agey hippie type was that I knew way too much about things like lucid dreaming. I wondered if I could reverse the process of lucid dreaming to make myself real in Shar’s dream, like lucid dreamers tried to make themselves “real” in their own.

Clearing my mind of all other thoughts, I imagined myself less a part of Shar and more a voyeur. I’m a watcher, I repeated to myself in a focusing mantra as I slid toward the dream shadow of my friend. The metaphor not only worked, but it was appropriate as my perception shifted so that I watched the three figures writhing on the bed rather than being a part of Shar.

Concentrating, I willed myself into solidity. I’m not just watching, I told myself. I am here. I am here. I am . . .

And just like that, I was. I looked down at my own arms and hands as I stood next to the bed.

Hooting in triumph like a madwoman, I reached out and grabbed Shar’s hair, pulling her mouth off the man.

“Shar!” I shouted. “Wake up!”

Shar’s face scrunched at me, like that of a sleeper who didn’t want to wake.

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