The mind of Dude was a terrifying place.  A hallucinatory wasteland.  An anomalistic apocalypse.  Shrinks around the world would get hard-ons at the idea of picking this bad boy apart.  It was only expected that dreams cooked up by this brain of his were just as batshit as the man himself.  But why did this one seem so… normal?

He found himself in the mall, standing outside of Orifice Depot.  He’d been here before, plenty of times actually.  Hell, it’s where he met his girl.  The obnoxious neon buzzed and burned brighter than usual, but that wasn't too notable on its own.  He pushed the door open and made his way inside.

The first thing he saw was his woman, standing over by the penis pumps with him.  He was lucid enough to groan and drag a hand down his face.  Shit, this better not be some rerun of “Dude and Mistress Shoot a Guy Then Fuck Like Rabbit Vibrators in The Porn Shore Stockroom.”  Wouldn’t be the first time he replayed the events of that night in his head, but that wasn’t exactly original, was it?  Nah, that inched dangerously close to seeming sentimental.  Regardless, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall near the front, watching one of his favorite non-lethal memories play out with a fond smirk.  Damn, he did good.  A nutjob like him should only get a girl like that in dreams like this, but he was living it.

Only when the two of them turned to walk to the register did he realize this was a remix, not a rerun.  The Dude from the memory pulled his eyes away from gawking at the ass in front of him long enough to look directly in his direction and stick his tongue out before continuing to the counter.

Dude, the one near the door, sputtered and straightened up.  His temple decided to start that familiar dull throb in that exact moment.  Wait a fucking second.  That wasn’t him… that was him.  The Other Dude.  The bastard with a silky-smooth voice and his dashing good looks.  That motherfucker that showed up along with that gunshot to the cranium and made his head his playground like he fucking owned the place.  Dude went to lunge towards the Other Dude, but couldn’t move.  Looking back, the tail of his coat was stuck in the door… which wouldn’t budge to free him.  He tried to tug it off instead, but it was like the fabric had fused to his fucking skin.  So much for "normal."  His head turned towards the counter right as Other Dude passed the Chump Pump box to her, but instead of letting her ring him up, he grabbed her wrist.

“Why don’t you get that ass up on this counter, baby?” Other Dude asked her, his free hand patting the surface.  Instead of smacking the shit out of him or scoffing, she smiled and leaned forward.

“Why don’t you make me?”

And just like that, that other fucker had his woman perched up on the counter and was kissing her thighs like he had earned it.

“Boo, you dumbass!” Dude jeered from the door.  “You skipped the best part!  Half the fucking appeal was her popping a cap in that bastard!”

“I’m getting to it,” Other Dude said, not rising from between her legs.  That evil red glare behind his shades directed its attention up to the woman and he squeezed her thigh.  “Babe, why don’t you handle our guest, hm?”

She turned around holding that gun of hers that he was so familiar with, but aimed it directly at him.  Dude ducked right time she pulled the trigger.  Instead of hitting him, the bullet tore a hole in his stuck coat and had him landing flat on his face.

“Shit,” he mumbled, rubbing his nose as he sat up on his knees.

“Why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the show?” said Other Dude.  She seemed to agree with him, humming and running her fingers through his hair as he rolled her fishnets down her legs.  “I mean, c’mon, Dude… Would it kill you to let the lady be satisfied for once?”

“That’s no lady” Dude scoffed.  Like hell he was letting his own ego make less of a man out of him.  “That’s the fucking Mistress of the Mattress Mambo herself.  She lives her entire hedonistic existence in constant pursuit of satisfaction.  Built a fucking empire out of it.  She’s got more than enough satisfaction.”

Other Dude just chuckled and shook his head.

“Right, right,” he said.  “So, what I’m hearing is that one more body for the count won’t make a difference.”

“I’ll show you a fucking body count.”  Dude growled, feeling his blood beginning to boil.  He went to attack, but was restrained again.  He looked over and saw two inflatable sex dolls had come to life and were holding him in place.  They slapped fuzzy cuffs on his wrists to restrain him, then tied him with shibari rope to one of those love rocker dildo chairs.  “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Other Dude laughed aloud, then nuzzled his face in her neck.  “You know, this is your brain, Dude.  Your twisted subconscious.  You could stop this any time…  But where’s the fun in that?  I think you want to see this. You want to see her getting fucked by you.  And by you?  I mean me.”

“Whatever,” he huffed, beginning to feel a little hot under the collar now.  “Who gives a shit?  I’ll be the one waking up naked beside her when it’s all over.”

“Oh yeah?” Other Dude laughed.  “Then, consider this wet dream a parting gift.  Give you a little something to work with when you wake.”

That one pushed her skirt up, then leaned forward and tugged her panties down with his teeth.  He was upright with his fly undone and lining himself up for the kill before Dude could even blink.  He winced, but cracked one eye open when he heard that familiar moan.  Sure enough, Other Dude was already balls deep inside of her.  Goddammit, the other douche was right.  She looked so natural under him like that.  He couldn’t wait to wake up and do it himself.  He could already feel the morning wood getting stiff.  Maybe he was doing himself a favor after all.