20th of June

I am not surprised the dream was the same as ever, or that the woman in it uttered her distressing phrase once more. Nor that I now finally remember more of Her, of her body. It possesses exaggerated curvaceousness reminiscent of the fertility goddesses of the southern seas or sub-Saharan Africa, and yet her stomach is flat, her hands are so dainty and soft as they touch me until I explode all over my sheets. Of course, when I woke up I found my right hand stroking my manhood, eking out a few more drops of seed, a few more motes of pleasure.

What did surprise me was that my left teased and pinched my nipples, pulling on the throbbing little nubs that sent pleasant tingles through my body. It felt so nice that I kept doing it with both hands after my seed had been spent - right until Miss Blake knocked on my door a few minutes ago, making me jump and almost yell out in surprise. The good soul, of course, worried about me being late for work once more. She even brought up a tray with breakfast and set it down in front of my door, which I am eating now as I scribble down these lines.

In the end, I barely arrived to work on time after having to clean up my sheets and myself. While scrubbing down, I had the feeling that my chest felt softer, more sensitive... is my proclivity for Miss Blake's divine pastries catching up with me? I may have to refrain from eating them quite as much, then. Work itself was largely uneventful, seeing that I have rested much better tonight than usual, even though I found myself missing the company of Presley Babcock terribly. He has taken the day off today for personal reasons, and more than once I caught myself staring out the window with him on my mind.

Why do I find my heart ache so even now, and feel it beat faster when I think of meeting him again tomorrow?

Now that I have eaten dinner and retired for the night, I think it prudent to think more profoundly about my situation. What do I know?- The dream is always the same, just clearer every time

• The central character is an alluring, curvaceous woman

• When She touches me in the dream, I end up releasing my seed

• This morning, I discovered the incredible sensitivity of my nipples, to my great enjoyment

Which brings me to a question I asked myself during work today: I have not enjoyed the touch of a woman ever since my early days at Miskatonic University. Maybe these dreams are an expression of a subconscious frustration I have not realised? Maybe, then, I do not have to go through the truthfully mortifying act of describing them to a therapist. Maybe all I need to do is, embarassing as it seemed until now, enjoy them ride them out until this frustration is done with.

Should things become more concerning, I can always consult a professional later.