Billy’s perfume-addled dreams

Billy lay on the floor of his bedroom, alone. Dreaming. Snoring obnoxiously loud from his hanging-open jaw, the deep vibratory rumbles coming from him with a steady rhythm. If anyone was still there to see him, they would of thought he looked fucking pathetic. An embarrassment to boxing.

As he slept, as his tired mind dreamed, the sweet perfume scent filling the room continued wafting into his nose. Corrupting his mind. Infiltrating his dreams. Confusing his already-flickering brain into glitching and humiliating itself even further.

He dreamed of the far future, far later than all of this, when he was an accomplished professional boxer. An untouchable champion, better than any professional fighter in history. Meeting in the middle of the ring just before the start of the match, to face his next easy-victory opponent. Listening to the female referee standing between them as she explained the rules - when suddenly his nose picked up a familiar scent.

His eyes shot downwards, to her black-and-white striped shirt. Her shirt-covered breasts had an intimidating aura emanating off of them, making him confused… And what was that familiar sweet smell? He breathed in deeper, now ignoring the referee’s words as she continued talking to the two fighters.

Billy was blinking heavily. His body felt slow. What the fuck was… What the fuck was this bitch doing to him? He felt so weak…

“Do you understand?” she asked, looking between the two men.

“I… Uhhh…” Billy mumbled, shaking his head. He could feel something closing in. A darkness. “Nooo…”

All at once, he fell asleep. The legend, the boxer nobody had ever seen beaten, fell to his knees, and then the floor. Facedown at this female referee’s feet.

The audience gasped. The ref was taken aback. Was he… Knocked out? She nudged him with a foot, and he didn’t stir. It looked real.

H-Holy fuck… This boxing legend, the greatest fighter in history… He was fucking sleeping before the fight had even started. He was… He…

The dream shifted, suddenly. Instead of lying facedown in the ring, he was slumped back in a chair on a talk show, sitting across from a female sports journalist. His mouth hung open, his loud snores playing from the speakers in front of the live studio audience. His eyes were dull and glazed, with no sign of intelligence behind them.

“Oh dear. Uhhh, the champion appears to be- to be knocked out. I’m not sure what- did… Did I do that?” she asked, sounding concerned for the broadcast, and maybe… Mildly impressed with herself? As if she somehow knew it was all her, that had done this to him. Publicly knocked out the unbreakable man. Somehow, she knew that she was the one behind it… And she loved it.

The dream shifted again. Now, he was in a school, coaching his own boxing club after an extremely successful career. They had broken off into pairs, for some light sparring. All of the students there were enamoured by this legendary undefeated boxer, this tall, strong mass of a man.

Odd numbers in the class led to Billy being the partner for one of his students. A college girl with that same perfume in his class stood in front of him, gloved up and ready to spar.

But his head wasn’t in it. He just felt off… There was something about that scent. Drawing him in, distracting him. It made him weak, made him slow. He was sluggish, as his student bounced around him. He couldn’t keep up.

That sweet perfume scent left him open. And, spotting that opening, the college girl threw her fist forwards. And down he went.

The whole class turned with a gasp as they heard the loud thud echo through the gym, his manly body toppled over and collapsing to the mat. A second gasp came when the noticed that he wasn’t trying to get up. He was just… lying there.

This college girl had just knocked out coach Billy.

“Lights out, bitch!” she cheered.

“Wasn’t he a former champion or something?” someone asked.

“Way to go Brittany!” another student whooped.

Her day of class, and she just fucking slept a legend. That was so easy!

Billy’s dreams continued like this. Humiliating scenario after scenario, tormenting his usually-aspirational dreams for hours until the sweet perfume in his room finally dissipated, and allowed him to wake up. Groggy and fucked, and humbled as shit, but awake at last.