Cherie's lesbian dream

The house is shrouded in a deep, pre-dawn silence, broken only by the rhythmic, heavy breathing of Chad. He’s out cold, his mind blissfully empty. Beside him, Cherie is restless. Her body is still, but her eyelids are fluttering, her pulse quickening as you settle into the cool air above her pillow.

You sink into her subconscious, weaving the static of her thoughts into the flickering grain of an old television broadcast. Cherie finds herself in a pristine, monochrome kitchen. She’s wearing a white and pink floral dress, her hair perfectly coiffed with a matching pink flower. She’s the picture of the 1950s ideal. She smiles as she hands Chad—dressed in a sharp suit—a steaming cup of coffee.

The doorbell rings and Lisa Carter comes in, looking radiant in a monochrome sundress. She joins them at the table, sliding into the chair next to Cherie. The air between the two women is thick, a heavy, static charge that Chad doesn't even notice. They are polite, chatting about the weather and the neighborhood, but their eyes are locked. They are counting the seconds. They are waiting for the obstacle to move.

They all stand up as Chad prepares to leave for work. He leans over, gives Cherie a dry, perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and exits toward the hallway as the ladies resume their seats.

The moment his footsteps fade, the atmosphere shifts. The polite smiles vanish. Cherie and Lisa lean toward each other across the table, their breath mingling, their lips inches apart—the forbidden fruit finally within reach.

Chad comes back in. Cherie and Lisa recoil, jumping up with hearts hammering against their ribs.

Chad comes over with a wide, vacant grin on his face. He picks up his forgotten briefcase, smiles again and walks back out the door.