Obviously yes.

Sure she is reddish purple and a bit reptilian, but she has every curve you would ever want, much larger breasts than your new runway model self. You purse your lips and lean up a bit. The kiss is little more than a friendly smooch, but it still sends a tingle that ripples down your spine, causes your ass to pucker, and your toes to curl. She sits on the nearest chair and plops her tote between her legs. “Look what I found.” She hands you a newspaper with a picture of the new you, wrapped in glowing blue tentacles, being sucked through the floor. The caption reads, “Early fan favorite Amy Swan goes double black and looses instantly.” In the picture you can clearly see you weren’t even thinking about keeping your hands on the handles.

“I am so stupid.” You say with a laugh. Then, “Wait. Who is Amy Swan?”

“You silly. What did all those tentacles go to your head? I told you not to do it. Fuck charities. You need to think of yourself more. That’s your problem, you try to help others to much. I mean I know it was for a good cause, and sure you raised like $30,000 for runaway shelters, but, seriously, a tentacle **** game show. Your just lucky your fans love that you are a slut.”

“They do?” You turn to the article on the next page. It highlights your charitable contributions as well as a few highlights for people that don’t know who you are. Amy Swan, you, are a B list movie star that is well known and loved for a series of shitty action movies called the Witch Light chronicles. The most recent being “Raven goes to hell and gives it right back.” You can’t help but chuckle at the terrible title. It looks like you are apparently an orphan and worth about 5 million dollars. Thumbing through the paper it would also appear that whatever world you are now in has actual magic, both monsters and aliens, and by the look of the advertisements, the person sitting beside you is a Rellian, from the planet Rellia, and a restaurant nearby prides itself in the most authentic Rellian cuisine. Unless it’s just a coincidence that the picture of the owners look just like her.

The woman beside you places the back of her hand on your forehead. “You are rather hot, and your thoughts are a mess. Are you feeling okay? Do you want me to get you something.”

“My thoughts?”

“Don’t be a bitch. You know I can’t read you deeper than surface thoughts.” She slaps you gently, “An aspirin. Do you want one?” She rummages through her bag.

“You work for me?” You ask. You head is throbbing and you can tell your heart is racing. “This has to be a dream. Right?” You say then feel her take you in her arms as the world begins to spin. Darkness overtakes you.