Dream On, Sweet Prince... (Intermission: Yet Another At-Length Explanation of Things in an Ambiguous Alternate Realm)

When you opened your eyes, you were hit with a bit of nausea. Of course, you held it in. Wouldn't be dignified, spilling everything out without at least a plastic bag. Your eyes shifted down, and you had to catch yourself. Then again, it seemed like you were probably safe from any vomit stain police; there was no floor, or carpet, you could taint. Actually didn't look like there was anything at all!

"Ave, John."

You spun around. There was, however, nothing on which to spin; nor any wind to rush your face as you did. Blinking, you removed your gaze from the formlessness below you. "Who's there?" It was a premature inquiry -- not a second after, the answer appeared inches away.

Whoosh!

"It's me."

Materializing out of nothing was the glowing, cornea-frying figure from before -- way before. From earlier this morning, in the dream you had waking up minutes late to school. As well as IN the school, in the middle of Mr. Lawrence's lesson. And then beside you, as it demonstrated your new abilities...

The light caused you to stumble backward.

"Y-you again!" you said, shielding your eyes.

"Do not worry. I am here to relinquish you."

Okay?! "What does that mean!?"

"Do not worry. It means you are now free to do with this gift as you please."

Devolving to a nervous chuckle, you peeked through your fingers at the... the thing. "Riight. So, are you some kind of voyeur? Or a succubus? What?"

It lifted up one hand, palm facing the sky, as it dismissed your question. "You will find that the events at your school were but a treatise of the mind, a pure extension of the non-dimensional. It was a provisional catalyst to help you adopt your new sovereignty of misrule."

"Sorry?" you sputtered.

"In other words, the only real acts of sex committed by you were those that took place after your entry of abode."

"Oh, okay." You rubbed your brow. "I think."

"As a result of your commiseration, you are now left to this world under cover of your own agency." It rose a finger, whirling it through the not-air. Your hair caught a hint of wind. Shakily, you placed one cautious foot forward.

"But... just hold on! What... what can I do again, exactly? How far does this go?"

"You are the new Saturnalicius princeps et dilectus meus, John. The world will not question it. Your kin will not temper it. Your sphere comprises anything that indulges your fleshly desires, whether carnal, extravagant, or practical. The men and women around you will not be able to explicitly know your thoughts, but if you say something, they will remember it, abide by it, if it pleases you -- sexually, they will know no boundary.

"Follow your instincts and proclivity for the mischievous, John, and the norm will be to hail and savor you. Everywhere else, you are as much of a pawn, as part of an inexorable blueprint, as the others; as an agent of sex, lust, and the flesh, however, you are a king."

You just felt your throat going speechless as the thing turned, making to leave as a rip in this wall-less, self-contained space appeared suddenly before it.

Huh.

Abruptly, it paused, facing you -- partially, anyway. "Two more notes." It continued, "Firstly, you have also been endowed with augmentations to your worldly vessel, as both accouterments and watermarks of your new sovereignty. Certain effects have been imposed upon your radial presence to ease sexual exploration. A minimization of STD's is one example. There are others; you will likely not be aware of them. They are simply in place to make things more cooperative with the kind of course being charted for your particular tale. You don't need to concern yourself with it much.

"Secondly, while no more intervention is necessary on our part, you may contact us upon your own volition by entering a state of slumber post-intercourse and releasing a tether to this realm to request audience."

"Really? What can I -- we -- do? Or talk about?"

"Negotiations, as well as other pressing questions. Requests for secondary endowments are also permissible. These will come at the price of committing tasks, typically sex-oriented quotas, that will be set out for you."

Slowly, you nod. "Oh... alright." You weren't sure precisely what that meant, or when that would strike your fancy, exactly. But why not.

"Meetings can only be organized within reasonable periods of time between each other; you will have to wait one nightfall to do this again if you so desire. Keep in mind that this is best saved for urgent matters only. Otherwise, this is the last meeting we will have with one another.

"Valete, John."

As the thing turned to leave again, you finally felt yourself drinking in the nature of the situation. Fully. This was ridiculous. This was happening. This was, as you could attest to from the night before, real. All really real. You would've planted your feet firmly on the ground, if there was ground.

"One more question!" One finger propped, you felt your vision growing fuzzier. A throbbing accosted your head. "Will everyone seriously be okay with me fucking anyone anywhere and time I want?! All either cool with it, turned on, coo-ing and stuff!?"

"That will be the norm, yes. A sweet frivolity, like a magnet, will be the median pull. It will be a fun and warm thing of you, to engage in sexual acts and the like with your kind. However, the spectrum of response at any given time, given context, can range anywhere from mania at its most domineering, to general indifference at its most disposable, depending on the person, relationship, scenario, as not all people are the same, and not all circumstances call for the same outcomes, and your own state of arousal and resolve."

A flare of light seemed to glimmer out of the figure.

"You are 'the beloved', John. It is now how the world is wired to accept your implacable dominion over this sphere of personal indulgence. But every person adheres to these things in different ways. Some moreso than others. For those, your sovereignty will eventually rule out all reservations if you are persistent enough. It is a fact of nature, and this takes much more effort to contest than that which is artificially manned."

"Hoo-boy." After regaining most of your composure, you shook your head, simultaneously trying to rid away the cobwebs collecting across it. "So... so this is a part of me for life? There's no undoing it?"

"The only way to unbind oneself would be by passing it on to another person, which we call inheritance. You may choose anyone of your preference by looking at them, and, with genuine intent, uttering, 'Ave, Saternalicius princeps et dilectus mea.'"

Suddenly, the phrase was etched into your brain. You placed your hand over your scalp self-consciously.

The levitating glow-bar, meanwhile, continued, "Remember that there is minimal chance of you getting this title back after the inheritance. You will become just as privy to their particular whims as everyone else would have been to yours -- although, if done correctly, you may still retain your memory of the preceding ownership."

"Wait wait wait!" Hoping to stop it for one last meager point, thankfully, the world didn't blink away just yet. "One, er, other question!" You squinted. "Why me? Why any of this?!"

Looking back to you, it spoke clearly in spite of a fading graininess. "The same reason your partners would give you after letting you elope with them, or inspect their and their friends' physical forms, or treat them with the nullification of a sexual object, or confront them and pin them down in public in the middle of a busy street under the tepid afternoon devoid of grudge or burden. The reason for this being the way it is, for being unchallenged and unfailing in that regard."

"Which would be?"

After a short second, it finally shrugged.

"Just because."

Then, right before the wormhole opened and gaped and clasped itself over the figure like some otherworldy Venus flytrap thing, the shine doll looked over to you and suddenly became visible; within moments you realized you were talking to a super-toned meatrack of a man, with what looked like a crisp and slender stick or plant of some kind in one hand, tipped against one shoulder, and a pine cone in the other.

"Oh, and, happy belated birthday."