I melted into Marilyn Monroe, 1959, or whatever it was. It seems that a dance is more than what I had bargained for. There was no impulse to leave. Flesh warm and breathing--sensual--just like the real thing. Aroused and feeling lost in a state of ecstasy, I started to feel my body tugging at me. There was still a fine silver tether anchored from my body to my essence, my spirit, me. Can't go now, she's...Jane Mansfield? What ever 1959 was, it offered me my desire. It wasn't just the icons that I knew. There were even more beautiful girls flash-fried into my libido. I'm sure that 1950 would've given me the same thing, I thought, but younger! Something bigger took over me right then. It: A primal force, tapped into the Godstream. Oh, the stuff that went down. This ballroom was all mine now.

"Are those your friends, 59? I want the whole damn decade in on this, alright?" Gimmie some early sixties--girls, over there sit down and take a load off. Hey Fats, play us some of that tumblin' boogie. Where's the Balthazar I wanted? Shit, this is hot!"

However much my body told me to come back, I wouldn't listen. The sensation and sight, naked dancing, pure sex, and then sports reels beamed into my head. Home runs bursting the field lights, with gleaming metallic jets streaking the skies. Holy moley, I'm a friggin' king!

As this fast exchange of vices and fantasies unfolded I started to feel some detachment. Bells and whistles sounding off with urgency in my mind: I'm losing my body; am I dying? Having all these icons and moments of glory at my disposal, I forgot that I was not really there. My body, the battery, was almost dead. My pleasure tripled at the thought of leaving the world completely. Marilyn, Jane, and now Elizabeth Taylor, sucking me dry like lamia in attempt to savor vitality: rape the present with the intent to refresh their static world. The more sensual bites dwelled in my pleasure centers, spurring tremors in my loins. I must go...now! I had totally forgot about my friend Rover, until the last drop of life clung stubbornly to the silver thread.

"R-Rover...I need help."

"I'm here, Will." The inside/outside strangeness that is Rover never sounded better to me than at that moment.

"I've gotta get out of here and back into my body. Rover, it's too hard. I don't want to leave." My words in thought, transferred their urgency to Rover within my mind. The pinup lamia did not suspect my correspondence.
"Will, you need only say the word home, but it is hard."

Not fully appreciating Rover's words, I thought that this would be a simple thing to do, to say "home". I struggled for the words, but my status as pleasure corpse seemed oddly satisfying. I was feeding them. They were happily enjoying me. I had felt pleasure beyond pleasure, and this was the 50's for God's sake. I should orgy here more often, I thought.

I suffered an extreme last gasp of life, real life. The ballroom started to fade away. The pleasure cruise was ending; I was ending. I knew that I was fast approaching the threshold. No more pussy footing around. I mustered up all my remaining faculties and crushed my libido with one simple yet painful word, "Home".

The floor of the ballroom opened up like the gates of some kind of perverse veil. Perverse, in that descending into the veil felt like a slipping sensation of defeat--having to climb back into the womb. I couldn't handle the world that Dr. V had made accessible to me. No wonder he's lost and probably dead, but where is his body?

I came to in a couple of days. The strange light shafting through the top of the sphere had a gentle healing effect. Laying on the floor in a cool stream of sweat and saliva, I noticed that the adult sized diaper did it's job rather well. From this first real trip into the big relative, I nearly died. Is there a better way to go? I still don't know. I must find out all I can about Dr. V.