I am in a bar. I can't believe I am here by myself, surrounded by tough and angry looking men. This is a working class bar. I look down at myself. I am wearing a blouse, white panties...no skirt. I have thigh-hi stockings on, and they are embarrassingly lacy at the thigh. I try to reach down and place my hands over the stocking-tops, to keep my hands in front of the lace.

In my insantiy of dreaming, I believe that nobody will bother me if I can only cover those stocking-tops. The panties, I reason, are plain with no lace on them, and even though they are nylon, they are not too feminine. It is the stocking-tops that give me away. This, even as I gaze in the mirror at the female me, with swirling curls and bright lipstick.

I begin to try and take off my stockings, struggling to no avail. It's as if they are glued on my thighs. They won't come off.

A man is behind me, his erection is very big and thick, and he is sliding it so that I feel it in the cleft of my pantied ass. It feels so good to me. It makes me tingle. I am a fool to go with him like this, but I go.

We go into a back room. It's as if I've been here before. Somehow, I think this man is Jack the Ripper, and I am a whore. He carries a small black case, which I think must have a scalpel and other tools for my dissection. I am thinking how glorious it will be, to die like a whore.

"The whore Mylene was found dead..."

Yes, yes, this sounds wonderful to me. The world will remember me for being a beautiful woman who had many, many men and died for their pleasure. This is very reasonable.

I am already thinking that first he will take the scalpel, rip a slit into the back of my panties, and do me that way. Then he will kill me. Nobody will ever take off my panties and know my secret. I will die a whore, and be immortal as part of the mystery of Jack the Ripper.

My dream is going according to plan. Or, my plan is going according to the dream. I am on a crude wooden table which has a thin mattress over it. Many whores go into this room for quick sex with the drunken customers.

Jack clicks open the little black case, which reveals a set of sewing needles, and some thread.

"You are not a virgin, Mylene," he says. "I will make you one. Would you like that? Would you like to be a virgin for me?"

"Anything you would like, I like!" I try to laugh like a whore, and pretend that I am not suddenly petrified with fear.

I see, in this dream, a very close-up view of my anus. It is amazingly stitched together with thread, like a spider's web, only with heavy black thread. The hole area is criss-crossed back and forth with the thread, and I see how each thread is anchored in my sphincter flesh. I think it is my fingertip I see, testing the opening. It is impossible to penetrate this! The threads are very strong!

I see myself lying on the mattress, on my stomach. The man, who is all cloaked in black and wears a top hat, has a massive jutting penis that sticks out. He mounts me like some kind of bat, spreading his cloak out so I can't see what he is doing.

I feel the pulling, the tearing, and I try to scream but I can't.

Again, in this dream, a very close-up view of my anus. The threads are all broken, and my hole is so wide, I could put a finger in and not touch the sides. Suddenly, blood begins to flow out, like water seeping from a garden hose that has barely been turned on. The hole is large, but the fluid only comes out from the lower fourth of it.

I see the mattress becoming soggy and scarlet.

But now, in this close-up view I have of my anal opening, I see several thick clots of marshmallowy white gather into place, and close the opening. I think it must be his come. He came in me, and now it has gathered around my sphincter, keeping me from bleeding to death.

I have found a cloak. I gather it around myself and hurry from the bar.

People shout, "There he goes. Jack the Ripper! He has killed Mylene the Whore!"

I shout back in a man's voice, "I didn't kill Mylene. I love Mylene!"