“It’s late in the evening on Friday the 13th. In fact, it’s just a few moments before midnight, the witching hour. Some believe that in that moment,
just as the clock begins to strike midnight, one’s darkest most intimate nightmares can, for those few brief moments, become reality. Perhaps in my case,
that brutally sadistic serial killer, the one in the book I’ve just finished reading, is lurking within the shadows watching my every move. In his gloved
hand, he holds a gleaming razor-sharp knife longing to be buried hilt deep within my guts.”
Pausing to press her hand against her firm flat belly, as she heard the clock starting the chime midnight, Chloe looked despondent, “Unfortunately, even
with the most erotically stimulating nightmares, rarely do they, if ever, become reality. Sadly, reality always seems to be so profoundly disappointing...”