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Richter and the astral plane battle
As soon as Richterís head hit the pillow, he was out cold.
Before he could breathe, he was out of his body, floating free and bold.
Immediately he was in a place where the light looked different,
white, like no place he had been.
Fear gripped Richterís throat feeling the grasp of a nightmarish fiend.
Furthermore, the Sun light was not shining here. Where was the sky anyway?
It all felt intensely real, like he was going through the experience
but simultaneously observing himself like a third party,
going through the happening. His reality in the white light slowly ripening.
What a strange wit was here, was he in time, space or some other bit over there!
Richter suddenly realized he was seeing people who looked like persons he was familiar with,
some faces he could not see, but instinctively he knew they were not who they seemed to be.
Places looked familiar too but somewhat less than solid matter and,
they were not where, their geo location an intangible scatter.
The feeling, the vibes, were south of weird.
Clearly there was not here and here was not there.
Wherever was here! Was here ever here!
Events were materializing around him, like some kind of movie projector set.
Richter sensed that terrible things were happening.
He tried to shout, and hit and kick,
but there was some kind of restraint partially immobilizing him.
Things were looking grim.
Richter found himself grappling with hazily defined forms, with all his vim.
He felt terror as his chances were looking slim.
But listen! Someone was calling his name. Richter! Richter!! Richter!!!
It sounded like Billie.
Richter zapped back into his body like lightning,
sat up in bed, his body sweating from his other world exertions,
adrenaline surging as in the height of battle.
Billie was standing there, her feet anchored to the floor.
A solid shore and more.
She said, Richter you are having a bad dream,
as she sipped her coffee with cream.
Her lingerie was a dare from his wildest fantasy screams.
Richter was not in a state of mind to argue so he just nodded,
the fight eschewed, but Richter knew, he had been away from here,
far away, from where in bed his body had lay.
He would with Billie play,
his sleep having fled towards day,
and there, it would stay.
Richter would spend the night battling Billie to surrender
as she purred and bucked and splayed.
He would banish his other thoughts, mutual pleasuring the delightful way.
As long as Richter was breathing, he would fight,
come what may, above or below, would feel his wrath and might.
For he would walk and not stray in the one true Light.
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