Penelope had the dream again that night, and the next, and the next. On the other hand, the gap in her memory seemed to be a one-time thing. That was a relief. She could deal with a strange recurring dream, but if she woke up every morning unable to remember what had happened the night before she would have ended up going crazy.

She felt better as she started getting used to the dreams and stopped letting them bother her. It also helped that work had become a lot less stressful. She’d managed to track down a subtle instability in the original quantum matrix integration and reduced the flood of bugs to a trickle. Time and budget pressures had caused somebody to take a shortcut, and it had caused a long delay. Now, however, the project was starting to get back on track.

Within a week or two, she might be able to cut back to normal eight-hour workdays. Maybe once her life got back to normal, the dreams would go away.

“I’ll keep my remarks brief,” the Assistant VP for Sales began.

She hoped so. Her team was finally making progress, and they didn’t need to have that momentum blunted by clueless executives leading them in pointless pep rallies.

“As we all know, this project got off to a rough start. Of course, there are always ups and downs. My great-uncle had a story about his time working at the typewriter factory that perfectly illustrates what I mean. The typewriter factory is gone, and so is my great-uncle, but the wisdom I learned from his stories remains. As he told me when I’d just gotten my first job delivering newspapers…”

She kept her attentive mask in place as she listened. Faking sincerity was a useful skill when she had to make a good impression or at least avoid becoming the scapegoat when something went off the rails.

Though she pretended to pay attention to the speech, her mind was elsewhere. She imagined herself sitting in the limo eyeing the woman from the dream. That was a much nicer place to be sitting than in this conference room listening to an endless stream of boring anecdotes and meaningless cliches.

After playing out in her head every night for a week, the scene had become so familiar that she found herself revisiting it when her mind wandered during the day. With each repetition, the homoerotic overtones had become a bit less disturbing and a bit more… intriguing.

She was still sure that she was straight, but there was nothing wrong with daydreaming about another woman getting frisky with her. It wasn’t like she was thinking about explicit lesbian sex. Lots of straight women had that kind of romance-novel fantasy about a female companion. It didn’t mean they were gay or even bi. She’d read that in three or four different waiting-room magazines over the years, so it must be true, right?

It was a harmless indulgence. This wasn’t the time for it, though. She forced her attention back to reality.

A furtive glance at the clock showed that the speech had reached the fifteen-minute mark with no sign that it was approaching a cohesive train of thought, much less building toward a conclusion. “Brief, my ass,” she muttered under her breath, too softly for anyone else to hear.

She imagined the woman leering at her ass, both of them aware that once they reached their destination the seatbelts and panties would come off and the woman’s hands would be free to pinch and squeeze…

Penelope took a sudden sharp breath. As several people turned to look at her, she picked up her cup of water and took a sip, pretending that it was just a tickle in her throat.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself again, she managed to stay focused on the rambling speech for almost twenty minutes. Then, unable to stand the tedium anymore, she let her mind drift back into the back seat of the limo.

After a while, scattered sounds of applause snapped her out of her reverie. Finally, the speech was over and she and her team were being rewarded for several weeks of extra effort with a few boxes of donuts. She scarfed one down and headed back to her desk to try and make up for the hour she’d just wasted.

…The limo backed out of the garage, down the driveway, and onto the street.

As the limo made its way down the local roads, the woman looked Penelope up and down with a naughty grin that made it clear that she liked what she saw. Returning the flattery by eyeballing the woman’s body and smiling seemed like the thing to do, so she did.

The women continued to exchange gazes for a few minutes, silent but clearly communicating the woman’s eagerness and Penelope’s growing curiosity. Meanwhile, the limo took an exit and onto the highway.

After completing the merge, the vehicle continued for a while without turning or changing speed, giving the occupants a remarkably smooth ride. The woman leaned against her passenger, reaching around behind her to put a hand on her shoulder.

Penelope shivered but did not protest.

After a little while, the woman turned to address the driver. “Play podcast number 69.”

The driver pressed a button, and sultry sax music sounded against a backdrop of girlish audience chatter.

An aggressively husky but distinctly feminine voice announced, “Are you a dame who’s ready to claim the ‘homo’ side of her sexuality? Are you a dyke who’d really like to welcome that dame into the queer sisterhood? Dames and Dykes is the nightspot for you! Our shapely strippers and lovely lap dancers will break down the dames’ inhibitions and build up the dykes’ appetites until they’re both ready for hot steamy girl-on-girl hookups!”

As the commercial played, the woman’s other hand gently took hold of hers. Her own hand, feeling like it was under the woman’s control rather than her own, gently squeezed back.

As their fingers intertwined, the woman said, “You’re a really sexy dame, Penelope.,” winking as she said the word.

The only response Penelope could think of was to nod agreeably.

The commercial continued, “Saturday is open mike night for dames who’ve turned to the Dyke Side — if your story pegs the Applause-O-Meter, your next three drinks are free!”

The woman chuckled. “I could give you a story that would get you free drinks for a month!”

Once again, Penelope nodded. Going along with whatever this woman said was much easier than thinking.

The ad concluded with a final sax riff, and then a stereotypical chirpy housewife voice began the next commercial.

“Ladies, you probably know from personal experience that lubrication is crucial for giving and receiving satisfying oral intimacy.”

The woman made a show of licking her lips.

“Adelle and Eve stocks an exclusive line of edible lubricants specifically blended for ladies who want to satisfy each other with oral intimacy. Choose a mix-and-match discount bundle to give each partner her preferred floral, fruit, herbal, or neutral fragrance. All products guaranteed hypoallergenic and formulated to complement but not overwhelm natural feminine response during oral intimacy.”

She paused a beat. “This month, new customers get half price on ‘Curious Clover’ blend, specifically formulated for bi-curious ladies taking their first dive into feminine oral intimacy.” She continued in a rather smarmy tone, “While we guarantee that none of our products are habit-forming, we make no promises about the pleasures of feminine oral intimacy!”

“Try it, you’ll like it!” the woman whispered into Penelope’s ear.

Penelope nodded.

The commercial concluded with the tagline, “Adelle and Eve — not just lip service!” Then, a music sting played.

“Welcome back to the ‘Girls With Girls’ podcast. I’m your host, Jezebel Wylde. Tonight, we’re going to talk with women who were totally convinced that they were straight until buried lesbian cravings started coming to the surface. Since this can be an awkward and controversial subject, we’re only using first names. Our first guest is Olympia…

“Olympia Sherman,” a voice said. “I’ve decided I want everybody to know the real me.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Olympia.” The host sounded warm and reassuring. “I’d like to remind our other guests that there is absolutely no pressure on them to follow suit. It’s completely up to them how much they choose to reveal.”

“Actually, we talked about it backstage,” Olympia said. “All three of us agreed it was best this way. We’re all much happier to be who we were always meant to be, women who love women, and we don’t want to repress or hide those feelings anymore.”

“That’s a very positive message, don’t you think?” the woman cooed as she gently squeezed her companion’s hand. “Those women are excellent role models for you, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Penelope’s voice replied.

“You could very easily be one of the guests on this program, declaring her true self and accepting her genuine lesbian identity.”

“Yes…”

“Just keep listening, and you’ll understand the truth about yourself.”

The alarm blared. Penelope’s eyes went wide as she woke up with a start.

Instead of the familiar dream that had repeated every night for the past week, she’d had a new one that continued from the previous ending. She wondered if it was normal to have a dream with a sequel.

This new dream was much more intensely sexual — more intensely homosexual — than the old one. The old one had been tinged with innuendo; the new one was packed with blatant lesbian imagery. The nightclub ad evoked vivid mental pictures of female strippers and lap dancers catering to female viewers and clients. The lubricant ad’s drumbeat of references to “oral intimacy” evoked equally vivid images of women engaging in it, with the prissy euphemism somehow sounding more rather than less salacious than “pussy licking” or “carpet munching.”

The podcast program was all about straight women becoming lesbians, or more precisely realizing that deep down they’d been lesbians all along. The commercials reinforced the theme, with a nightclub that specialized in introducing questioning “dames” to aggressive “dykes” intent on converting them and a lubricant designed to persuade a woman experimenting with same-sex “oral intimacy” to continue going down that path.

The woman in the limo had reinforced those messages, blatantly hitting on her and repeatedly suggesting that she was a prime candidate for conversion to lesbianism.

And she had passively accepted the suggestions, and even agreed with them.

What the hell was her subconscious trying to tell her?

Did she have repressed lesbian cravings? It was hard to believe. Everything about her sex life from her first awkward crushes to her adult one-night stands had been purely heterosexual. There had never been any hint that she might be attracted to other women… until these dreams started.

Well, the dreams had started, and now they had gotten more blatant.

What should she do about it? She couldn’t just sit around waiting for some mystery woman to show up in real life to sweep her off her feet and into a lesbian relationship. She almost wished she could; that would be much easier than trying to figure out how to deal with the situation herself. She wasn’t sure how she’d deal with it if this new dream repeated like the first one… or if it was replaced by something even more intensely sexual.

For now, she was going to have to try to ignore it and get ready for work. There’d be time to figure things out later.

Another Wednesday, another round of on-site meetings. Today’s theme was potential applications of quantum neurosimulator technology if they ever got it working reliably.

A perky platinum-blonde woman with an impressive bosom and bright blue eyes was describing a proposal to create a sleep-learning system using detailed simulations of REM sleep patterns and their responses to external stimulation. She admitted that it might be one of those technologies like fusion power that remained ten years away as the decades went by, but insisted that the possibility of success was worth investing some time and effort.

Penelope found it impossible keep her mind on the presentation. The woman’s cheerful voice reminded her of the chirpy lubricant commercial announcer in her dream. She propped her chin in her hand as an excuse to cover her grin as she visualized the presenter offering to give her a personal demonstration of the Curious Clover product to verify its suitability for first-time experimenation with “feminine oral intimacy.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. The second dream had repeated every night for the past five, and now it was invading her daydreams just like the first one. She could tell herself that mental images of sitting next to another woman didn’t really mean anything, even if both of them were practically naked and the other woman obviously found her attractive. It was a lot harder to dismiss a fantasy about being propositioned for a lesbian sex act.

Questions whirled through her mind. Why was she having these dreams and these thoughts? Was she really a lesbian, deep down? How could she know for sure? Should she seek out a one-night stand with another woman and decide if she liked it? That might be a bad idea, she thought. Wouldn’t a confused straight girl hitting on a confirmed lesbian come across as an annoying pest? She’d heard lesbian acquaintances complain about bi-curious straight women treating them like experimental sex objects.

With an effort, she squelched that train of thought. She was at work. She needed to act professional.

She focused her eyes on the presenter’s face, not letting them drift down toward her boobs.

…“Just keep listening, and you’ll understand the truth about yourself.”

Jezebel Wylde asked her guest another question, “What made you realize that you were gay?”

“I started to have dreams about being with another woman,” Olympia began.

“You mean wet dreams about another woman?” There was an excited edge to Jezebel’s voice.

“Not at first. It was more romantic and flirtatious. I had dreams about meeting a woman who was definitely interested in me and would have been undressing me with her eyes except we were both just about naked already. Sure, there was some sexual tension…” She let the statement trail off.

The woman in the limo chuckled. “Any woman who has dreams like that is just looking for an excuse to admit that she’s gay”, she declared as she lifted her hand from Penelope’s shoulder and ran her fingers through her blonde hair.

“Interesting…” Jezebel cooed. She paused a beat and continued, “You said they weren’t wet dreams at first. What about later?”

“The dreams changed and got more sexual. It was pretty obvious that the woman in my dreams wanted to have sex with me…” She paused. “…and I found myself getting more and more curious about what it would be like.”

Meanwhile, the limo exited the highway and cruised down a local road. It turned onto a cul-de-sac leading to a large circular driveway abutting a mansion and attached garage.

“We’re here, darling,” the woman said as they pulled into the garage.

The podcast cut off as the vehicle parked. For a moment, Penelope felt disappointed that she wasn’t going to find out what it was like for Olympia. The moment passed. Soon enough, she’d know what it was like for her.

She started to unbuckle herself, but the woman’s hand settled onto hers. “Wait for me.” The woman undid her own seat belt, got out of the limo, walked around, opened the other passenger door, leaned in to unfasten Penelope’s seat belt, and helped her to her feet.

The woman led her guest to a door, down a hallway, around a corner, and to another door. She opened the door to reveal a large room dominated by a king-plus size four-poster bed. It was built of finely crafted hardwood and covered with shimmering pink silk sheets and curtains. At each side was a nightstand topped with several bottles on a silver tray.

The women entered the boudoir. The woman slipped an arm around Penelope’s waist and guided her toward the bed.

“Take off your clothes and sit down.” Penelope obediently pulled down her panties, kicked off her slippers, and sat on the foot of the bed. The woman sat right next to her.

The woman leaned in to kiss her. As she felt the woman’s tongue against her lips, she opened her mouth to let it in, then began to reciprocate…

Penelope woke up with a gasp.

The dream had changed again, and now it was intense enough to wake her from a sound sleep at… She looked at the clock. …four-thirty in the morning.

There was no denying it. The woman had taken her to a covert rendezvous at her lesbian love nest, and she had neither objected nor resisted.

Was the secrecy symbolic? Was she burying her lesbian impulses because she was ashamed of them? She had nothing against gay people, but she’d grown up in a world that didn’t fully accept them. Hell, it still didn’t. Was that why it was so hard for her to accept herself as a lesbian?

It occurred to her that she was no longer questioning whether or not she was a lesbian, deep down. She knew that she was.

Well, after that dream she didn’t see how she could deny it. The experience had stopped short of actual lesbian sex, but that was meaningless. She was clearly on the brink of it, and it would happen as soon as the woman decided that foreplay time was over…

No, she had to be honest with herself. It would happen as soon as both of them decided that foreplay time was over. She’d wanted it just as much as the other woman did. The only difference was that the other woman had taken the initiative to seek her out and rescue her from a life of denial.

No more denial. She was a lesbian.

So, what now?

It simplified things that she didn’t have a regular boyfriend to break up with. She’d just had occasional one-night stands that meant nothing after they were over.

Was she going to be like that with women? Or would it be different? Maybe she’d never had a real relationship with a man because what she wanted and needed all along was a real relationship with a woman?

So many questions. So few answers…

Trying to think through all of this wasn’t getting her anywhere. Not at this hour, not when she was short on sleep. If she waited and slept on it, would she have the new dream again? Maybe she should wait for that and let the latest message from her subconscious sink in deeper.

To her surprise, she felt herself starting to drift back to sleep. Apparently that was the right answer to her questions, at least for the moment.

Penelope read the door plaque: “Stefan Eschenbrenner, Vice President for Research and Development.” She flipped open her compact and checked her appearance. She brushed back a few stray blonde hairs with her fingers and checked again. Everything looked good.

She took a deep breath and centered herself. This meeting was too important to fake her way through. She wasn’t going to let herself drift off into fantasies inspired by her recurring dream. Later, she could indulge herself in thinking about the kiss and imagining what would come next.

It had been a week. That seemed to be how long each dream lasted before the next one replaced it. Would she have a new dream tonight that would take her into bed with the woman?

Dammit, she was letting herself get distracted again. She took another deep breath, and then another. Good. She was focused on the here and now.

She knocked.

“Come in.”

She opened the door. “I’m here for my appointment with Mr. Eschenbrenner.”

The secretary pressed a button on her intercom. “Ms Sadira is here to see you.”

“Send her in.”

She opened the door to the inner office. “Hello, Ms Sadira. Have a seat.”

Penelope sat down in the visitor’s chair in front of the desk. What she knew of him suggested that he had a no-nonsense but basically reasonable attitude. She hoped this meeting would bear that out.

“Are you familiar with Candace Augustra?”

“She’s the owner of QuarKonnekt. We’re in negotiations with them about collaborating on the quantum neurosimulator project. Other than that, all I know is that she started her career as a research scientist, rose through the ranks into management, and acquired sole ownership of the company at the age of thirty-two.”

The executive nodded slightly. “Would you be surprised to learn that she wants you to meet her in person?”

“Yes.” It took her a moment to think of something intelligent to say as a follow-up. “I know that her company is interested in my project, but I didn’t think either side was ready to discuss specific operational details.”

“Yes, that’s why I was rather surprised myself.” He paused, with an expression that suggested that he was doing it for effect rather than trying to think of what to say next. “I have another surprise for you. She offered to buy out your non-disclosure agreement to ensure that you could speak freely.”

“She wants to headhunt me.” It was the obvious conclusion.

“So it would seem.” He smiled a bit ruefully. “We’d hate to lose you, but if she makes you an offer and you decide to take it, good luck and no hard feelings.”

“Thank you.”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s only fair that you know, in case Ms Augustra does want to hire you.” He paused, “The Board of Directors is going to kill your project. It’s not a done deal yet, and there’s been some pushback, but if you get a chance for another job that makes use of your skills, I suggest you take it.”

“I’d heard rumors, but never anything that seemed definitive.” For once, Janice apparently knew what she was talking about. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

Eschenbrenner nodded. “So, shall I tell Ms Augustra that you’re ready to meet with her?”

Penelope nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, then, you’d better get going. She’s waiting for you. Go to parking level P4. Someone will be waiting for you right outside the elevator.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. I asked if you were ready, and you said ‘yes’. I hope you weren’t lying to me.” His tone was amused rather than annoyed.

“No, of course not. I’m ready. Elevator to P4. Meet someone there. Got it.” She hoped her voice didn’t show how flustered she was.

The executive presented his hand. Penelope shook it. “Good luck, Ms Sadira.”

“Thank you.” She exited the office and retraced her steps to the elevator. She pressed the button for level P4.

As she descended past the level of her own office and then past the main parking levels, she wondered just what was going on. One thing was obvious: setting up a meeting with no warning whatsoever was a power move on Candace Augustra’s part. Beyond that, there was no point in guessing. She’d know soon enough.

The elevator door opened.

A petite redhead in a neatly tailored chauffeur uniform held a sign reading “Penelope Sadira”.

She glanced at the redhead’s nametag. “Hello, Rose. I’m Penelope Sadira.”

“Follow me, ma’am.”

She followed Rose out of the elevator lobby and into the parking lot proper. On the first space to the right was a jet black limousine with tinted windows.

Rose opened the passenger-side rear door. Penelope got in, sat down, and buckled her seat belt.

“Hello, Penelope. I’m Candace Augustra… the woman of your dreams.”