He woke from the ubiquitous nightmare of all men: the vagina with teeth.

The dream had started fairly pleasantly, with a pair of women either side, dripping with sausage soup. He would roll to face one, slip Warwick in for a peak, then roll back to find a different woman waiting.

Then somewhere the oil had dried up, and the chains of the mechanical cunt had wrapped him up, held him down like a misogynistic wizard.

Then she had squatted over him. He couldn’t see her face, only the gaping vagina and the snapping set of teeth.

She lowered herself down, and Warwick betrayed him, standing at full attention, stretching up towards the stamen cropping maw.

The sound of his alarm, a fierce bird trill, had dragged him out of the nightmare. He fled to the ensuite and vomited, then reversed and defecated, his stool laced with blood.

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