This time she knew she was dreaming. It was the same dream she had had the previous night, or rather, a continuation of it. Her first awareness of it was when she was looking at herself sitting on the bedknob in the mirror, and feeling the knob pressing upwards between her thighs.
Because she knew it was a dream, she tried hard to stop herself from imitating the actions of her reflection in the mirror, but her legs would not obey her. "Stand up!" she said to herself in her mind, but her legs bent further, pushing the knob harder against her soft lower parts. She gasped as she felt the entrance to her vagina open to swallow the bedknob. It felt just like the thing that she had sat on under the tree, except... the bedknob was going in deeper than the thing had.
"Ohhhhhh..." she groaned as she felt her vulva stretch around the thickest part of the knob. Then the pressure on her labia lessened as her lips slid past the middle of the knob, the pressure moving inwards, into her private parts. Her head spun as she looked at herself in the mirror -- the reddened gash of her sex no longer looked so strained, but she could see a slight bump in her flat belly as the bedknob continued its progress into her. Oh god. Stop it, Hazel. Stop it. You... you're fucking yourself on the bedknob!
But her body still wouldn't listen to her frantic appeals and she could only watch as her reflection continued driving her hips downwards, pressing the bedknob into her body as deeply as it would go. Hazel suddenly remembered that the bedknob was topped by a smaller protrusion, just moments before she felt it press against her cervix... and at about the same time she heard Ted's voice outside the bedroom door. "Honey, I'm home," he was saying, and she knew what it meant. He was going to come in and see her fucking herself on the bedknob and he would... he would...
The overriding sense of panic woke her up. She sat up, her heart pounding, her head still filled with the images and her body with the sensations of her dream. It was so real she swore she could feel the throbbing ache in her vagina, where the bedknob had... had... god, was she going mad? Was it true what her friends said, that she would miss sex so much she would go crazy? But... she didn't even like it to begin with. Why would she miss something she thought was a chore and a bother?
Hazel got up and got herself a towel to wipe the sweat off her head and body (and other fluids from her sopping wet crotch). Then she made her way to the kitchen to get herself a warm drink. Was she really going mad? What should she do?
Not trusting the seductive combination of her imagination and her bed, she sat in the kitchen and mused upon her problem. Was there really something wrong with her? Or was it... something else? She remembered the wild eyes on the old man who had accosted her on the beach and shivered once more. Was there something unseen that she... had trespassed upon when she unwittingly sat under that tree? Who could help her?