He was there again.
The man of my dreams.
Or, to be totally accurate, the man in my dreams.
On an off for over 5 years I'd seen him. He was tall, around 6' 2" as far as I could tell, broad shouldered and muscular with a slim waist and strong legs. Lightly tanned skin and dark brown, shoulder length hair and bright, almost piercing blue eyes.
It was usually either at some sort of party, or in some other crowded place, and I'd see him across the room, stare at him, long for him.
I never saw him for long though, it was always a fleeting glimpse and then I'd try to follow him and find myself somewhere dark and quiet. I'd be lost, alone and afraid until I felt his hand on my back. God knows how I knew it was him, that's dreams for you.
He'd gently but firmly run his hand slowly up my spine until he reached the nape of my neck, his other hand would then flatten itself against my stomach and begin it's slow slid down to my groin, his lips would be playing with my ear and just as the hand in front was about to make delicious contact, I'd wake. Trembling from the ghost of his touch and the fire in his eyes and as hard as rock. This, frankly, was disconcerting. Straight guys shouldn't have dreams like that.
With my last girlfriend I'd tried to forget the cause of the hard-on, and make use of it, and that worked fine until she asked me what is was that got me so hard in the middle of the night. In my defence, I was barely awake, seriously horny, and not entirely sure if I was still dreaming or not, so I told her the truth.
From the way she stormed out it was clear I should have said I was dreaming of her.
I wasn't really sorry to see her go if I was honest with myself. We were never really in love. It would have helped my life afterwards though if she hadn't told all her friends, and this being a small town, they were also my friends, that I got hard by thinking of guys. This made meeting another girl difficult to say the least. And I had one or two surprising offers from guys I'd been at school with. That was 2 years ago. I got used to being by myself.
~~~~~~~~~~
The dreams were getting more frequent, I was sure. It was almost every night now, where it used to be once every few weeks when they started. They were getting stronger too, more detailed.
Tonight he was kissing me, teeth and lips and tongue. His mouth dropped to the hollow of my neck, sucking, licking, biting. My breath coming in ragged gasps. I could feel the heat of him, pressing me against a wall, his hands running under my shirt, through the hair on my chest, thumbs grazing across my nipples then fingers pinching them lightly. The warm air from his breath dropping lower as he began to unbuckle my belt, he pushed my jeans down over my hips, taking my boxers with them, a hand gently cupping my balls, squeezing, and then moist heat engulfing me.
I didn't wake up hard this time. I woke up crying out as I came. A good job my neighbours are old and deaf.
Once I got my breath back I looked at the alarm clock, noticing it was only 20 minutes before I'd normally be getting up and decided I might as well get up and shower. I chucked the sheets in the hamper on the way to the bathroom, got the shower running and as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, I wondered if I was losing my mind.
To look at I was apparently OK, not model good looking, but not ugly enough to frighten the horses. At 34 years old, just a shade over 6' and fairly well muscled from regular stints chopping wood for the elderly neighbours and a few others, and helping my cousin with her landscaping business, when I wasn't under a car at my garage, and swimming when ever I could. Longish, dirty-blond hair, lightly tanned skin, again thanks to cousin Emmas business, and brown eyes completed the picture. All in all, I didn't think I looked like a lunatic.
A brief thought that you can't tell by looking, crossed my mind as I stepped into the shower and rinsed the sweat and cum from my body, hoping to rinse the images away too.
~~~~~~~~~~
I was under my latest project at the garage, putting in a new exhaust, when I heard the footsteps.
"Hello? Anyone here?" called a voice
"How can I help?" I asked. A pair of boots stepped up next to the inspection pit, and the jeans shifted as he bent down to try and look at me, though the inspection light was in his way. I couldn't tell who it was because of the light and as he was in silhouette against the open door.
" I'm looking for a Mr David Bedson, do you know where I can find him?"
" You've found him," I said "What can I do for you?"
"Oh! Er, sorry. I wasn't expecting you to be under there. The office said you were here taking a break."
"I take it by 'the office' you mean the publisher?" I asked, irritated. He nodded. "I told them a year ago I was done with them, done with writing, done with the whole damn business." By this time, I realised I was shouting at the guy. I sighed, what was that about not being a lunatic?
"Look." I said, in a calmer tone. "I just can't do it any more. I've nothing left to write about. Seven books I wrote, 3 more than I wanted to, and don't get me wrong, the money I earned has allowed me to live the way I like without having to worry, but I'm burnt out as a writer. I've nothing left. I'm spent."
"Um, they didn't tell me anything about that. I'm just here to get you to sign the paperwork about the new royalties arrangement you decided on."
"Oh. I see. Sorry." Now I felt like a complete idiot for yelling. "I thought that was all sorted out with the lawyers."
"Yes, but you still need to sign the paperwork."
"Right. Yeah. OK, let me get out from under here and we can go over to the house."
I climbed from the inspection pit, and crossed to the sink, scrubbed my hands with the evil smelling gunk I used to get rid of the worst of the grease and turned to the guy from the publisher.
"Follow me." I said.
"Shit!!" he gasped, stumbling backwards against the wall. As he fell, he crossed away from the door, and I could see him clearly for the first time.
"Fucking Hell!" I cried. "How... You....who...what the hell is going on?" Not, it must be said, my most eloquent moment, but seeing a dream made flesh is a bit of a shock to the system.
"Y-You're real." He stammered, standing upright again, half a question, half almost an accusation.
I just stared at him. A full minute must have passed before I could form a rational thought.
"I need a drink. You?"
"Yeah, a very, very large one." He answered.
We walked quickly to the house, and into the living room, where I poured two stiff whiskies, handed one to him and downed my own in one go.
"Another?" I asked, pouring again for myself.
"No thanks, I hate whisky." He replied, putting his empty glass next to the bottle.
"Yeah, I can tell." I said with a smirk.
I turned then, to look at him properly for the first time. He was exactly as he'd been in my dreams, except the expression of complete bewilderment was new.
"OK. Does this mean I really am going nuts?" I asked him, hoping that he would have the answers, though why he would I couldn't imagine.
"Well," he said, apparently recovering better from the shock than I was. "If you mean you've just found yourself facing someone that shouldn't exist, a figment of your own imagination, then I'd have to say if you're nuts, then so am I."
"So... I take it you,.... er,..... have the..... um, dreams too?" I asked, with a small nervous smile.
"Yeah." He said quietly. "Are yours, um, quite, erm........" He trailed off.
"Charged?" I asked
"Yeah. Hot, even."
"Do you want me to tell you about the one I woke from this morning?"
"Hell, you had one this morning too?" He paused, then appeared to come to some sort of decision. "Did I er... blow you?"
"Yeah, and we haven't even been introduced." He smiled at that and held out his hand.
"James. James Wilson. My friends call me Jim. And I guess if you're dreams are the same as mine, we could definitely be considered friends."
"I guess. I'm Davey." As we shook hands I guess I was expecting some sort of electric shock, or something like that. What I wasn't expecting was to suddenly realise I was getting hard, just from touching him. I quickly released his hand, coughing to cover my embarrassment as I tried to adjust my jeans to cover up my erection.
I glanced at him, he was staring at my hard on. My eyes travelled down and I realised he was as hard as I was. I swallowed, looking back at his face he was looking at me intently, and again he seemed to make a decision. He took the final pace to close the gap between us, grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me. A single, strong yet soft kiss, a brief moment of our lips touching and he pulled away, looking into my eyes as I looked into his. Rational thought fled.
This time I closed the gap. I kissed him back, running my tongue along the line of his lips. His mouth opened and our tongues met. He pulled my t-shirt out of my jeans, his hands running under the fabric, through the hair on my chest, his mouth moving to the hollow of my neck, sucking and biting my collar bone as his thumb circled my right nipple.
I pulled away from him, gasping for breath, for a moment he looked uncertain, until I pulled my shirt off over my head and stepped into him, pulling his shirt out, tearing at the buttons and pushing it back off his shoulders.
The feel of his naked chest against mine, with his light dusting of dark hair, was wonderful. I bent and licked one of his nipples. He gasped at that, so I licked it some more, then lightly nibbled the hardening nub, causing him to groan. His thigh was between my legs, and we were both grinding our hips into each other. I pulled away again. This time he didn't look confused, he looked disappointed. I smiled slightly and said in a suddenly husky tone I don't think I'd ever used before, "Bedroom", pulling him by the hand to follow me up the stairs.
Suddenly I was glad I'd changed the sheets. I stopped at the foot of the bed and turned towards him, his hand gently stroked the side of my face, cupping my jaw and running his thumb over my bottom lip.
I put my hand to the nape of his neck, pulling him into to the kiss deeper, my tongue caressing his, his tongue fighting with mine then his mouth moved to my throat, sucking, licking and biting. My bare skin burned at the feel of his, my erection straining to be free, to be touched by him.
He seemed to read my mind and his hands went to my belt, fumbling slightly with the buckle, then the button and zip.
I groaned as his hand snaked down and firmly grasped hold of me, stroking as best he could in the confines of my jeans. I know I was making incoherent sounds, unable to form real words any more, totally lost in the sensations he was giving me.
"Davey?" Called a voice from downstairs.
Jim pulled away as though I'd scalded him, he looked suddenly lost, almost bereft, and I realised he would think the woman in my house was a wife or girlfriend. There was no way I was going to let him think that, he might run.
