Dream A Little Dream Of Me Pt 01

I remember exactly the night it started. The Pats had won a close game on Monday Night Football. We watched it in bed, and when she woke me up the first thing I saw was the bowl of popcorn on the dresser.

Funny the mileposts in your life.

It was not really night but in that blue light between night and day when you can just begin to make out objects in the room while your brain is trying to drag you back into sleep.

She woke me up, but she was not awake.

What woke me was her gasp. It sounded like something had surprised her. I considered waking her out of it in case she was in distress, but I was still groggy and not thinking clearly.

Before I could shake her, she started to cum.

Chris often makes strange orgasm sounds. Think of a baby's first belly laughs and a dog wheezing and a fat man's satisfied chortling at a dirty joke. Overlay those tracks, run them at the same time and that is an approximation of her climactic utterings.

It is a lot more arousing to hear than to describe.

She shook like fever chills for several minutes as the orgasm ran up and down her body. I wriggled closer and wrapped my arms around her and appreciated the moment.

She opened her eyes.

"Hi," she said softly. Her eyes were unfocussed, her mind was still off its mount from the sensations thrilling her cunt.

"Good morning. What brought that on?"

She closed her eyes, taking stock of her internals, and shrugged.

"I wish I had been in the dream with you," I whispered.

She gave me a flickering look. Confusion? Doubt? Guilt?

Who feels guilt over a fucking dream?

She smiled. "You're here now."

"So you...?"

"That's right," she said, kissing me. "Basement status: Flooded."

I slid my hand down into her panties. She was right. Everything was wet. Not damp. Wringing outable wet. Her panties, her bush, the crack of her ass, the sheets under that crack.

Her labia were puffy and hot.

Life is too short to pass up a beautiful woman's pussy, especially when it has already been warmed up and lubricated for you. The problem was that she had gone on before me, and even my male always-ready-to-fertilize-the-female equipment needed a little time to catch up.

I kicked off my boxers and stripped her. By that time, my cock had made a heroic finishing kick and caught her at the tape.

I put the head of my prick at her entrance and it slid in. It got sucked in like paper money into an automated cashier machine.

We looked each other in the eyes. I was deep inside her. All ready to cum already.

I kegeled to hold back, then thought fuck that. She had cum in her sleep. Hard and long. I did not have to make sure she got equal treatment this time, so I started ining and outing.

She felt fantastic. Hot and slippery and tight.

She moaned in appreciation. I moaned in desperation. I thrust in, held my sounding, and jetted.

No apologies needed.

**********

It happened the next morning. An exact repeat, except this time when she opened her eyes I saw a different look I could not define.

Didn't occur to me to care. She was streaming juice and ready.

**********

The next morning we woke up as had once been normal. The alarm rang gently at 6:30.

"Any good dreams?" I asked with a kiss.

She looked away from me for an instant, then back.

"Just of you," she whispered.

**********

Twice the next week. Three times the week after.

**********

"His name is Justin," she said one night.

That was a redundant non sequitur if ever one existed.

"The man in your dream." I said.

She raised up on one elbow to look at me more closely. We were both naked and sweaty from making love.

"Yes."

Her breasts hung pendulously, wonderfully, timelessly. I gently pinched a nipple.

"You want be more specific? About... it?"

I did not say 'him'. There was no 'him'. It was only a fucking dream.

She lay back and told me all.

The dream takes place in a vaguely familiar location. A front room, certainly, with a door to the outside. There is a knock. Sometimes the doorbell rings. One time a dog barks. We do not own a dog.

She goes to the door and opens it to see a hooded figure. Black hoodie, she can't see the face.

Then the hood is thrown back and he is in the room with her. She is not afraid. He is familiar.

She claims she has no memory of this guy. Outside the dream.

There is no conversation, no foreplay. She says she knows why he is here and she is certain he knows why he is here. He comes to her and somewhere in crossing the room his clothes just disappear. She can't remember if she is naked in the dream all along, but by the time he is nude she is too.

"He was like this," she says, making a pretty large cylinder in the air with two hands. "Hard."

I want to say that now I know why she keeps having that dream. I am just smart enough not to.

But she twigs me and rolls her eyes.

"Men." She says with some pity. "It's fantasy. Flip me the bird."

I have no idea where she is going with this but I obey.

"See the size of your finger? That's about the internal volume of my vagina. And I'm average. When I get horny, it expands. It can be stretched. But nowhere near--" She forms the dream cock in the air again. "It just wouldn't fit. Except in a dream."

But in the dream she is lubricated and expanded and ready. He puts the tip of his massive cock against her labia and her orgasm swerves to make the onramp.

"It's the anticipation," she says. "Even though he just came in the door, the dream is in dream time. You know, in dream time I could have been stimulated for hours."

Whatever the chronology, he leans in and pushes. Oh my god, she says, it is the most glorious feeling. My hole is being forcefully distended beyond anything I have ever felt. I start to come, just the leading edge of the storm. My pussy throbs, burning.

Then he starts to pump. In and out and in and out and after a long fuck or maybe a short fuck, it being all dream time, he begins to grunt. His cock swells in her, impossibly fat.

So goddamn full.

She feels the splashing inside her.

Her orgasm goes pedal to the floor. She is deep into it in no time, her odd chorus of satisfaction loud.

That is when she will wake up and see me. She is still coming.

In the final act of this play, we fuck violently, happily, lovingly in the violet light of dawn.

The end.

Her tale done, my hand finds that I am nowhere the volume of the imaginary Justin. But I am harder than any noncorporeal cock has ever been.

**********

I did not know it at the time, but Chris' telling of the dream marked a turn in our life.

It should not have. After she finished spinning out the details of the dream, we screwed like animals. I was on top, she was on top, I was behind-- it was like a professional wrestling show but with real orgasms.

I assumed me knowing more about the dream would catalyze an unending amount of hot sex.

Stupid.

**********

It didn't take long.

The very morning after her tale, she woke me up with grunts that signaled the beginning of the fucking part of the dream. A ripping orgasm was building.

I felt sick. I was not hard.

That fucking Justin was inside her.

He was going to fill her with his sperm any second now.

I slid out of bed and watched her convulsions for a moment.

I walked out and shut the door firmly. But quietly.

**********

She found me at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. She sat down opposite me and took my hand.

"It's the dream, isn't it?"

Fuck me for marrying smart.

I nodded.

She came around the table and sat in my lap.

"My darling Matt," she whispered. "It's just a dream."

**********

She is so damn smart that she knew she did not have to speak what I knew she would have spoken. The only sperm in her womb right that moment was mine. The last softening cock to slip from her dripping cunt had been mine. I was right there holding her, fondling her tits, fingering her slit -- all while sipping my tea.

I was kissing her. Not Justin.

I knew she was right. My brain knew she was right.

Then why did I feel like she had been somewhere else?

**********

It didn't get any better.

Three times in the next four days.

I left the room each time. I went to the guest bedroom and pulled the covers over my head.

I heard her cries through the wall, through the covers.

I felt abandoned. My pain was eased a bit by the fact that when she woke up alone, her cunt still contracting in pleasure, she jumped out of bed and came to get into mine.

The first few times it was okay. We fucked in the guestroom, got up, showered, dressed, went to work.

Then one morning my prick would not get hard when she slid in beside me. I knew she wanted it in her. She worked and worked on it. Eagerly and with loving attention.

So asshole me, frustrated with the world, angry that I could not fuck my panting and eager wife, said exactly the wrong thing.

"It's okay. Justin will take care of you."

Chris got up slowly, her face as sad as I had ever seen it. She left the room.

She did not come back the next morning. Or the next.

Even though I heard her shouts of ecstasy, she stayed away.

The next morning she started to call his name.

**********

Of course we talked. We are not caricatures. We found each other in the crowd and started dating because we had similar outlooks on life. We moved in together because we had temperaments that, while not exactly the same, meshed well. We had no prickly pieces that sparked against each other. We got married because we realized that the other was a true and deserving partner. We exchanged the public vows of fidelity. More importantly, we exchanged private vows of dedication and of love.

The talks got us nowhere.

It boiled down to me not liking her dreams and her not being able to control her dreams.

Boom.

I asked her if I was ever in that dream. Anywhere? In a prologue or a sidebar? A glimpse of me out the side of her mind's eye?

Did she even sense my presence?

She actually hesitated to answer, looking away from me.

"No," she admitted.

**********

I was getting no sleep. I was not doing my job very well, and people were noticing.

I love Chris so much it hurts deep in my gut.

I know with absolute certainty that she loves me just as much.

Yet here I was.

The next day, I came home early and packed a bag. I planned to take a late morning and sneak away after she went to work. I would go to a friend's house and beg his spare room for a few nights.

After that, I had no clue.

But I would be far from her and Justin.

**********

I didn't make it that long.

I was woken at dawn by her yipping, yowling, grunting orgasm.

It was the last straw.

My eyes brimmed with tears as I pulled on my clothes, grabbed my bag and my keys and headed for the door.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance.

The doorbell rang. Followed by a knock.

My sleep-deprived brain was agitated by this nonsense. Who the hell comes by the house at this hour--

I opened the door.

My mind balked.

Chills spread across my body.

In the dim porch light stood a figure in a black hoodie.

**********

To be continued.