Dream a Little Dream of Me

Dream a little dream of me Part 2a

Author's note: Parts 2 are each direct endings of Part 1. Each Part 2 is independent of all other Parts 2.

*********

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.

**********

The figure stared at me. I could not see his face, but then he turned his head to the light to look at the house number and--

She had shaggy black hair, a long pale face, and two eyebrow piercings. Tall and thin, she stepped back and said, "Sorry."

Then she walked quickly back down the path, climbed into a dark blue Rav4 and pulled away. There was enough light to see that the plates came from two states over.

**********

I drove around aimlessly. It was too early on a Sunday morning to wake up my buddy with the empty room. I thought about all the things that had happened since that first night. I needed to tell someone. I needed a fresh and probably saner person to tell me what the hell to do. I really didn't have any friends I considered close enough--

Then the nickel dropped. It was more like a quarter these days. Maybe a Venmo transaction. Whatever the metaphor, good old brain came up with an answer.

**********

I grew up a half hour drive out of the city. By the time I arrived, the sun was full up on a beautiful morning. My mom and dad were sitting in the breakfast nook finishing their coffee. Mom poked at her iPhone and my dad was reading a golfing magazine.

I sat down. "I need some advice."

Dad removed his glasses, closed the magazine, laid it on the table, and gave me his best wise patriarch face.

Mom kept swiping.

"It's kind of personal," I said to her. "Maybe I should talk to Dad? Alone?"

"It's about sex then?"

I nodded as she finally looked up.

"You think I don't know about sex?" she asked.

There being no correct answer to that, I did not answer.

"If you had gotten here an hour ago, I would have still had my legs in the air."

I stared at her. I was actually blushing, a skill I never knew I had.

"And after you leave, we might have another go. Viagra seems to last your father about twelve hours."

I glanced helplessly at my Dad. He had a fist to his mouth trying to suppress his laughter.

"Jesus H. Christ," I protested. "Too much information."

My mother smiled at me. "My problem is dryness, and we fix that with a nice water-based lubricant. Now, what's your problem?"

I sputtered for a bit, then both my parents burst into peals of laughter. I thought for an instant that they were having me on. But my mother's tone had been-- fuck, she was serious.

I sighed the sigh of an indulgent child, then told them the whole story. Changing - even though Mom had laid her claim to being down with illustrative vulgarity - fucking to making love, cumming to orgasm, etc.

They were still my parents, after all.

After the telling, they looked at one another, all joking forgotten.

"I am so sorry, son," my mother said.

"You having any dreams yourself?" Dad asked.

"No," I said. "That is, nothing out of the ordinary."

Mom tapped her coffee cup. "Christine doesn't know anyone named Justin?"

"That's what she says. And she does not know anybody who looks like the guy in her dream."

"And we believe her?" Dad asked.

Mom gave him the hairy eyeball. "What a thing to say. Of course we believe her. Christine is a wonderful woman. We are lucky to have her in our family."

"Plus," Dad said, "why give you a name at all? You'd never know. You aren't in the dream."

Thanks for reminding me.

They thought for a while as I went and fixed a fresh pot of coffee. When I returned with a cup and refilled theirs, Mom made that hand motion to my Dad that said: go ahead - I will jump in when you screw up.

Dad shrugged his fuck if I know shrug. "You need to go back to Christine. Right now. And tell her that you love her. Everything else can be fixed, but you need to make sure that she knows that you are one hundred percent."

Mom nodded. "Then you two need to get a therapist."

"If your transmission went, you'd take it to a pro," Dad said. "Same with relationships. Don't fuck around trying to fix it yourself."

**********

Hurray for my brain, my brain thought as I drove back to my house. Mom and Dad were geniuses. This was fixable, and running away was not the right answer. What the right answer might be I had no idea. I was going to pay some professional to overhaul the transmission of our marriage. Or something like that.

I pulled into my driveway about noon. Parked on the other side of the street was a dark blue Rav4. I got out and went over to it. Plates from two states away.

Probably someone just moving in and came over before to ask a question.

Why hadn't she asked any question then? She had looked at me like expecting someone else before running off.

I went into the house. I had parked next to Chris's car, so she hadn't gone out. Could she be having a lie in? I checked the clock. It seemed unlikely.

Then I heard faint noises from upstairs. She was probably doing her yoga.

I tiptoed up the stairs. I was going to surprise her, grab her out of downward dog or cat-cow or whatever contortion she was in, smother her with kisses, maybe fuck her, and tell her how much I absolutely loved her.

Her grunts got louder as I approached our bedroom door. She must really be yogaing hard--

I froze. My body started to throb in time with my heartbeat.

There were two voices.

I rammed the door open, splintering the jam. I stumbled into the room, almost losing my balance.

Chris had been riding him. On our bed. She turned as I approached, blood in my eyes and thunder in my ears.

She fell off to the far side of him. I balled my fists and raised them, ready to go to war on the bastard--

There was no cock. There should have been a hard cock still pointing into the empty space where my wife's cunt had just been.

I looked up his body.

He was the girl who had been at the door that morning.

I deflated. A balloon let go to fly sputtering around the room.

I slumped. My fists dropped to my side.

"Honey," my wife said, still breathing hard. "This is Justine."

I collapsed to sit down on the bed next to them.

"Matt?" My wife's new lover said.

Chris nodded. "My husband."

"Pleased to meet you," Justine said brightly. She extended a hand, apparently not caring one bit that her legs were spread and her tits were exposed.

She had small perfect breasts, high and firm, with large brown areolae. She shaved. I stared at her labia. All of her labia.

I shook her hand automatically and mumbled something. Politeness costs me nothing, as someone not famous enough for me to remember their name once said.

Chris rubbed her left breast. She has larger breasts, round and hanging, with hard nipples, and I was getting distracted by all the boobs.

"I should probably explain," Chris said. Neither one made a move to cover up. Justine reached down and started to slowly rub her bald cunt.

Yes, an explanation.

"You want a divorce?" I choked the words out.

My wife looked astonished.

"Why? Matt -- Wait. Do you think I am a lesbian?"

"Well--" I made a feeble gesture at the naked woman she had been enthusiastically humping.

"Not me," said Justine. "I'm straight.... It's the hair and the tattoos, isn't it?"

She had a seahorse tattoo over her bellybutton and a tribal band around her left bicep.

"No," I squeaked. "It's the--" Again I was reduced to waving a hand instead of using words.

Chris nodded understandingly. "Yes, we were rubbing our cunts together. It's harder than you'd think to cum this way. I haven't ever tried it before."

"I kissed Jennifer Mack at a party when we were both drunk off our asses," Justine said. "She's married with two kids now."

"Wait wait wait wait wait," I protested, waving both hands like I was dancing jazz. I pointed at the new girl. "Who the hell are you?"

The new girl identifying as Justine started to respond, but my wife cut her off. "It's Justine, dear. From my dream."

Chris then addressed the new girl. "Oh, that's right. He isn't in the dream."

Thank you again for reminding me.

"You said the guy in your dream -- note the word guy, meaning man, meaning penis -- was a guy."

Chris shrugged. "Well, this is him. Sort of. Except he's a she."

I stared at them both, my capacity for understanding reality reduced to a smoking heap.

Justine idly inserted a finger into herself. "I started having these dreams. Almost every night. I would be standing in front of a house. I would knock or ring the bell. The door was opened by a hunk. A hard muscular guy." She giggled. "And I do mean hard."

She made an invisible cylinder out of her fists, one atop the other, miming an impressive girth.

Chris gave me the see I told you look.

"And then he would fuck me. So good. I came and came until my boyfriend would wake me and... you know, screw me until sunrise."

Chris and I eyed each other. She raised one eyebrow like Mr. Freaking Spock.

"Your boyfriend?" I asked.

Justine frowned. "He left me. For good. After a while he could not stand me dreaming about being fucked by a totally imaginary person. Can you believe that?"

I shook my head in sympathetic understanding, trying to indicate what an asshole he must have been.

"He bolted after I started calling out the name of the guy fucking me. In the dream."

I could not stand the anticipation. "Which...was...."

"Chris, of course," Justine smiled at my wife.

I didn't even bother to point out the lack of a large pecker attached anywhere on my wife's body.

"So both of you dreamed about getting reamed by a guy with a huge schlong, but that guy turns out to be a gal. Is that what we are doing here?

They both nodded.

"I think as a hypothesis," said my wife, a psychology major. "We were really dreaming about each other, but since we are heterosexuals, our imaginations edited the dream to fit our images of ourselves."

Why two women who did not know each other had been simultaneously imagining having intercourse with the male version of the other woman they did not know.... In the panel of my brain, down in the brain's basement, a circuit breaker popped. I would have to go down later and reset it.

"But you aren't lesbians, even though...."

They both shook their heads vigorously. Nope.

"Then how--" I would have made a crappy detective.

Chris scooted her lovely bare ass over and put her arms around me.

"Justine came to the door. I opened it. When we saw each other, we screamed like little girls watching a slasher flick. I knew it was her. Him. Whatever."

Justine nodded. "It was just so instant. I knew she was Chris."

"And I knew she was Justin."

"I reached out to touch her," Chris said, "to see if she was real. She was. Then she touched me. Then I touched her face. Then we got really close and pressed our bodies together. For confirmation."

"It seemed right. It seemed natural. And we kissed." Justine continued for her. "We... got naked and started...."

"Something," Chris breathed. "We didn't know what we were doing. We don't know. We are experimenting."

Justine put another finger inside her pussy and made a little throaty sound. "It's incredibly exciting. Just like the first time."

"It is the first time," Chris giggled. My gaze was drawn down by movement. My wife was petting her pussy. "But...."

"We need something inside us. Don't we, Chris?"

My wife stroked my crotch. For fuck's sake, I was as hard as a New York Times crossword.

"Help us out, dear."

The reacting masculine part of me that lived near my balls told the thinking masculine part of me that lived in the front of my brain to shut the fuck up, and I began ripping off my pants in an awkward hopping dance.

As I was pulling the shirt over my head, I said, "This is some fucked up Twilight Zone shit."

"I know," my wife said, her voice thick with lust.

"What's the Twilight Zone?" Justine asked, her fingers now sliding in and out of her bare slit.

Fuck Rod Serling. I lay down on the bed and kissed my wife. I slipped my arms around her and hugged.

I felt another body against my back.

"You have to share," Chris mumbled into my mouth. "Be polite."

I rolled onto my back, and before I could ask for Justine's vitals and identification, she mounted me.

"Tested clean and on the pill," she gasped. "Okay?"

It was new and unexplored levels of okay. She moved up and down and gasped and groaned. I reached down and put some fingers into my wife, who kissed me, then Justine, then me.

Chris got to her knees, pivoted around, and planted her gushing pussy on my face. The three of us then spent the next several minutes -- it could have been several hours, I could not tell because it was Sunday and time is not counted on Sunday -- racing towards our orgasms.

I lost the race. My masculine part near my balls went screaming into oblivion and my cock shot a record load deep into a young woman I had met only minutes -- or maybe hours -- before.

This meant that my prick was hors de combat for a while, this being not a dream, so the two new lovers took care of each other. I managed to contribute with tongue and fingers while they each climaxed several times.

Women.

**********

I had fallen asleep. I woke and slowly realized it was due to sunrise and not a loud orgasm. I felt relieved and very happy.

Chris was gone. I left the bed carefully so that Justine would not wake. I found my wife downstairs raiding the refrigerator.

"What just happened?" I asked, yawning.

She turned. Robe wide open, showing her fabulous assets. "What happened is that I cheated on you. If you want to get a lawyer and divorce me, I understand."

I considered that for several minutes while she cut pieces from a roasted chicken and ate them with famished relish.

"Nah." I said finally. "I'm good."

"That's sexist as hell," she said, mouth full. "You were ready to beat the shit out of him -- when she was a him."

I spread my arms. "It's true. Something about you fucking a woman doesn't bother me."

"Is rubbing cunts together even fucking?"

I shook my head. "Apparently not in my book. Did you know you were bisexual before this?"

"Bisexual? What makes you think I'm bisexual?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Because... oh, never mind. Look, I want you to agree to do two things for me."

She had a leg in her mouth and just moved her head. It could have been a nod, so I kept on.

"One, do not become emotionally involved with another woman and ignore me. Two, do not let the other woman's male friend if any invite himself in. Okay?"

She tossed the bone into the sink and grabbed me. Our bare fronts rubbed together nicely, even though she now smelled like chicken fat.

"You are the only man for me. I agree." she said, and kissed me hard. Like I said, chicken fat.

Then she pulled back. "But you...."

"Different rules. You are my wife. It is my bed. And Justine jumped on me."

Chris tittered. "Did she ever."

**********

Later that night, I woke up to Christine next to me in bed, facing me. I heard Justine's soft breathing on the other side of her.

My wife took my hand.

"What are we doing?" I whispered.

She kissed my palm. "I don't know. But it's magical."

**********

One month later, and things were weird.

Not the fact that a beautiful stranger had inserted herself in our sex life. Not the fact that I was screwing two women who had each been dreaming and having sex with the other when they were a man. In their dreams. And were now fucking -- if you call rubbing cunts together fucking -- sucking, and fingering each other every day for so many hours it qualified as a hobby.

Hell, there are trillions of neutrinos passing through our bodies every second, and we don't let that bother us. Some things you shrug your shoulders and accept. Like subatomic particles and the appearance of naked women in your bed who were mysteriously drawn to your house and spent untold hours on Google scrolling down street images to find it.

No, the weird thing was that these two did not know how to fuck each other. Seriously? After a couple days watching them positioning themselves and trying different angles of attack, I called time.

"Apparently there are videos of sexual activities on the web," I said innocently, opening my laptop and making sure my browsing history had been erased. Justine had graduated two years before with a degree in computer science. How did she not know this? Every male over the age of-- well, best not go there. But men knew where to go for porn and binge watch it. How had these two stayed so pure of mind?

Women.

We watched professional videos of female-on-female action. We all agreed these were unsatisfying as training. The women were too rough with each other. Justine winced when fingers jackhammered into vaginas. Chris said, "They call that a kiss? More like Hannibal Lecter eating her face."

We watched amateur videos. Some of these depicted actual love and care, but the bad lighting and crappy sound and low resolution tended to leave us guessing about the details.

We watched FMF threesome videos. Teen, Milf, mature, Gilf, and midget.

After a session taking notes, we reconvened practice. The team got better with each rep. I thought about buying a whistle and wearing it on a cord around my neck in bed.

Then my Amazon order arrived.

We ate dinner. Soup and crusty bread. Justine's mother had taught her how to make delicious soups. That is harder than you would think, based on my experiments. I told them I had dessert for them. Upstairs.

"This dessert is best... eaten in the nude," I said suggestively.

Clothes vanished.

I presented the dessert: a translucent pink double-headed dildo with a large knob in the center that was festooned with silicon nubs and vibrated on the command of a Bluetooth remote. Squishy but firm. Long and thick on either side but not so long or so thick that I felt threatened. And well short of the thickness the two had seen in dreams. They were suitably impressed nonetheless.

"Ooooh," the two said together.

I considered throwing it up in the air between them like a referee tossing the basketball for a tip off. Instead, I kissed them and applied my tongue to the necessary areas and fondled them in other areas, then figured out how to work the remote while they slowly worked the thing into each other, groaning and sighing and distracting the hell out of me.

I was stiff and bouncing when they finally managed to take the whole length so their pussies were pressed hard against the center knob.

I found the power button.

It started on the lowest setting. Justine grinned like a stuffed monkey. Chris bit her lip and panted. They lay, crotches pressed hard into the humming knob and by transferred pressure into each other, up on their elbows watching the work of this modern marvel.

It did not take long to do its job. Five stars, I thought. My review would definitely include the phrase "reminded me of two cats arguing in an alley".

**********

Next morning, I woke. To sunlight, not moans. I smiled. Chris stirred and I kissed her full awake.

"Where's Justine?" she breathed, still dazed.

"Making breakfast?"

But she wasn't. No sign of her, and her car was gone from the curb.

"Probably went shopping," Chris guessed.

But she hadn't. I found a small paper square attached to the refrigerator by a butterfly magnet.

"Oh." I said. Chris heard me and rushed over. I handed her the note.