Sexsomniac

I have always considered myself an ugly duckling that never matured into the beautiful swan that Hans Christian Andersen wrote about.

Well I guess I'm not truly ugly, but probably just completely and utterly plain. Maybe that's why my Mom named me Jane. I'm not really fat, but certainly not sleek. My hair isn't dry and discolored, but always seems frizzy. My boobs are darn near non-existent, and my eyes dull and lifeless in color. Several crooked teeth were not corrected by braces and I still have them as an adult.

I don't think that my looks are responsible for my social anxiety disorder, but I sure do have it, and it wasn't helped by the elementary and high schools that I went to. I was plenty smart, but my disorder kept me from shining, so I attended an on-line University where I got the highest grades in language arts in its history.

While my looks may not be responsible for my social anxiety disorder, my older sister Ashley may be partially responsible. Note that Mom gave her a name that a ballerina might have, while I was "plain Jane."

It's not that Ashley is, or ever has been, mean to me. It's just that the contrast between the two of us could not be more stark. She's blond, buxom, and beautiful, with dancing blue eyes and a brilliant captivating smile. She was prom queen while I never went to a dance in my life. She's the ultimate extrovert while my social anxiety doesn't even raise me to the level of introvert.

After I got my on-line degree, and through the efforts of a professor that I never met in person, I got a high paying job translating voice recordings into English and transcribing the conversations in the recordings. I have a facility for languages and could easily translate German, Spanish, Arabic, and Russian, and with some difficulty also Mandarin Chinese. I didn't really need to interact with people more than about once a week. I had my own apartment, the end unit in the most secluded part of the garden apartment complex that I lived in.

Upon my parents' deaths when I was twenty three, about six months after I had started my translation job, Ashley became concerned about my lack of socialization because my parents were no longer around to encourage it. Therefore she took to having me stay over at her house at least one night a week, usually a Friday or Sunday night, sometimes also on Saturday night. That was both good and bad.

It was "good" because Ashley was always nice to me and I liked her, despite the fact that just because who she was - no intention on her part - I felt inferior. It was also good because Ashley's husband Brandon is a hunk and a half. In addition to being the best looking man that I have ever seen, except for my father, a cousin, and one friend in High School, he is the only male I have ever known who goes out of his way to be nice to me. I have a powerful crush on him, and have had since I met him when I was in High School and he and Ashley were in college.

It was "bad" staying over at Ashley's house for the same reasons that it was good; especially the crush on Brandon part. I brought my dildo, which I named "Brandon" and which was the only thing ever to enter my vagina except for my fingers, to Ashley's house and would use it extensively at night after interacting with Brandon during the day. It was also "bad" because Ashley often asked for my advice on things since she considers me smarter than her (actually I probably am), but I lived in fear of giving the wrong advice.

About the fifth or sixth time that I stayed over at Ashley's house - it was a Friday - I noticed that Brandon was a little more stressed than normal. Also, Ashley didn't seem as warm to him as she usually is. Brandon asked if I wanted to work out with him in their basement exercise room - something that I normally never do. I agreed even though it caused my pussy to leak when I saw him sweating while he lifted weights, and when he touched me to guide me in one exercise I almost lost it. The workout did not seem to lift his spirits, however.

Those observations certainly didn't stop me from giving my pussy a good workout with my dildo, however; in fact the memory of seeing Brandon's sexy muscles, and his touch, had me orgasming in record time. I wore just a flannel nightgown, no panties, since they got in the way of my dildo.

I was awakened in the middle of the night when my door opened and a hulking figure appeared in the doorway. At first I was afraid, but there was enough light coming through the window that once the figure came closer I could see that it was Brandon.

"What's the matter, Brandon?" I whispered.

He said nothing.

He approached me.

He was stark naked and his beautiful cock - I assume that it was beautiful but it was the only one I had seen live as an adult so I couldn't be sure - which was about the size of my dildo, was sticking straight out.

I instinctively moved the covers off of me to exit the bed because my brain was not processing the information. He had his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me back into the bed before I could exit.

Seeing his cock almost instantly re-stimulated my pussy.

"Brandon, what are you doing?" I kept asking as he straddled me and stroked my body. I didn't want to yell for fear of waking Ashley. From what I could see of Brandon's eyes in the dark they were - for lack of a better expression - "zombie-like."

It wasn't long before his rock hard cock was pushing at the entrance to my wet hole. My mind was overloaded. "Is my sister's husband - the man that I have longed for for years - going to fuck me?" flashed through my brain more than once. It stopped flashing through my mind once his cock was balls deep in my pussy.

I got the first fuck of my life that night. He must have been excited because he didn't last long; however, as far as my enjoyment was concerned he didn't need to because I orgasmed twice before he ejaculated in me.

I bit hard on my hand not to scream. It felt so good. So warm, so comforting, so energizing, all at the same time. My brain had stopped functioning normally when he pulled out and with from what I could tell was a weird smile, exited the room with his cock still ¾ hard and glistening with my juices.

Brandon didn't bother closing the door. Even in my stupor I knew that I needed to so I got up and closed it. I could feel his warm goo running down my thigh - I vowed never to wash my thigh again.

As I lay in bed trying to figure out what had just happened, my entire body tingled. Then a feeling of ultimate serenity came over me, and I fell into a deep sleep.

The next thing that I remember is Ashley opening up the door when the sunlight was already streaming through the window. "Wake up sleepy head. We're going on adventures today," she chuckled.

"OK, sis" I groggily replied. She smiled warmly.

My first conscious thought was "That was a hell of a dream last night!"

Then I felt the caked cum on both thighs.

"Holy shit, it really did happen!" I quietly exclaimed.

As I showered the evidence off - despite my pledge the night before never to wash my thighs again - I now confronted a different problem. How would I act around Brandon? Did I owe it to Ashley to tell her? Was this going to screw up three lives big time? By the time that I was dressed and down to breakfast I had decided to play it by ear.

"Hi Jane," Brandon said in a sing-song voice, "I'm scrambling some eggs - should I add a couple for you?" Just like nothing had happened.

"Uh, sure, Brandon; I'd, ..., well, ..., sure I could take two," I mumbled in response.

The breakfast, and the rest of the day, proceeded normally. We went to a ballgame together and I sat between Brandon and Ashley, to protect me from too much interaction with the crowd. Brandon acted no differently toward me than he ever had. I did make a stop at the drugstore to get a Plan B pill.

I stayed over that Saturday night. There was no repeat.

To say that I was confused over the next week would be the understatement of the decade. I almost called Brandon to talk about it - it would be impossible for me to discuss it with him face-to-face, but I could do it over the phone. I could never work up the courage to call him, however.

The next Sunday night I stayed at Ashley's house once more. Again, Brandon acted no differently toward me than he ever had. Once more, however, I did notice that he was a little stressed and he and Ashley seemed to be having a minor tiff. I again worked out with Brandon - only the second time in my life that I had consciously done any weightlifting - and gave my dildo a monumental workout at night.

That night I didn't realize that Brandon was in the room until I felt the covers move off of me. After that, it was almost a repeat of the last time Brandon came into my room. The only change was that this time I fucked him back. Never having done that before I just went with instinct, and his grunts seemed to indicate enjoyment - although I couldn't be sure due to the repeat of the zombie look on his face.

This time I came even harder than the first time, probably due to my active participation. I swear that I almost passed out. I don't know if it was my imagination, but his smile seemed wider when he exited my room than it had the first time.

That night serenity and sleep came quickly once again; and the next morning also arrived too quickly given the beautiful thoughts flowing so realistically through my mind that I do believe that I was having mini-orgasms most of the night.

At breakfast it was the same ole Brandon; no angst, or any other identifiable unusual quality, was recognizable.

As we ate, between mouthfuls of yogurt Ashley said "You look really happy this morning, Jane. Why is that?"

"Yeah, you do look chipper sis," Brandon momentarily chimed in before returning to his omelet.

"Uh, well...I had a nice time yesterday, and you guys are so good to me that I can't help but be cheerful," I replied, getting me a big smile from Ashley.

Ashley then squeezed my hand and cooed "That makes me feel good too."

"Say, Ash," Brandon then said, "do you need me to drop Jane off at her place, or are you going to take her?"

"I need to get in to work a little early, do you mind?" Ashley replied.

"Not at all," Brandon responded. "Will you be ready to go in fifteen minutes, sis?" he asked me.

"Uh, sure," I answered, suddenly nervous. "Will he want to talk about it in the car?" I wondered. The thought of a face-to-face discussion with Brandon about him fucking me was beyond scary.

I needn't have worried. On the way to my apartment - I had him drop me off at a drugstore two blocks from my place for another Plan B pill - he acted no differently toward me than normal, and only squeezed my hand and said "Kill them today, sis," when he dropped me off.

After Brandon fucked me the third time, two weeks later, I started to realize that something was really, really amiss. I tried to talk to him during our third sexual encounter - that is until I approached orgasm when my brain and mouth stopped working - but got no response, only that zombie look. I started doing some computer searching the next Monday, and made an appointment with my OB/GYN to get some birth control pills so I didn't have to keep getting Plan B.

I only had one project - that I could knock out in three hours - due that Monday, so I spent most of the morning searching on my computer.

It wasn't look before I came across a quote from a Psychologist named Mike Mangan who studies sleepsomnia. He is the man behind a website about sleep sex. "I had over 30,000 visits to my website in one day and I had hundreds sharing their stories," was his illuminating quote.

I pursued the matter further, and found a technical article written by him, and another by a female psychiatrist. I learned for the first time that "sexsomnia" is a real condition, and that there are thousands of sexsomniacs world-wide. I was shocked to find more than a dozen cases in the UK, and at least two in Sweden, as well as others around the world, where men were found not guilty of rape when their condition was proven by unrefuted expert testimony.

I read everything that I could find about sexsomnia that morning, including printing out the most relevant articles. After finishing my project I reviewed everything that I had located. By the time that I went to sleep that night I was convinced that Brandon was a sexsomniac.

I also found out that sexsomniacs have a wide variety of different actions when having sex when asleep. The only common denominator is that they don't know that they had sex when they wake up unless they see some real evidence of it, although some do acknowledge that they dreamt that they had sex. Some sexsomniacs are aggressive, some relatively docile, and everything in between. Some have a horrible reaction if they are shaken awake during sex, others are just chagrined. A second common denominator appears to be that episodes are normally triggered by some sort of stress.

I didn't know exactly what I was going to do with the information that I had, but I knew one thing for certain. I was NOT going to tell either Brandon or Ashley about it, nor would I ever wake Brandon while he was fucking me. However, since I had every expectation of getting more sex from Brandon in the future I decided that in addition to getting birth control pills that I had to improve my sexual performance.

Online I bought a device that helps me do Kegel exercises. I decided that squeezing Brandon's dick with my pussy muscles might really enhance the experience for both of us, so I practiced daily. After four more sexsomnia fucks with Brandon, I was really pretty good at it, and from the sounds that he made I think that he was enjoying it more than before - and although I didn't believe that it was possible, it was better for me too.

In addition to my Kegel exercises, I also actually joined a health club and started working out regularly - although it was either late at night or early in the morning when there were few other patrons, and I never showered there. After about six weeks of workouts both Brandon and Ashley remarked at how I was really looking fit - and I have to admit that I was. While certainly still not sleek, my body was nicer looking than at any other point in my life, and I felt better too.

I don't know how long that Brandon and I would have gone on like that - him fucking me in his sleep an average of three times a month - before a catastrophe would occur. Eventually it had to happen, however.

On a Friday night one of Ashley's married college roommates, Cindy, was visiting her and sleeping in the bed that I normally do. If I had known that Cindy was staying over that night I would have tried to do something - but I didn't until after the fact.

Apparently Brandon had had a very stressful day that Friday.

My phone rang in the middle of the night. It was Ashley and she was hysterical. Ostensibly Brandon had tried to have sex in his sleep with Cindy, and she did not react like I did. She hit him until he woke up - apparently just as Ashley was entering the room in response to Cindy's screams.

"What does Brandon say about it?" I asked after calming Ashley down.

"He says that he must have been sleepwalking - do you believe that bullshit?" Ashley cried.

"Is he still there?" I inquired.

"Yes - he's trying to convince Cindy not to call the cops," she moaned.

"Let me talk to him and then Cindy, please," I replied.

When Brandon got on the phone I was conciliatory. "Brandon, why don't you come to my apartment tonight and stay here - to get away from the hysteria over there. I'll help you figure this thing out."

After a long pause he said "Thanks. That might be best. Ashley is indicating that you want to talk to Cindy too?" In asking the question he sounded really puzzled.

"Sure," I cheerily replied.

When Cindy got on the phone she had mostly calmed down. "Hi Cindy, do you remember me I'm Jane, Ashley's little sister."

""Of course, Jane. You always seemed smart. Can you make something of this?" she replied. I had met her at least half a dozen times when she and Ashley were roommates.

"There is a sleep disorder called 'sexomnia;' it is like sleep walking or binge eating in one's sleep. It is a real condition. I don't know if Brandon has it, but you should understand that he is a wonderful and honest guy, and would never force himself on anyone or cheat on Ashley, in his right conscious mind. I hope that you'll give him the benefit of the doubt for now and not do anything drastic," I told her in as serious a tone as I could muster.

"Is that for real?" she asked.

"Yes, I swear that it is. Like I said, I don't know if Brandon has it, but for now please assume that he might, and that he's not responsible," I plead.

"OK," she surprisingly retorted, "but I'm not staying overnight here again."

Brandon arrived at my apartment about twenty minutes later, carrying a suit bag with his work clothes in it, and a suitcase. "I hope that you don't mind, but Ashley is pissed and says that I should stay away until she calls me," he dejectedly said.

"It's no problem. As nice as you have been to me, it's the least that I can do. Do you want to talk about it?" I said as kindly as possible.

"No; I have an early business meeting tomorrow even though it's Saturday, and I need some sleep," he responded

"I've already made up the guest room bed," I replied.

He gave me a big hug and said "Thanks," directly into my ear. That instantly turned my pussy into a swamp.

Though I'm not beautiful, I am smart. If I got an early morning visit from Brandon I needed to make sure that there was no evidence of it afterward. While tomorrow I was going to discuss sexsomnia with him, I didn't want him to know that he was engaging in it with me since he would certainly leave.

Brandon did come into my room the first night that he stayed over; I was now sleeping nude whenever I was staying in the same domicile as Brandon did to make things easier. I fucked and squeezed him the best that I could. When he returned to his bed I followed him and sucked his cock clean so that hopefully he wouldn't find caked cum on his dick and know that he had done something in his sleep.

After Brandon's business meeting on Saturday he tried to call Ashley. She was still not having anything to do with him. I sat Brandon down for a talk.

"Brandon, I believe that you were sleepwalking when you went into Cindy's room. There is something called sexsomnia."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes; here's something I pulled off the Internet," I replied as I handed him the most innocuous of the articles that I had printed out.

"Have I ever tried what I did with Cindy with you?" he nervously asked after reading the short article.

"Not really the same thing," I replied, trying to parse the truth so that I wasn't lying but certainly not admitting anything either. "You did come into my room, but you left shortly afterward, certainly not anything like with Cindy," I said, convincing myself that I was not blatantly prevaricating.

"What can I do about it?" he asked.

"You can see a specialist; hopefully you can at least convince Ashley that it is real," I replied.

Over the next two weeks, Brandon went to see a psychologist who had at least some familiarity with sexsomnia. Since he was in a constant state of stress, however, because Ashley was still not favorably responding to him, he was visiting my room every night. Every night I cleaned his dick with my mouth after he fucked me, something that I really enjoyed. I started getting adventurous, and several times I got on my hands and knees when I heard him enter my room, and he fucked me doggy - which I absolutely loved!

I tried to help him out with Ashley, but even with my social anxiety I started to notice something weird about Ashley's response. It seemed like she had grown apart from him - why I had no idea since he was my ideal man - and was going to use this as an excuse to get divorced. I finally raised my suspicions with Brandon.