Fair warning all- this one is going to get dark.
All characters are over eighteen years of age.
***
You know, the
how
of it all is still a mystery.
Not
why
. Certainly not why Tanya Jennings. She'd been a presence at my university ever since I started, and I had lusted for her for every damn second of it. Sometimes it was a crush, where I'd get my hormones all confused with romantic ideals, the two of us holding hands and walking off into the sunset; sometimes it was idle lust, a vague aching hunger that was entirely physical. Sometimes I loved her. Sometimes I ignored her. Sometimes I hated her.
But I always wanted her.
So when I started to dream of Tanya; started to have intense, explicit and most importantly lucid dreams of her...well. I wasn't all that shocked. I didn't ask that many questions.
It was the summer after an unseasonal cold spring. It meant that the girls of the university took the opportunity to start to shuck off the big bulky sweaters and jeans and begin to dress a little more openly. Everywhere you looked there were young women wearing very little. Tanya had kept things pretty mild, all things considered; a tight pale T-shirt that did a brilliant job of showing off the lines of her large breasts and tight jeans. I remember walking through the campus and seeing her stride past me, with just a little bit of bounce, and that was that; my smouldering lust for her blazed anew. I remember realising that I was standing there, ogling her with my mouth open, and tried- honestly tried- to look away as she turned and strode down the hall, tight jeans displaying a perfect bubble of an ass, hair the colour of wheat cut just past her shoulders.
Tanya wasn't a bitch. She wasn't an angel. She was sociable and dynamic in a way that I wasn't but not a socialite; she had good but not great grades. She and I had almost nothing in common. But for whatever reason, she struck a chord in me; a weird half-fixation that waxed and waned with the seasons.
And so she was the first.
***
I didn't see her again that day but the sight of her walking down the hall- it burned an image in my mind just would not leave. I stumbled through my classes, mimed my way through social interactions and made my way back to my dorm in a daze. I remember taking a split second to check that my roommate wasn't there before dropping my pants and furiously jerking off to the memory of Tanya Jennings, fully dressed and walking away from me.
It helped- just not nearly as much as it should. Half an hour later I was hard as hell again. The lust had only seemed to get stronger, rising and rising until it was all I could think about. My roommate came in at some point and we talked about nothing in particular. Funny, I really can't remember his name. He had brown skin and he was sarcastic in a friendly sort of way. I remember the look on his face when the police-
Anyway. I'll get to that.
I did my best to get my homework done in a horny daze. I showered, thought about jerking off again but was seized by some strange masochistic urge not to. I went to bed, chilled on social media for a bit and drifted off to sleep.
I dreamed.
It started off typically enough; fragments and echoes of the day before, random thoughts given form; a sea of idle images on my brain upon which my consciousness, half-aware of its own existence, floated. The sort of dreams that you might forget the next morning or might remember for a few minutes or so; nothing less, nothing more.
And then-
***
Tanya walked down the university campus corridors. All around her were snatches of conversation and glimpses of classmates. She walked in a liminal space, with no destination or no memory of what she was doing before, secure and certain in the depths of dream logic.
Movement. She turned and saw a boy walking towards her with uncertain steps. She knew him, didn't she? Barry or something. Had he asked her out, once upon a time? She couldn't remember. There was a strange solidity about him, as though he was the only thing around her that was real; as though the rest of the world was uncertain as to what it should be.
He walked up to her and he said, "Hello?" She smiled, puzzled. Was he going to ask her out again? Or was he going to ask her out for the first time? She wasn't sure. "Um, can you hear me?"
She nodded. Feeling like something more was required, she said, "I do. What are...what are we doing?"
He looked around and then the scene shifted. They were in one of the study rooms. The light was flickering and they were alone. He was looking around her as though something was wrong, but Tanya- with the certainty of dream logic- couldn't understand the problem. He muttered, "This is just a dream. This is just a dream after all..." and then turned back to her.
She saw the light in his eyes; the sudden way his whole stance took on a predatory gleam. He licked his lips nervously and suddenly the room became hot. Sultry. She sighed and tugged at her shirt, aware of the way her nipples pocked out against the thin fabric- hadn't she been wearing a bra? She was dimly aware of a boyfriend, but then all of a sudden he not only wasn't important but had never even existed.
He reached out and cupped her breast through her shirt and there was a jolt like electricity that surged up her body. She moaned, leaning against one of the tables as he tentatively cupped her tits. She watched as the last of his hesitation faded; he smiled and then eased up her shirt. Both of his hands were soon massaging her fat tits, the roughness of his palms against her soft pale globes making her head spin.
"This is perfect," he muttered. "Even better than real life."
He pushed her down onto the bed (had there been a bed? Why was there a bed in the study room? It wasn't important) as he leant down to kiss and lick her tits. Tracey moaned as he hands continued to explore her naked (had she always been naked?) flesh. For an age she writhed under him as he touched and caressed and groped and licked and tasted and sucked on her body, as though trying to memorise every inch of her. She wasn't idle either, running her hands through his hair as he kissed her stomach, rubbing his erection inside his jeans as he dimpled her ass with his hands.
After what seemed like an eternity of hot erotic play he rose and stumbled out of his clothes. His body was pale and skinny and his erection was modest but in the strange, sultry world they inhabited he was a sexual titan. Tanya smiled at him with hazy eyes. She was ready for him; had always been ready for him; would always be ready for him. He stared down at her, his skinny naked body poised over her own, and said quietly, "I can't believe this."
He slowly slid into her; she was wet and his modest length slid in easily. He began to pump into her with slow, gentle strokes, as though uncertain. She laughed- no need to be shy, after all- and wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in deeper. She looked up into his eyes and murmured in a voice husky with need, "Fuck me. Fuck me hard."
He obliged. He reached down to grip the edges of the bed and began to fuck her in earnest, thrusting into her with rough, brutal pumps. She moaned at the sudden friction, her hands sliding up to grip his narrow biceps, her pussy clenching down around his length. He was rough. He was hard. He was brutal. He was wonderful and she felt the pleasure inside of her build quickly in response to his own, the very air dripping with lust, hot with need, as though the world itself was responding to their mutual desires. The universe shrank down to his cock claiming her body, to their grunts, to the slap of flesh; to one of his hands on her breasts, fingers digging in. His breath on her cheek. And always the pleasure building, building, building until-
