Dream a Little Dream Of Me Pt. 02c

Dream a little dream of me Part 2c

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.

**********

"Matt!" The figure threw her arms around me.

"Jen?" I hesitated for a second, then returned the hug.

"I'm sorry to get here so early," she said. "Couldn't sleep. Drove all night. Where's Chris? Still in bed, I hope."

I started to reply, then realized I hadn't been in the same bed, so I didn't know.

She saw my face and knew something was up. The two sisters were close. They talked on the phone daily. And they were smart and intuitive. A deadly combination for a guilty husband.

"It's the dream." She said flatly, then noticed the bag I had put down to hug her.

She just gave me that look, the same damn one Chris gives me when she knows I will start talking like a tortured spy if I know what is good for me.

I sighed. "I was on my way.... somewhere else."

She smiled and took my hand. "Let's go there, then."

**********

She drove us to a little breakfast place where we had waffles and bacon and I told her the whole story, holding nothing back, omitting not an embarrassing detail.

Jen was Chris's older sister by three years. They looked similar, they talked similar. I hoped that they thought similar, because I really needed a person not my wife to tell me what to do, as I was afraid that my wife's judgement had been tainted by the magnificent fuckings she had been getting. In her sleep, admittedly, and by a lover who was not flesh and blood, but still real enough to me that I had a packed bag waiting.

Jen draped one arm around me as I told the story. We were so close together that a few regulars of the place who knew me and Chris by sight did double takes. None came to say good morning, I suppose given the evidence that I was being quite intimate with a woman who looked a lot like my wife but upon careful examination wasn't.

"Fuck, Matt," Jen said slowly at the conclusion of my tale. "It is just a dream, like you said. But from your perspective, she's having an emotional affair with this imaginary guy."

I nodded. "How do you compete with a dream?"

Jen looked down into her coffee. "I know.... My boyfriend is fucking around on me with a younger woman."

"Oh shit," I said. "I'm sorry."

She held up her left hand. "No ring, so no foul. Right? I'm going back after my visit with you guys and throw the bastard out."

I shook my head. How could this beautiful intelligent woman not have a man equal to her?

Did she have... those dreams? Was it genetic? No, she would have told me.

**********

The sisters had a happy reunion. Jen lives just far enough away that they don't get to see each other more than a few times a year. While they chattered and Jen told her about the failure of her latest romance, I snuck my bag up the stairs and returned everything to my drawers. And moved my stuff which had migrated to the guestroom back to our room.

Tonight I would be sleeping with my wife. Would Justin be in the bed with us?

We went out to dinner, then came back home and sat on the deck drinking wine and gossiping until Jen begged off tired from the long drive.

When she was gone, Chris looked at me and raised her eyebrows suggestively.

We hadn't fucked for several days. If by we you mean the two of us and don't count my wife getting hammered in her dreams by a stud with a huge cock, yeah we hadn't fucked.

We made up for it. I pulled her onto the bed and stripped her, kissing her hard all the while. A graduate-level problem in topology - not an easy thing to do. She scooted her wonderful ass upside to my down and she sucked my cock while I chased her clit with my tongue as her hips swiveled and swerved with shocks of pleasure. This could be the best carnival game ever, I decided. Like Whac-a-Mole but with a clitoris.

The mole was eventually well whacked, and Chris arched her back and curled her toes as I applied lip pressure to her hard little boatman. We spun around and around, a blurry cartoon of a dog fighting a cat, and ended up with me on top, thrusting like old times, like I didn't have a care in the world. I had no reason or ability to hold back and the little dam inside my groin burst. Deep into her, and she squealed as if being thrown a surprise party and gripped me tight.

We drifted off. Satisfied. Contented.

I talked in my sleep. I said, "Oh for the love of Christ--"

And woke up. My wife had banged me in the head with her elbow as she rolled violently from side to side.

I threw up my hands to protect myself as Chris began to moan. Loud desperate moans of satisfaction and need. The volume and the passion increased. I threw back the covers in disgust and started to get up.

The door burst open and Jen ran in holding a full glass. She skidded to a stop at the side of the bed and launched the liquid into her sister's face.

Chris sat up abruptly. "What the fuck?" she yelled, wiping at her dripping face and tits with both hands. Not a trace of ecstasy remained in her outrage.

Jen bent over her and screamed. "You stupid cunt! You were cumming with your dream prick better than you did with your real prick. I know! I heard everything. Both times. How do you think he feels?" Jen waved over in my direction.

"He used to like it," Chris shouted back. "He used to get turned on by it and fuck me hard. It was fantastic."

"Was?" Jen said. "How long ago was the last was?"

Chris's face fell and she turned to me. "Oh, my god, Matt. I am so sorry."

I shrugged. No big deal. Just cuckolded by Freud. Or did we hang this on Jung?

Jen had her arms crossed. "You are so clueless. I know Matt would never tell you -- when I got here yesterday morning, he was headed out the door with a packed bag. And I don't think he was planning on coming back."

Chris turned to me, panic-stricken and dripping. She had to be freezing cold by now. Her nipples agreed.

I nodded slowly, and she burst into tears. She cried like a forlorn little girl.

Jen opened her arms. She sat down on the bed and embraced her sister.

"You have to do something about that son of a bitch in your head, sis. Before you lose your husband."

"But. It's. Just. A. Dream." Chris sobbed.

While the two held each other and rocked and smeared tears and snot, I considered. What if her lover Justin had been real? What would I do? How do you cockblock a ghost? What would I do if we were actually in a dream, competing for the love of Christine--

As I thought, my gaze wandered the room. It was just ten after five. Five in the goddamn morning every goddamn morning.

Then I grinned. Then I laughed out loud. I kept smiling while the sisters hugged it out.

I was so stupid the city would probably put up a plaque on my house.

I rolled back into bed, the dry side, and pulled the covers, the dry ones, over me.

I dropped easily back into sleep like it was a vacation home.

**********

The next day was Saturday. The two sisters were uneasy and tired, but I was as cheerful as a rooster. I made pecan pancakes and Mimosas. They talked gloomily about looking for therapists.

"You know what is just as good as psychiatry?" I said brightly. "Clothes shopping!" Not for me, of course, but I convinced them to go downtown and try on bikinis and panties and thongs and pants and sundresses and shoes until they got blisters. Then we would meet for dinner at a pho place.

"Shoo, shoo." I said, making the appropriate motions with my hands.

It was the right bait to use. They protested just a little, to be polite. What would I do while they were gone? They asked almost considerately.

I had plans, I said. Big plans.

And those plans were to watch two football games and drink several beers, order pizza with pepperoni and onion and no goddamn eggplant, make a quick trip to the strip mall down the road, and fart unabashedly whenever I pleased without saying excuse me.

Seriously. That was my plan. I executed it flawlessly.

Oh, that and making a simple change on a phone setting.

**********

They purchased three dresses, two pairs of shoes, several new bras.... My brain disconnected to preserve my sanity while at the same time keeping a log of what had been said so I could in an emergency jump back into the story and pretend I had been present all along.

The important thing was that they were happy. That made me happy.

The pho was beefy and delicious. Afterwards we went to a pub for a few cold beers and wine. We quit while we were ahead and still legal and drove back home. It was quite late by then. Jen went to her room and Chris and I got naked.

"Just hold me, babe," I said as I caressed her. "I don't need to fuck you every time you take your clothes off. Sometimes I just want to look at your beautiful body and feel it against mine and think about how lucky I am."

Which, as all men will instantly recognize, was bullshit. I wanted to fuck her, but I needed not to.

**********

My phone woke me at 4 am. I had set the alarm to bird calls. That bird clip was quiet and subtle but for some reason had always grated on me. Now it ensured that I would wake up to kill the chirpy motherfuckers.

I slid out of bed and dug around in the top dresser drawer for one of my purchases at the strip mall. The adult store at the strip mall. No, they weren't all online yet. And they had a reasonable inventory. I had picked out a Happy Wife vibrator. Six shiny purple plastic inches with a modest girth and a simple rotating control switch on the bottom.

I turned on the bathroom light and left the door cracked. Chris was still on her back, soundly sleeping, and did not move as I drew the covers down and began to caress her. I ran my fingertips from her neck to her toes and back up and sideways. She breathed just a little deeper and a bit harder.

Time for Happy Wife. I turned it to the lowest setting and ran it up and down the same trail my fingers had blazed. Her lips smacked as I let my little pal linger near her labia.

I climbed carefully between her legs and licked my way through her bush until it I had made a slick lane that ran straight to the bud. Happy Wife tobogganed up the hill.

Chris opened her eyes with a gasp. I let the tip of old HW do a victory dance on the top of the hill, and her thighs started opening and closing.

"What are you doing?" my wife whispered urgently.

I kept on. "Oh no - didn't your mom explain it to you?"

"She never mentioned-- AAAH!" Her fists clenched, but in a good way, for perhaps fifteen seconds.

Yay, Happy Wife. Worth every penny.

I put my friend aside and mounted my panting love. I was in no hurry. I had the red display of the clock on the dresser to guide my choreography. Chris urged me to go faster, pulling my ass into her, moaning "Please faster please please!"

But I had a schedule to keep to, and I went slow. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In.... Out....

Slow created anticipation. Steady created anticipation. Anticipation is the plastic explosive of orgasms. Slow and steady are the blasting caps.

She wanted faster but I denied her. The frustration grew in her until my metronomic thrusting demolished it and she began to quiver and shake like I had put a woman-sized AA battery inside of her and twisted her on switch.

"Holy hell," she puffed after she returned to this planet. "What's gotten into you?"

I laughed. That was funny. "Into me?"

I applied torque to her and flipped her onto her knees, scooted her back to the edge of the bed, and stood on the floor. Her rosy asshole and her furry swollen lips and glossy slick slit were a wonderful sight. I slipped my cock back into that slit and pressed home.

"OOOOHH!" She cried. She moaned something else - in a different language. I had not known she was bilingual.

I glanced at the clock and kept a steady rhythm for ten minutes or so. Then I reached over and grabbed the other strip mall adult store purchase - a bottle of water-based lubricant. I squirted some into one palm and let it warm.

All the while my wife grunted and groaned and meowed and fucked herself on my cock when I paused my thrusting to attend to other matters.

I slathered the lube on her little orifice. She paused only for an instant but did not protest, even when I put one slippery finger on her nether starfish and rubbed gently.

She moaned in appreciation, so I took Happy Wife, mentally informed it that it was now a multitasker, and pressed the end of it where my finger had just been. And slipped a half inch inside her.

Chris said "AAAA!" in surprise and pulled away, but I grabbed her hip and yanked her back.

I very slowly twisted and pressed and sank the plastic submersible into untested depths. She made protesting squawks, but I had a firm grip on her upper thigh that said this was nonnegotiable.

I checked the time. 5 am. Time to rock and roll and sing the blues and strike up the band.

I picked up the pace. Before, I kept to the beat of The Blue Danube. Now I pounded her pussy to The William Tell Overture. I resisted the temptation to whistle it.

"Oh yes oh yes oh yes!"

My wife agreed with my choice of dance numbers.

She came. Hard and loud and long. A great combination.

As I labored, I saw the bedroom door open slightly. Jen peeked in, her mouth agape. I gave her a thumbs up with my free thumb. She smiled and quietly shut the door.

After the Tell, classical gave way to jazz. I improvised. I rolled her back over and had her missionary for a while, then rolled her onto her stomach and took her prone. We did it on our sides, on our knees, her in my lap, her upside down. I tried the wheelbarrow for the first time ever. Good core workout.

The sun came up. Bright yellow lines showed around the blinds.

Time for the finale. On her back, her legs over my shoulders, the beat custom selected to fit my need. I drilled my lovely wife and felt the juices gather, and as she looked up at me with dazed eyes and mouthed I Love You, I filled her cunt.

We slept until late. Sunday, after all.

**********

Jen stayed the week, and I repeated my performance every night on schedule. At 4 am sharp the fucking birds made me hate nature. At 4:01 I was stroking my wife, and planning my attack. For the next two hours we had sex. We had rough careless sex. We had slow loving sex. We had fast and then medium and then fast again sex.

We had awake sex. Was the point.

I was exhausted at work. As was Chris. The day after Jen left, my wife plopped down beside me on our porch chairs and blew out a long breath.

"I'm bushed," she said. "You need to let me sleep a little later in the mornings."

"Not going to happen," I said happily.

"But--"

"But nothing. You woke me up at 5 am too many times. So I am going to stick my dick in you at 4 am to prevent that."

She sat back, smiling with the sudden knowledge of my plan.

Fuck that Justin asshole.

**********

I would like to report that we had early morning sex every one of the rest of the days of our long lives and had many children and lived happily ever after for certain values of happily and certain values of ever.

But I can't, because that is in the future. I will try to make that come true, because I have the woman I love the most in the world and I will fight for her every day. Or every morning.

What I can report is something that did happen. Well, I think it happened. It happened in a dream, so does it count?

It's just a dream. Remember?

Anyway, one night shortly after Jen's visit, I was asleep. The part of my brain that is the interface between unconsciousness and awake, the part that keeps your heart beating and keeps you breathing was reporting that 4 am and those damn birds were just around the corner.

I dreamt that I was downstairs. The doorbell rang, a dog barked, there was a knock.

I opened the door, knowing I would find a figure in a dark hoodie.

"She's not here," I told Justin.

"Fucking A, man," he said, "Where did she go? I've been coming every day and she's never here."

"She's married. She's not coming back. You can go away."

He was naked now, as advertised. I did not see his clothes being shed.

He held his prodigious member and shook it.

"She needs this, dude. She loves it."

I shook my head. "It's not a real cock, Justin. It's imaginary. It has no substance."

He looked down at himself, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Besides," I said. "I'm knocking her up. You like banging pregnant women?"

I saw the flash of disgust on his face. Of course the conjured bro would be stereotypical that way.

"Too bad," I said, "I am going to keep her pregnant for the next twenty or thirty years."

Justin turned away, his clothes suddenly back on him, his hood over his head.

"Whatever," he said in resignation and faded into the darkness.