Dreaming With Eyes Open
  by Delta Venus

Copyright 2010


The first two times she had the dream, she didn't remember it.
She woke up in a sweat, feeling the sensual languor of passion
taken to its conclusion, so she knew the dream was erotic, even
though she could not recall a single detail of what she had
dreamed. She had certainly had sex dreams before, and everyone
has woken from a dream they can't remember, even though they are
certain they were dreaming, so she thought nothing of it, other
than momentarily wishing she had remembered so she could have
more thoroughly enjoyed the obvious intensity.

The third time she had the dream, she did remember, and it was
strange. Normally her dreams about sex took the usual forms, the
stuff of stereotypical pop psychology. The taboo interracial
fantasy, with dark desires represented by the dark flesh of her
dream lover. The gentle rapist, nothing like a real one, using
only enough force and restraint to dispel repressive guilt about
the enjoyment of sex - I'm not dirty, he made me enjoy myself!
Often these dream lovers were faceless, but they had form and
substance. The settings were purely fantastical, like the
perfectly secluded beach with no other people present, and warm,
white sand that never sticks unpleasantly to parts you'd rather
it didn't. These, too, had substance.

This dream had none. Her lover was completely formless, not just
faceless. There was no scenery or setting, nothing visual at all.
Purely sensation, touch and feel, all the other elements missing.
It was enough. More than enough. She woke again in a sweat,
spent. She had experienced orgasm in a dream before, but it had
been rare, mostly her dreaming had stayed warm and sensual,
mildly arousing, but never getting anywhere near a climax. This
one had swept her away, up through the peaks, slowing just long
enough to enjoy each new plateau, before rushing on to plunge
quickly over the precipice at the edge into total ecstasy.

The fourth time the remembrance was vivid, and disturbing. Her
formless lover knew her body better than she did herself, and
used every bit of this knowledge to give her pleasure. He, and it
had to be a he, knew just the place to nibble on her neck. His
hands knew the light touch at the back of her knee that sent
shivers up her spine. He knew that she didn't enjoy attention to
her ears, a subtle but solid turn-off, and a common mistake made
by lovers in her past. His skill at manipulating her nipples was
exquisite, how could he know they were too sensitive at first for
anything but the lightest touch, then as they hardened and swoll,
begged for rough pinches and to be clenched tightly between
teeth?

He especially knew the exquisite pleasure of a teasing first
contact. The feel of his hard member poised at her entrance, just
barely touching her slightly parted lips with its velvety tip,
held there for a brief instant of eternity. Then a sudden savage
plunge inside, stabbing deep into her, a sensual shock to the
system she responded to with animal intensity. His every touch
perfection, knowing when to be soft, gentle, caressing; when to
apply pressure, firm, demanding; when to be strong, rough and
insistent. He played her like a finely tuned instrument, and the
music made was passionate, the performance purely carnal.

Her body was wracked with climatic contractions so intense as to
kink her hair and curl her toes, when she woke. No, she didn't!
She had been awake already, she was sure of it! How? How could
she be dreaming such an intense dream, yet be awake? She lay
exhausted in bed, glowing in the aftermath, but a little
disturbed. It must have just seemed like she had been awake, she
finally convinced herself, as she drifted back into the arms of
Morpheus. She woke again, when the alarm went off.

She thought about the dream all that day, distracting thoughts of
it wouldn't leave her alone. She tried to shake the feeling that
she had been awake for the whole thing because she just couldn't
get her mind around how that could be, but the feeling was
persistent. Was she just fantasizing, could it have just been an
intense day-dream? Was something wrong with her, could she be
losing her grip on reality? Could it have simply been a dream
about being awake, intense in emotional impact because of its
seeming reality, but still simply a dream? She had a tough time
getting to sleep that night, worried about having the experience
again, finally dropping off from nervous exhaustion. She did not
have the dream that night.

In fact it was three nights before she had the dream again.
Except this time she was absolutely certain it was no dream,
because she hadn't yet fallen asleep when it began. The first
gentle touches frightened her, because she was quite awake. But
they were so gentle, yet insistent, that she just couldn't stay
scared, and she yielded to the moment. More than a moment,
because it went on for so long. She and her dream lover made
passionate love for most of the night, exploring the limits,
reaching for unknown heights.

Strange heights, though, because while it was a shared
experience, it was also almost exclusively things happening to
her. Her lover still had no form. Sure, there were fingers,
fingers that danced magic across her belly and thighs, that
pinched her nipples when they needed to be pinched. There was a
mouth, a hungry mouth that devoured her kisses, that licked and
nibbled at her swollen clit at just the right time with just the
right energy. There was penis, a hard throbbing dick that rubbed
across her mound, then plunged the depths of her pussy like no
other man's cock ever had.

But these things weren't there! When she tried to hold her
lover's hand, it wasn't there to clasp in hers. When she tried to
kiss her lover's mouth, rather than just be kissed, there were no
lips to part with her probing tongue. When she tried to take her
lover's cock, so she could guide it where she wanted, to her
mouth, to her ass, there was no hard rod to grasp. Yet the
fingers, tongue, and hard throbbing rod that were not there all
did their magic to her, and fucked her senseless.

After the passion played out, she lay in her bed, exhausted and
confused. She felt like she should be frightened, because she had
no idea just what the hell was happening to her, but she just
couldn't find the energy to be scared, and her dream lover was
far too knowing and gentle to be frightening anyways. She fell
asleep, and awoke in the morning quite refreshed, more certain
than ever that whatever was going on was no dream.

But what, then? A vivid fantasy? Well, vivid was the right word,
for sure. If fantasy, it was more real than any she had heard of,
or ever had herself. It certainly wasn't intruding on her "real"
life. Insanity? If she was going nuts, it certainly was a
pleasant way to go out of her mind. She wasn't acting out,
causing problems, or unable to fend for herself. If it was
insanity, who wanted to be sane? It wasn't until she was at work
that day, at the library, that she knew. One of the patrons had
asked "Where can I find the ghost stories?" Ghost stories! It
clicked. It fit. Her lover was a ghost! She was certain of it.

Thoughts of what she should do ran through her head the rest of
the day. She should report this haunting to some scientific
group, let them learn about real spirits, learn the truths about
life after death. Forget that! She should get some proof herself,
sell it to the tabloids for millions! Go on TV. CNN. Run for the
hills! Tell someone. Tell no one. Call a psychic. Write a book.
Get an exorcist. Get a publicist.

*  *  *

That night, as she lay dreamily in bed with her eyes open,
enjoying the pleasant afterglow of the best sex she had ever had,
she knew what she had to do...


Absolutely Nothing!


       DV

http://deltavenus.bestdamnpornblogs.com/