From: bckrub@aol.com (Backrub)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Backrub "Wet Dreams" (mf, dreams)
Date: Sun, 11 Feb 1996 17:00:51 GMT

			      Wet Dreams
				  by
			       Backrub

	The August night seemed perfect: cool, still fragrant with the
scents of late summer. Peter could smell the flowers in the front
yards, the tomatoes and cucumbers in the backyard gardens. He could
hear and smell the prowling of cats in search of midnight mice, and
the occasional bark of a dog fulfilling a social contract to defend
territory. A raccoon scurried across the street on its was to knock
over the next available garbage can.

	The full moon washed the quiet street, the pretty wood frame
houses, shrubs, lawns and shade trees on their quarter acre lots. The
tar and pavement street was quiet under his feet as he walked down the
center of the lane, careless about cars in the middle of the night.
Bags of garbage and recyclables were already sitting neatly at
curbside, waiting for the next day's pickup. As he passed a side
street he glimpsed the tiny cemetery which contained century-old
graves. It reminded him of the thin connections between past, present
and future. It could be any of the small towns he'd lived in over the
years: in Ohio, northern California, North Carolina. On this
particular night it was a small town in upstate New York, where he'd
lived for two years now, undetected, so far.

	He was just about six feet tall, 175 pounds, twinges of grey
in his dark hair at 35 years. A body strong and flexible from years of
gymnastics in high school and college, and the contortions he'd
practiced more recently. He was dressed in black jeans, a black
button-down shirt and hightop black sneakers.

	He'd first taken notice of his "gift" in his early teens.
Puberty was well underway and awash with the usual hormones and fears,
he'd noticed something that no one else talked about and that he knew
was out of place. One night at summer camp he awoke in the middle of
night and found himself awash in voices, sensations, scents. There
were loud, boisterous and frightened young male voices, but no sound
came to his ears; they played only in his head. In the distance he
could faintly hear and smell others. He left the bunkhouse and walked
through the quiet woods. Unafraid of the night after being raised in
the country, he followed the dim voices across the camp until they
grew louder as he approached the girls' bunkhouse. His ears detected
no sound except the crickets and the lapping of the lake shore, yet
his head was filled with sensations, people, sounds. And his nose held
a musky scent standing just outside the girls' bunkhouse.

	He suddenly felt himself in the lake and next to him one of
the girls was thrashing in the water, panicked, unable to swim and
terrorized. He reached over and held her, swam with her to the dock,
helping her up. She relaxed, safe now, smiled and dissolved before his
eyes. He was back standing in front of the girls' bunkhouse.

	His mind reached out among the crowd of visions and found one
of his young campmates dreaming of him; he willed it and entered her
dream. They were in the woods, away from the others. They were
kissing, pressed against a tree. He reached for her breast with one
hand and let the other drop between her legs. She melted in his arms,
moving against him and whispering his name. Young and overcome with
feelings she'd only had masturbating in bed at night, she pushed her
14-year-old body against his and bit his shoulder as his hand roughly,
but accurately, rubbed her where she needed rubbing. She tensed, shook
and cried out in the woods. Then she dissolved into her pleasure and
out of the dream state. Once again he stood in front of the girl's
bunkhouse. Overcome, he stood there in the night, unzipped his pants
and stroked his young cock until he spurt on the ground in front of
him, awash in young women's dreams.

	That was the first time he realized he had a gift, or an
abnormality. He could not penetrate fully conscious minds, but those
in a dream state, drunk, high, or those disconnected from normal
linear perceptive reality were accessible to him. He could read and
feel their thoughts, enter their dreams, become part of their dreams,
merge their dreams with waking reality and fold their waking night
reality into a dream.

	It almost ruined his life. The quiet night became a cacophony
of noise each night during his adolescence until he learned to control
its flow, shut it out. But still he was drawn, as men are, to the
dreams of women and their scent. In high school and college he could
avoid the gross insecurity of not knowing for sure if a woman was
interested in him. If they drank, got high or slept and he was within
reasonable distance, he could learn from them. He ignored some women
socially and could bring himself to those few who were interested,
whose hearts and libidos ached for him. He came to realize, making
lazy love in the middle of the night during his sophomore year, that
if the woman was semi-conscious his mind could cloud her subconscious:
their lovemaking was a dream to her that night. He could also sense
exactly what his lover wanted and needed.

	His lust became not just the usual male craving for women, but
an obsession with the further joining of minds that he could
accomplish. Women's dreams called out in the night, unheard but for
him. He took satisfaction in their hunger meeting his. Entering their
dreams, sharing and possessing them, controlling them so that the
woman felt that everything that happened, including midnight couplings
and suckings, was all a dream. Simple seduction and fucking were a
pale substitute when compared to such intimacy.

	And so, during most late nights in decent weather he walked
the street, listening. On some nights he went home without
satisfaction, on others, he crept into the homes and dreams of others.

	College girls home for Thanksgiving vacation having gotten
themselves deflowered and now constantly hungering for more. He came
to them in the night as they slept, loving them, spurting on them,
casting a spell that merged their dreams with their conscious
lovemaking with him in the night. In the morning the memory of their
lovemaking was only the whisp of last night's dream.

	Single women, divorcees, married women whose husbands were
away were all his lovers. He enjoyed reaching out to women coworkers,
asking their dreaming minds if they were receptive to him, planting
the fantasy in their dreams, climbing through their bedroom windows
and converting dream fantasy into fleshy reality, all bathed in
dreamscape. On one night he even entered a couple's bed chamber, cast
the dream spell over both of them and sucked her nipples while he ate
her. She sucked on his cock while her husband slapped into her from
behind.

	He could never tell anyone, they'd think he was crazy. He
thought he was crazy, or at least a freak. No one would notice as long
as he could place the dream spell on them as they awoke and as long as
they drifted back to sleep afterwards, with no fresh memory of the
dream. No point in making love, or having sex with someone who's
asleep, they made love awake even though their minds told them
otherwise and the next morning the experience to them was only a few
scraps of melted memory, inseparable from a dream.

				* * *

	It was 2 A.M. before Elizabeth found sleep with the help of
the brandy. She'd had to bring herself a second time that night, lying
on her stomach this time. One hand and a long body pillow beneath her
for her pussy to grind against, another slid underneath her silk
camisole, pinching her nipples. As she fucked her hand she thought
about being on top of Robert again like this, riding that hard, strong
body, the base of his cock grinding against her clit as her palm did
now. She kissed and licked the bed just as she would have kissed and
licked his chest. As she came, she imagined his hands rubbing and
squeezing her ass as they used to. She bucked and squirmed against the
bed, grunting and then she called out his name.

	"Shit! Bastard!" she screamed at herself immediately thrown
the sonofabitch out and yet she was still obsessed. She'd had the
strength to throw him out when she realized that he'd been cheating on
her and spending their money on drugs. She'd denounced him, punched
him in the stomach and didn't start crying until he'd left the house.
She'd rolled up their old futon, and bought a new bed and mattress.
The most overt signs of him had been removed from the house, the home,
the trust that he had so callously betrayed.

	But even before the final confrontation, when she had begun to
suspect that he was destroying their lives, she'd continued to sleep
with him. She was so used to his presence, his hard body and his
smell. The sex continued to scratch an itch, even as she ignored or
suppressed her growing fear of his betrayal. He had been so
enthusiastic about being trained and he knew just what moves she
needed from his tongue and fingers, when and why.

	The rational part of her brain knew that there were other men
out there, ones who would not betray her and would also be happy to
learn how she liked her pussy licked and fingered and how she liked to
ride men's cocks and faces. But recently, that part of her brain
hadn't been making as many appearances as she'd like, leaving center
stage for pain, anger and paranoia. She directed much of the anger at
herself, anger that she still ached for him at night when her heart
and mind would prefer that he be run over by a slow moving truck.

	So here she was, again, sliding into sleep at 2 A.M. with her
fingers and the body pillow still wet from her juices, her camisole
scrunched up on her chest and her tap pants lying on the floor. She'd
started the evening trying to fantasize a chance meeting-turned-into-
threesome with Brad Pitt and Daniel Day-Lewis, like any healthy 34-
year-old woman. Instead she ended up with that shit Robert again...

				* * *

	He caught her scent on the night air. The scent of arousal, a
woman in heat. He also heard the need coming from her mind:
pain/lust/loneliness. He could taste her juices, sweat and tears on
her pillow. He stopped in front of her house.

	He stood there in the middle of the street at 2:30 A.M.,
listening and sensing her further. Minutes passed as he listened and
sensed. He knew she lay in a first floor bedroom, that she'd recently
fallen asleep, and that she was alone except for a cat curled up by
her side. Her bedroom window was open. A pizza box and beer bottle sat
open in the kitchen and a glass with traces of brandy remained on her
nightstand, next to a tube of lubricant. He moved toward the house and
drew himself up to the window. In the moonlight he saw clothes strewn
across chairs, books piled on a desk with a personal computer and the
woman partially sprawled, asleep, lying on her stomach on the bed.
Covers had been pushed aside and she partially straddled a body pillow
which he could tell was well acquainted with her womanhood. He drew
himself up and, as he had done many times on the gymnast horse and
parallel bars as well as houses like this one, moved his legs up,
under and through, sliding himself silently into the room and onto the
floor.

	He stood at the foot of her bed, watching her sleep. So sweet,
so beautiful. He could taste her already as he unsnapped and unzipped
his pants and pulled them and his shoes off. The cat peered at him,
decided he was beneath feline concern and jumped off the bed. He lay
at the foot of her bed and brought his mouth to her feet. He began to
lick and suck her toes. She began to stir and he projected his dream
consciousness over her, convincing her brain that all that occurred
should be perceived as her dream, and that all was well.

	He sucked on the toes of each foot, she giggled in tickle
reflex, still half asleep as he began to lick and kiss his way up her
ankles and calves. He lay a series of slow, wet suction kisses behind
each knee for a full five minutes while a hand slid up the back of her
thighs and began to rub the cheeks of her ass, thumb sliding between
her legs to brush and rub over her pussy lips. She began to move on
the bed.

	Moving up, he placed his mouth inches from her and let his
warm breath wash over her pussy lips. He licked them several times and
slid a finger between the lips to wet them and breathed on her again.
She gasped quietly. He leaned forward and buried his face against her,
licking her with long tongue strokes the length of her lips, reaching
down with his tongue to almost touch her clit.

	He slowly fingered her as he moved his tongue to her anus,
flicking it rapidly there over and over. She gasped and moaned as his
wet finger slid upward between her lips lengthwise and over her
hardening clit. He spread her legs wider and lay on his back, moving
his head beneath her, pulling her moist cunt down onto his face. He
licked her slowly and sensuously, snaking his tongue in and out of her
and up and down her pussy lips to her clit. One finger slid in and out
of her pussy while another, wet with her juices, slid slowly into her
ass up to the first joint. She let out a guttural moan, pushed the
body pillow completely aside and lay on top of him, beginning to
actively fuck his face, holding the top part of her body up on her
elbows.

	She felt free from threat, fear or even awkwardness, the
thought of who or why rarely being raised in a dream. Her primary
thought was that she desperately needed a friendly, willing mouth on
her pussy, and one was there right now. And it wasn't Robert's. To the
bottom of her subconscious, his spell had sent the message: no fear,
no anger, no pain, take refuge. Her ass bobbed slowly up and down
against his face as she moaned, babbled and whimpered almost
continually now. When, after many minutes of this, his lips finally
surrounded her clit and his tongue slid between those lips to slide
rapidly back and forth over it, she suddenly stiffened, and let out a
cry that came from deep within her. Her body twitched violently as she
locked her thighs around his head. He slid his entire finger into her
ass as she came, shivering, jolting on the bed and over him.

	He kissed his way down her pussy lips and then over her ass
cheeks as she went through her after shocks. He rubbed her back,
kissed her face, neck and shoulders. He pressed himself against her
and rolled her over onto her back as she smiled and moved to kiss the
unknown lips and face. He spread her legs wide and slowly entered her.
She gasped again, simultaneously remembering the pleasure and comfort
of a warm friendly body on top of her, taking pleasure in her, and
knowing that this was body was there for comfort, not betrayal.

	His muscular form writhed and bobbed above her, sliding in and
out, back and forth, waves of muscle against her. She held him,
enveloped him as he nibbled and bit her neck. Her hands ran up and
down his back, through his hair and beard, grabbed his ass. Her pussy
held him and she whispered "Baby" in his ear as he stiffened and came.

	She wrapped herself around him, holding him warm and close,
still coupled until he softened. Later, she lay in his arms, fully
asleep as he softly ran his fingers through her hair, gently kissed
her, wondered and knew what the fuck he was doing there.

	At 4 A.M. she awoke and found herself still in the he guided
her down between his legs. She sucked him while one hand disappeared
beneath her to rub her pussy again. Her tongue swirled and flicked
across the sensitive parts under and on the head as the pleasure rose
again within her. He moaned, threw his head back and became very hard.
Some time after she'd become very wet and lightheaded, she moved over
and then next to him, continuing to fuck the night air with her hips.
She reached over to the night table for the tube of lubricant and
handed it to him.

	"I want you to fuck me in the ass. Do you know how to do
that?"

	She sprawled herself with her ass slightly in the air, one
hand reaching back underneath to rub her clit while the other helped
to support her. He moved behind her and rubbed lubricant all over his
hard cock. He took a lubricated finger and placed the fingertip at her
puckered anus. He slid his finger slowly inside her and she moaned,
twisting her pelvis for a moment. He kept his finger straight and
fucked her that way for twenty or thirty strokes, feeling the pleasure
rise in her, hand moving faster against her clit.

	He stroked his slippery cock to his full hardness and slipped
his finger out of her ass. She let out a disappointed whimper but
sucked in her breath as she felt his hands part the cheeks of her ass
and his cockhead pushed softly against her anus. He entered her slowly
and she whispered in reply. With half of his cock inside her he moved
slowly to use his cock to massage her rectal muscles, grinding and
moving himself to massage her internally. As she relaxed more, he
entered her further and began the rhythm of strong, but not rough
strokes that made her feel taken, possessed and forbidden as nothing
else could. Her hand was a blur over her clit by now and she was
moaning and whimpering nonstop. Her body began to shiver almost
uncontrollably as she began to come, and as she did, she clamped down
on him, which was more than he could take. She twisted around slightly
so he could see her face in a state of pleasure, looked into his eyes
and told him to come in her ass.

	The orgasm was wrenched from him, her ass so tight and pulsing
that he did not even have time to lose control. One second he had it
and the next he felt like a giant cock as the rush washed over his
body. He knelt there, his thighs shivering until he got slightly soft
and withdrew.

	They kissed, and cuddled and he held her until well after she
had descended back into peaceful sleep. He placed the body pillow back
into her arms, dressed and slipped back into the night, left with his
sweaty fantasies turned real, and now, his aching loneliness.

				* * *

	The next morning, Elizabeth awoke, Clem the Cat still asleep
against her. Her head was a bit fuzzy - gotta quit the beer, pizza and
brandy diet. If she wasn't sure about her head and stomach, she was
more assured about her heart. She felt better than yesterday. Not
completely back, but better.

	She vaguely recalled a dream, a dream in which she was pretty
sure she'd gotten laid. There was something strange about it. Unlike
the 7,945 other sex dreams she'd had, she was pretty sure that in this
one, she'd come before she woke up.

	Elizabeth showered, dressed and jumped into her car for the
drive to work. As she pulled into the parking lot she thought about
the man who'd been trying to flirt with her for the last few weeks.
Who was that guy?

	Maybe she would ask him to lunch.