Twenty five years on, one can easily see the mistakes made in their youth. But, as the saying goes, hindsight is 20/20. There is little to be gained by rehashing past mistakes in your head again and again, losing sl**p over it, and making yourself mental in the process. And yet this is exactly what I did on a regular basis. It’s said that without closure, no relationship is ever truly over. It’s also been written that sometimes closure can come from writing a letter to your ex that you never intend to send. But sometimes closure can come in the form of a dream…
The first time I ever experienced what I would define as a “lucid wet dream” I was certain that I was somehow “quantum leaping” into my past self from the present. I had prepared for bed that night, a middle-aged man in my forties, snuggled in beside my wife. She was pregnant with our fourth c***d, and sex was something I dimly seemed to recall from nearly a year ago. My wife and I loved one another deeply, but with three k**s and one on the way, making time for intimacy and passion is not often possible.
This night, I was horny, and my wife was understandably tired and eight months along, and not in any mood for sex. Although I was excited about becoming a father again in less than a month, I was frustrated. I was horny and riled up with too much sexual energy to just fall asl**p. As I lay there, eyes closed, I started to fantasize about my earlier days, back in my late teens, when I was almost as frustrated sexually as I was this evening.
I had a “girlfriend” at that time, and she was insatiable - except when it came to having actual sex. She thought about it constantly, but never acted on it with me or any other living person besides herself. I swear that every minute we spent together in person, I could smell her potent pheromones even over her perfume, and the scent drove me wild with unrequited passion. Every move I’d make to bring my body close enough to hers to make a move, she’d wriggle away from like I had the plague. She was terrified of sexual contact, yet fascinated in the extreme by the idea.
It wasn’t that Ruth was unattracted to me, as we’d talked about sex more times than I could count, but never in a way that lead to physical intimacy. Ruth’s problem, as I saw it, was that she’d learned early on to seek other outlets for her sexual needs. In a nutshell, she was addicted to masturbation. In particular, shared masturbation through fantasy. You can venture a guess as to who was her lucky (or was it unlucky) partner in carnal chit-chat.
Ruth was not one to masturbate alone, at least not entirely. Her way was to call me up at all hours (or I her, it was mutual) and we’d pretend that we were “collaborating” on a writing project. She’d create these characters in her mind that were avatars for herself. Through these virtual personae, Ruth would fantasize about real sexual adventures that she was too terrified to attempt as her real self. And let me tell you, she had a torrid imagination! Many were the nights, and many times per night, that she lit me on fire from my loins to my cerebrum.
When I say we would pretend, that was exactly what we were doing. Never once did we discuss what we were actually doing during these ten and twelve hour marathon phone sessions, and any effort I made to “break down the wall” between the reality of what we were doing and fantasy was quickly side-stepped by her. I’d hint that I was stroking my cock while we talked but she’d act like she didn’t hear me until I said “(insert character name) is stroking his cock.” Somehow she couldn’t commit to the fact that I was a real, live, horny guy her own age who had real needs of my own. And neither could Ruth admit that she was just as horny and just as excited as I was. She could only interact with me sexually when we were both in character.
Often, after several marathon orgasmic escapades, Ruth and I would be so exhausted we’d fall asl**p in our beds with the phone still glued to our ears. It was somehow comforting for me to wake up and hear Ruth’s regular, rhythmic breathing over the earpiece. We were sl**ping together, in truest fashion – or at least, as true as any virtual relationship could ever be.
It was at times when I would awake, early in the wee hours, and hear Ruth soundly sl**ping safe in her bed, that I would tell her just how I felt. I’d whisper softly into her ear that I loved her, had loved her from the moment we first met, and how much I wanted to see our relationship evolve from this – whatever this was – into something real. I know she heard me. I know because her best girlfriend, Lori, confronted me about it one day. She said, “Ruth told me that you said some things last night to her in her sl**p” and then go on to say that these things were “very confusing” to her and that I should stop.
My first reaction was to tell Lori to go clean the impulse manifolds in her pajamas. But then I started thinking, and realized that for her to know, Ruth must have told her. And by told her, I mean the whole, sordid mess. Otherwise Lori would wonder why Ruth fell asl**p on the phone with me, a guy who was not her “boyfriend” and for whom she had no feelings other than that of friendship.
That gave me hope. It made me realize that Ruth really did care about where our relationship was at present, and where it was headed. It told me also that she was not capable of seeing me in the role of “boyfriend.” In order for me to be her boyfriend meant terminating the special friendship we had, at least in her mind. She couldn’t bear to lose me as a friend. That’s what she eventually told me, when I finally summoned up the courage to tell her outright that I loved her.
Over the decades since, I’ve gone over our strange relationship in my mind thousands of times, trying to figure out just what was really going on. If I’d become a psychiatrist, maybe I’d have a chance at coming to a retroactive diagnosis for what this really was, and a possible solution. But I wasn’t a shrink and those days were far in the past and never to be relived.
In the present, I was happily married, a f****y man, and had to admit a indulging in a small guilty pleasure that Ruth was not only still single, but still living with her parents to this day. She’d never been able to commit, not to me, or anyone else apparently, and as far as I knew, was probably still a virgin. I often wondered if she looked at me now, with my wife and f****y, and thought to herself “this could have been my life.”
After all, I had told her I loved her, and she’d said “I’m so sorry!” and hoped to somehow continue our special friendship after that as if nothing had happened. It hadn’t. It ended quite abruptly after a collect call to her one night as I first started college. I didn’t speak to her again for over twenty years, and then only in Facebook chat for a few hours.
Still, to hold a grudge against her on my part, or relish any misfortune upon her past or present was unfair. I would feel guilty whenever I smirked in response to mulling it over in my mind. It was a very sad ending for her, and though she always maintained she was happy and contented, I could never stop wondering how that was truly possible. Not because she’d rejected me. Whether she had been with me or not was immaterial. The fact that she had spinstered herself away in isolation was a fact and I guess from my perspective, I couldn’t comprehend that existence as a fulfilling one.
I admitted to myself that Ruth and I had engaged in some of the most creatively wild sex I’d ever known; a damned shame it was that we never broke free of the “no touch” barriers she’d established for our encounters. I wished, not for the first time, that I could somehow go back in time and knock some sense into my past self, and urge him (me) to just ignore Ruth’s resistance and push ahead, driving her out of her self-imposed safety shell and into the real world of true intimacy. The worst that could have happened was that our friendship ended – in other words, no change from the current reality.
The hour had grown late and my tossing and turning was keeping my wife from sl**ping. I was still quite awake and fantasizing about what I’d have done then if I’d had knowledge of the future. I pondered over and over how, even if it were possible, changing the past would obliterate my present. I had no desire to lose my wife or f****y, and felt bad for even entertaining thoughts of “what if” and fantasies about an ex who wasn’t even an ex! What had happened between Ruth and I was woven into the tapestry of who and what sort of man I was today. I wouldn’t change that for a second.
Yet my mind persisted, wondering what might have been if I’d only realized that Ruth was scared of physical intimacy. She was afraid of losing me as a friend if we didn’t carry our relationship further, and had told me as much when I confessed my feelings of love for her. Ruth had become dependent, almost addicted, to our special brand of friendship with benefits. Did she live in constant fear that I would one day stop being her friend and thus stop providing her with the shelter and convenience of a virtual relationship? Did she ever fully realize that I would have done anything for her, on any level, if only she could love me back in kind? I wondered.
I had determined years ago that the problem was really within me. What Ruth had needed most was for me to take the reins and push her out of her comfort zone and into reality. I know that I would have loved her and cherished her during the first difficult real encounter and long afterward. She had been my first true love, and I loved her still for holding that place in my heart. What Ruth had needed was me to be the man I was today, but back then I was still just a boy with no clue in the universe of how to break the sexual stalemate we’d found ourselves in. We were both virgins trapped in a fantasy, with no concept of how adults dealt with these issues.
At nineteen, I was horrified at the concept of “forcing” myself on anyone, and had no idea that sometimes a man is expected to be sexually aggressive in order to prove his worthiness. Some young males at this age go too far to the other extreme, and think every “no” uttered by a potential mate is really a yes in disguise. I was so worried about coming across as a sexual bully that I played the role of “Mr. Nice Guy” to the hilt, forgetting that it’s often this type of behavior that turns a woman off. Some women prefer their men to show their strength through less-than-sterling behavior. James Bond was a good example, and I knew at the time that Ruth was really turned on by his character. She would frequently ask me to play that role for her in our fantasies, with herself as a demure “Bond woman” being swept off her feet by the suave Mr. Bond and his penchant for hard line charm.
Yet, being young and naïve, I missed this point entirely. Instead of Bond I played the part of protector and defender of her honor, riding in on my white horse to save her from the dastardly “bad boys” she’d invariably flirt with and flee in terror from at their arduous advances. I even went so far as to call up one poor k** and give him the scare of his lifetime by pretending to be Ruth’s father and insisting that he leave my u******ed “daughter” alone. I was not her father, nor her b*****r, but I was her best friend. And sometimes transitioning from best friend to lover is a difficult step in a relationship. Sometimes one has to risk everything in order to win the girl, and like Ruth, I was terrified of not having her as a friend in my life.
Yet this was exactly what Ruth needed to take the next step in her our sexual growth. She was too scared to become physical with anyone, and through my enabling of her phone fantasies, provided her enough sexual outlet to never try reality for the first time. The reality was that Ruth had given me her blessing, and had waited (and maybe still waited?) for me or someone to firmly confront her fears and take her by the hand.
By now, I was in a semi-dream state, having reached that strange level of consciousness somewhere between sl**ping and waking. This was the moment that I realized I could control my dreams, and that I was in fact being pulled into one as I lingered between states of awareness. I was seeing through my younger-self’s eyes, reliving one of many encounters with Ruth that had almost turned physical decades earlier. Yet I retained my perspective and knowledge of what as to come in my future, which meant that I was effectively time traveling and doing it inside of my own younger-self’s body.
I looked down at myself. I was thin once again, and dressed as I had in the 80’s, much to my embarrassment. I was sitting inside of a car and next to me was Ruth, who was driving. She had the CD player going and was listening to Pink Floyd: The Wall and grinning. She seemed oblivious to the fact that I was looking around in confusion, trying to recall when and where I was. I looked over at her and my heart began to race, as it always did. Ruth was wearing a short black leather skirt and plunge-neck blouse. I could see her legs clear up above her knees and the silky smoothness of her thighs took my breath away. She must have caught me looking because she shifted her legs and for a second I could see up underneath and caught a flash of red. She was wearing red panties.
I sighed and looked down at my lap. My boner was in clear evidence, and though Ruth pretended not to notice, I felt certain that she had. I recalled how much she liked to tease me in those days when we spend time in the “real world” on these not-quite-dates where we’d hang out and drive around and do all sorts of activities. She never referred to me as her “boyfriend” though looking back, she had no other steady male companion, and we were inseparable.
I remembered how jealous I would become when she’d refer to one of her other male friends as “Joey” or “Kevy” (always a diminutive form, never “Joe” or “Kevin” and liked to watch me rage inside as she’d talk about how cute he was. I realized just then, with the knowledge of my decades-older current self that Ruth was not merely trying to get a reaction from me, or even be cruel. She was goading me into action. She wanted me to just grab her and kiss her instead of retreating inside my head like I used to do, wishing that she’d accept that I was her man. After all, I was who she spent her night with every night, even if we were miles apart and connected only by a copper telephone line.
I decided for the moment to just savor the realism of this dream/memory and let it play out as it had, hoping my memory of events hadn’t degraded too much over the decades. Perhaps, since this was just a dream, I could change the outcome, and in this way experience what might have been. I looked at Ruth again and deliberately began to undress her with my eyes, something I dared never let Ruth see in the past. I wanted to see what her reaction might be and to relish the opportunity to remember so clearly what she’d looked like in those days.
Ruth had never been classically beautiful, nor I handsome in that same way. We were truly well suited to one another I could see now, with more than twenty years of additional experience to gauge such things. But while Ruth was a bit plain and would never be a fashion model, her body was amazing to me then and now. She had large breasts, D cups, even at eighteen, and plenty of curves. But what made Ruth so infernally hot to me was the knowledge of just how lusty she was when she let her imagination run wild. I knew even as I looked at her, envisioning her naked before me, that her pussy was wet and throbbing for attention. All she had needed was a man to fill her, and rescue her from her fantasy world. I could have been that man, but I wasn’t then. I could be now.
This was my dream, and I was in control. Whatever I did now would have no effect on my real life in the future, and if I woke up the next morning with cum-stained shorts, so be it. Maybe I’d even write all of this down and post it on the internet, a sort of electronic "message in a bottle", for the current-day Ruth to find and read. Maybe we’d finally admit to one another that we both blew it back then. Either that or she’d hate me. I suppose any relationship is better than none at all.
Back in the dream, Ruth had noticed that I was ogling her and despite herself she grinned even wider than before. She arched her back slightly to make her breasts perk up, and even trapped beneath a lacy bra, I could see her pert little nipples were hard from the attention I was showing them. She was really digging the fact that I was fondling her with my eyes! I kicked myself for never having realized that perhaps all she’d needed back then was for me to not be the perfect gentleman my momma had raised me to be in the real world and more of the bad boy that I was in our phone fantasies. What a moron I’d been back then!
Deciding that since things seemed to be going so well with just looking, I snaked a hand up and over and laid it across the car seat on her right shoulder. Ruth shuddered as my hand made contact and I expected her to flinch away as I’d always imagined that she would do, but since this was my dream, she’d reacted the way I’d always wanted instead. And maybe the way she would have back then, too, if I’d only had the balls to try.
I slipped my hand under her blouse and down her back, feeling her warm soft skin against my palm. I’d never felt anything so exquisite and watched as Ruth’s flesh became goose-pimpled from the bare contact of flesh on flesh. Ruth’s lips parted slightly and I thought I’d heard a low whisper of a moan escape as she did so. I grinned, realizing that in this fantasy replay, I could do as I liked and no matter the consequences. I couldn’t make a “wrong” move! That freedom, coupled with my present-day self’s experience and perspective, made this a win-win scenario regardless.
I started to massage Ruth’s shoulder blade and felt her muscle tension melt beneath my fingers. Her breathing had slowed and she was having trouble concentrating on the road. I didn’t recall where we had been headed to on this trip, but it didn’t matter – parking was what we needed to do, and quickly. I decided to try my voice and was surprised to hear how youthful it sounded to me.
“Why don’t we take a break from driving and stop somewhere where we can… relax… for a bit?” I suggested. Ruth nodded, not speaking, and I realized that even if she did, she would say whatever I expected her to say. I started to look around for someplace to park, and then kicked myself for not using my imagination. Suddenly, the car vanished and I found myself looking across the length of an aluminum canoe at Ruth who was stretching and yawning, the sunlight turning her black hair into a halo of light. She surprised me by saying, “I’m tired, going to take a nap,” and closing her eyes.
I tried to remember why this seemed so familiar and recollected that this had actually happened once in reality. Ruth and I had been driving into Washington, DC to rent a canoe for a trip up the Potomac River and back just above Georgetown one summer’s day many years earlier. This was one of our many “undates” and I remembered how it had ended with anger at myself and disappointment, as if it had happened yesterday.
The dream sequence seemed to pause as I remembered how it had happened back then. No sooner than we had paddled into a quiet backwater, Ruth had decided to take a nap. I had thought this strange until I realized that she was going to let herself become “u*********s” in order to allow me a chance to “take advantage of her.” After all, I’d only told her the truth about how I felt the first time when she was sl**ping, so this was her way of taking that to the next level. I remember being scared as hell, thinking that if I were wrong about her intentions, she might scream “****!” and bring the cops paddling over to arrest me. Being a bad boy just wasn’t my style, I guess. Mr. Nice Guy – that was me.
It’s true, I was young and confused back then, and didn’t realize a womanly ploy when it was staring me in the face. I knew that then in the boat I had only succeeded in giving her a foot massage and venturing up her legs with my hands as far as her knees. She pretended to sl**p the whole while, and I’d even summoned enough courage to give her big toe a kiss and a nibble when some asshole in a speedboat flew by and almost flipped us over. There was no way Ruth could pretend to sl**p through that and the moment was shattered. We paddled home in silence and mutual frustration, though at the time I thought she’d caught me and I was a creep in her eyes. I wasn’t and she and I continued our “virtual” relationship that very evening. But the missed opportunity was never discussed between us, and we pretended as if it never happened.
But, dumbass, I said to myself as I remembered this was a lucid dream, you can change the outcome! You can play this out as it should have happened and if you don’t get it right, just rewind and start over. Even in my forties I was pretty dense when it came to understanding Ruth! I tried to clear my mind of the earlier shabby performance and concentrate on getting it right this time.
Once again, Ruth and I were in the canoe. The sun was shining, the breeze was warm, and there was not a soul around us. To be sure of not being interrupted by another speeding dickwad, I pictured the entire Washington, metropolitan area as having been evacuated following an alien invasion. Ruth and I were the only humans on this river for a hundred miles. There would be no interruption this time.
“I’m tired, going to take a nap,” declared Ruth with a yawn in this version of the dream as she lowered herself back into the boat. This canoe is way too cramped, I thought, and as I did so, it became a cabin cruiser. Instead of lying in an uncomfortably hot aluminum dugout, we were in an air conditioned bedroom suite. I wished there were mirrors on the ceiling and voila, there were. The hard metal floor had been replaced by a huge, soft, well appointed bed. Ruth lay contentedly before me, snuggled down for her nap. Her miniskirt was tucked neatly under her and her shoes were still on her feet as they had been in the canoe.
“Would you like a foot massage?” I asked sonorously, adding, “sweetie?” to the end as I’d never done before. She mumbled “uh huh” softly as if almost asl**p. So far, so good, I thought as I removed her shoes and socks. There, as in the past, were Ruth’s delicate small feet in my bare hands. The day had been warm and her feet were still hot from her shoes and socks. I bent down and touched her toes to my lips, savoring the memory of that scent even as I opened my mouth and wrapped my tongue around her big toe. On the bed, I heard Ruth moan softly, which was new, as in the “reality” version of this scene, the sound of the outdoors drowned out any such small noises she might have made.
Still, this is my dream and my fantasy, I chided myself, and if I want her to moan she’s going to moan! I concentrated on recalling the sensation of her firm round toe in my mouth from those many years ago and found it clear and unsullied by time. I knew that now, as before, I wanted to send shivers of pleasure up her leg and straight into her pussy, and hoped that this was the reason for the moan. I suckled on her toe for a moment longer before running my tongue along the underside of her foot. Still damp from sweat, the taste was surprisingly pleasant and Ruth shivered from the contact.
My hands began to massage her feet and ankles, and Ruth did her best to lay as if u*********s on the bed in simulated slumber. My hands traveled once again upward, this time past her knees and gently slid her legs apart. In the space that now appeared before me between her opened thighs, I lay myself gently on my stomach and marveled at the sight of her damp panties and seeping pussy beneath.
Ruth’s dark pubes were flattened beneath the red panties and showed as a fringe just above the band. I inhaled deeply, and now had to rely on imagination, as I’d never clearly smelled Ruth’s arousal at a distance of mere inches. The essence of her was heady and sent a powerful jolt directly through me and into my cock, trapped beneath me on the bed.
My fingertips continue to travel well up above her knees on either side, slowly sliding up her lower thighs which were a creamy and delectable looking as I’d imagined. Idiot, I reminded myself, you are imagining this! I continued to picture her as I always had, with flawless rounded thighs, leading up and up to the valley of Heaven between them. My fingertips had reached the juncture of the inner thighs and outer labia, and I could feel the heat of her pussy from inches away.
Ruth’s panties had been merely damp before. Now in the center appeared a dark stain of musky pussy juice that had saturated the cotton from above the nub of her clit clear down to the crack formed by her ass cheeks. This was a view and experience I’d always dreamed about yet had never pictured before to this level of detail. It was as if I were actually here, in the alternate reality canoe-turned-stateroom, laying with my teenaged head between the legs of the girl I had desired more than anything.
I shook myself again, reminding myself once more that as a lucid dream, nothing would happen except what I wanted to happen. Ruth would continue to lay on this bed pretending to sl**p even if I plunged my tongue deep into her molten twat… unless I wanted her not to. I pondered this for a moment. What would the real Ruth have done if this had actually happened? I decided to find out. With an effort of will, I commanded this dreamscape to behave as if this were the past being rewritten. From here on out, Ruth would behave as she would have had this actually occurred. Or at least the best approximation my mind could conjure based on my new appreciation of Ruth’s past behavior.
I waited from her to kick me in the head, screaming. Instead, she continued to lay on the bed as before, her legs wide apart and her pussy getting wetter by the second. So far, so good, I thought, as I inched my body closer and stopped as my nose bumped into her dripping panties. Ruth inhaled suddenly, all pretenses of sl**ping gone, and clamped her legs against my head. My face, buried in her crotch, pressed against her soaked underwear, and I felt the slickness of her secretions against her cheeks as if this were reality.
My ethics stopped me from going further, dream or no dream. I cleared my throat and felt dizzy from the scent of her all around me, and asked, “Do you want me to eat you?” in as clear a voice as I could manage considering my position. Ruth writhed beneath my face from the warmth of my breath and the vibrations of my words and moaned, “Yeessssssssssss!!!! Oh God, for Chrissakes, YESSSSS!!!!!”
My conscience satisfied and my ego inflated, I opened my mouth once again and used my tongue to push aside her panties. Beneath was a searing pool of sexual lava, her cunt muscles in spasm. With each contraction she spewed forth even more sweet nectar for my tongue to savor. I relished the taste and the smell and the texture as I slowly guided my tongue from the bottom of her pussy lips to the top, collecting a puddle of cum on my tongue with each pass. Once back up to her clit, I wrapped my cum-slickened tongue around her swollen nub and sucked it into my mouth, pulsing it forward and back several times before returning for another pass from the bottom.
Ruth’s moans had reached a fever pitch by now and I outstretched my hands to grasp the band of her panties. She needed no further sign from me and lifted herself up from the bed, knees bent, so that I could pull them away. A moment later and I had extricated them from her legs and feet, and looked at her laying before me. I commanded, “Take off your skirt!” and she complied willingly. Now naked from the waist down, I grasped her blouse and lifted it upward to expose her bra. Rather than remove the blouse, I tucked it behind her head, locking her arms and covering her face. I shoved her sodden panties into her mouth as a gag and I tore her bra from her chest and flung it aside.
Ruth’s bare tits bounced before me like dancing nymphs and I grabbed one, then the other, in my hands, squeezing them together and lifting them to my mouth. I sucked one nipple and then the next, hearing Ruth’s muffled moans and exclamations and became more aroused than before. The feeling of her rigid nipple against my tongue made me so incredibly aroused. With my teeth I applied a slight nibble on the right nipple, and then the left, watching Ruth writhe beneath me as the pain stimulus metamorphosed into pleasure. Watching her in this state overloaded my brain and my bestial inner caveman was unleashed.
I quickly removed my own clothing and let my poor cock bounce free. On the tip was a glistening globe of my own nectar that I lovingly dolloped onto Ruthie’s engorged clit, which sent her body into a convulsion of excitement. Slowly, teasingly, I rubbed my pre-cum into her clit, and mixed it with her own freely flowing honey. The feeling of her juices on my naked cock gave me shivers of excitement. Bubbles of her own cum seemed to percolate up from deep inside her slickened sheath and beckoned for me to plum her depths.
Lifting her legs up and placing them on either side of my head, I slid forward until my pulsing cock made initial contact against her throbbing pussy. Slowly, ever slow gently, I eased my shaft inside her, inch by inch, until it was completely engulfed inside of her. Ruthie’s moans and gasps were loud even though muffled by her panties, and I realized that without them in her mouth, she would likely have bitten her own tongue in a****listic abandon. Her tight vaginal muscles gripped and squeezed me tightly in just the right way. With her cunt already incredibly wet, it felt like being wrapped in hot velvet and encased inside a vise.
I moaned as her pussy began to milk my turgid cock, and I began to slowly slide back out until just the tip remained inside of her. Then, with a sudden forward thrust, I impaled her completely, feeling the spongy flesh of her cervix impact against my cock head. I envisioned the puckered opening of my cock making a seal against her cervical opening and my never-ending stream of sticky seed filling her womb with my essence. My need to fill her seemed ravenous.
My lust at its zenith, I again retreated, then once again surged forward, creating a rhythm that coincided with that of our beating hearts. Ruth’s breathing had become erratic and I could sense her impending orgasm even as her pussy convulsed with pre-orgasmic tremors. In my mind I wanted to inject her so completely with my pungent jism that she would feel the impact of my eruption against her uterine walls. My public bone ground against hers, trapping her clit in between and stimulating it with every stroke.
Ruthie began to quiver in a way that told me she was about to go over the edge at any second. I increased the speed and intensity of my pelvic thrusting, as if trying to f***e my cock through her cervical opening and fill her womb from the inside. Her moans were now emanating from her throat and inside of her chest, creating an a****l sound that just served to ratchet up my own ardor. Thrusting harder still, and driving her body at an angle into the mattress, I knew that own climax was just moments away. With a guttural groan that made my lips vibrate I erupted deeply inside of Ruth and felt her entire body go momentarily rigid, as if electrified. She was coming at the same moment, and the result was like a feedback loop, spinning both of us higher and higher, our waves of delight coinciding and in phase, increasing with every contraction of her pussy and spurt of my raging cock within her.
Was it possible to become light-headed in a dream? It certainly felt real and I resisted the urge to fall backward and lay in blackness, my testicles emptied of their urgent contents. I withdrew from our carnal embrace and gently relaxed my grip on Ruth’s legs. Laying them on the bed, still spread apart, I sank down into my earlier position to watch in contentment as the fruits of our sexual congress slowly began to seep from her reddened, puffy slit.
Mixed inside her by our exertions, these pearly white rivulets were a frothy ambrosia to me. They representing the most basic essence of Ruth and I combined into a single fluidic quintessence that glistened lustrously in the dim light of the bedroom. I longed to drink from this fountain of our own creation, and eagerly pressed my lips against her nether cavity so as not to lose a single drop. Though two warm bodies had created this gooey medley, the temperature seemed much higher as it touched my lips.
There, the juices of our freshly made creampie felt hot, slippery and magnificent. Something about her scent and mine when combined created an aroma that perked up my spent cock as if it hadn’t just given its best effort. I opened my mouth and allowed our concoction to flow inside. On my tongue, the sensation was even more exquisite. A woman’s secretions were chemically acidic; a man’s alkaline in nature. When the two were combined, as ours were, they became chemically neutral. The point-counterpoint created by our distinct pheromones were indescribably delicious. My exhaustion fell from me like aging leaves in autumn and I was once more energized to continue our lovemaking with renewed passion.
I arose from between Ruth’s legs and within my mouth held the passionate outpouring of our coupling. Kneeling over her, I removed the tattered remains of her gag and allowed her to breathe deeply for a moment. A smile was on her face, unlike any I’d ever known. A mixture of contentment, satisfaction and gratitude seemed to beam out from her eyes. I’d freed her from the safe, lonely prison of fantasy and delivered her into the real world. A quirky grin jotted across her lips as she realized what I was about to do.
With all of the intensity born of years of desire for her, I kissed her passionately. As my lips parted, and our tongues began to entwine, the hidden cargo of our union began to disperse within her mouth and she reacted at first with surprise. Then, as that emotion gave way and the potency of our juices began to flow across her tongue, she seemed to ignite and our kiss became something primal. We grasped for one another, sweaty and exhausted, but with renewed fervor, our bodies twisting a writhing as we explored each other on a level never imagined possible. We felt our spirits begin to comingle on an etheric plane and soar above our corporeal bodies, freed at last from the fear that had kept us apart for so long.
Then I awoke.
My body was drenched in perspiration, the sheets a tangled mess, and my wife looking over at me in a groggy bemused expression. “Good dream?” she asked, noticing my cock was at full mast and the spreading stain across the sheets. With a sigh I answered, “An oldie, but a goodie.”