Creamy Dreams

In high school, they kept all the sex-ed for the end of the year, in biology class, so we would run out of time. It was on the exam, so they would tell us the pages to study, but we never really went over anything in class. I think they did it because the teachers were just too embarrassed to explain anything to us.

So psychology was great, because we had a male teacher that actually talked about relationships and stuff in class (he was sleeping with a girl in my class, but I didn't know it back then). And I remember this one day in class especially, the day we were talking about "nocturnal emissions." Wet dreams.

I remember we were all listening, pretending to be bored like always but really wanting to hear every word. The guys were looking kinda red-faced and embarrassed. The girls just didn't know what to do, so we would stare down at our desks and pretend we were taking notes.

And then the teacher said something like this, "And it's not just guys that have the, uh, the erotic dream part preceding the uh...the emission. Girls can have those, too. The dream part."

Now the guys start looking up.

And I am smiling. Of course. Girls have sexual thoughts, too. Nodding. We're not robots.

"And some girls can even have the same sort of...of release of tension...um. A climax."

By this point, I am nodding vigorously, big smile on my face, thinking, 'Well, yeah. Duh.'

And then I notice I am the only girl who's nodding.

And my teacher is looking at me. Not the class. Me, specifically. With an almost creepy intentness.

And the guys are looking really, really interested--in me.

I'm sure, I just know, that my face was beet red at this point.

The thing is, every since those magical years of puberty, I've had dreams like that.

Sticky, syrupy, erotic dreams.

Nameless men, back then, and fuzzy details--I was still basically an innocent.

But nowadays? They're graphic. Vivid.

They still start, always, with a kiss.

Kisses! After all I have done or fantasized, in my heart, I am still the hopeless romantic.

I think I will always grow breathless with anticipation from that sweet, initial contact: lips to lips, mouth to mouth, tremulous tonguetips timidly seeking each other out.

These days, though, the fluttering anticipation quickly transforms into super-charged, erotic suspense.

I think I must spend the entirety of my dream-world either utterly nude or in those stripper-clothes that rip right down the seams with velcro tabs.

Suspense building, in a slow spiral of mounting tension, I tumble over the sheets, roll across the floor, even sprawl over the staircase, locations and positions and yes, partners too, changing over, and over, and over yet again.

If I could keep up, in my real life, the kind of pace I exhibit (heh) in my wildest erotic dreams? No man could possibly resist me.

Finally, after simply years of this anguished pent-up tension, I feel my body drawing in upon itself, closing up, tightening into a ball.

I literally double over from the contractions of my womb.

And wake, hips writhing, as they ripple over me. Tear through me.

And only gradually, very gradually subside.

And immediately, I want it all over again.

Yeah, it's that intense.

I had one of those dreams the other night. If I could, I'm not ashamed to admit it, I would have them more often.

But they come up on me (so to speak) unawares.

And of course, T was in my dream, even though to this day I have yet to see him naked.

More disturbingly, though, J was in it, too.

I can't help what my body thinks it wants. I was with J for a long time. It's only natural it remembers.

But, oh, I wish it hadn't felt so good!



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