Dreaming of Things to Cum

Greg was usually a light sleeper; his mind often buzzed with thoughts long after the rest of the world had drifted off. But tonight, due to the effects of ****, sleep had claimed him quickly. Greg rarely drank. He was still in that in-between period of being an adult but not, according to the law, responsible enough to partake in ****. Not that that stopped his friends. There had been many a night where he had driven a car full of drunk people teen boys home after a banger of a party. But Greg had gotten into fitness early, and one of the main things he had been taught was that a stiff drink would kill your gains.

If Greg's physique was any indicator, that lesson would indeed be considered the gospel truth. Where his friends were a bit bloated and owed any muscular definition to the spoils of youth, Greg was lean and muscular. His back was broad, his stomach hard and flat, he had a big chest, and when he flexed his arms, his biceps had more than made a girl or two swoon.

Because Greg usually abstained from ****, that one glass of wine Lara had offered him was enough to muddle his mind. In his **** state, the events of the day and the tension in the air swirled together into a restless haze. As he drifted off to sleep on Ben's bedroom floor, a lucid erotic dream began to unfold.

There was light filtering through the curtains, giving Greg a headache. "How is that possible? It can't be morning."

Someone was talking to him. Greg couldn't determine what was being, but the voice sounded lovely. He opened his eyes and saw that it was Ben's mother, Lara.

"Hey champ, you ready to go?" She asked, smiling at him.

Damn, her smile could melt an iceberg, Greg thought as he looked up at the beautiful blonde.

"Where is everyone?" Greg asked, noticing that it was just him and Lara in Ben's room.

"It's noon, sweety. They all left hours ago. I guess that **** hit you harder than I thought it would. Sorry about that," She said before leaning down and kissing his forehead.

It wasn't the same as the kiss they'd shared the night before, but it still made Greg's heart race.

Suddenly, they were in the car driving down the highway. Lara's hand now rested on Greg's thigh. He opened his mouth to ask how they had got here, but his voice would not work. Lara looked over, smiled, and started to speak, but just like Greg, there was no sound. There was no sound, period. Greg could feel the tension between them; it thickened the air in the car, filling the cabin with a dense fog. After a few moments, Greg could not see anything. The fog in the car was so thick. He felt Lara's hand squeeze his leg, then a blinding light caused his headache to return with such a vengeance that he passed out.

When the nausea subsided, Greg found that Lara had turned down a quiet, secluded road that wound through a dense forest instead of taking the familiar route to his house. He frowned, glancing over at her. "Lara? This isn't the way to my place."

Lara didn't respond at first. Greg wasn't sure she had heard him. Perhaps whatever had muted their voices moments ago was still in effect for her.

Lara focused her eyes on the road ahead; a slight smile played on her lips. Her response came as a sultry whisper. "I thought we should continue from where we left off last night."

Greg's heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening as her words sank in. "You mean…"

Lara didn't respond right away. Instead, the car stopped seemingly of its own accord. The beautiful blonde that Greg had desired since he was in middle school shifted in her seat to face him, her expression soft yet filled with intent.

"Yes, Greg," Lara murmured, leaning closer. "I think we both know there's something between us… something we shouldn't ignore."

Greg's mouth went dry, his heart pounded his sternum as though it was trying to break free. He had longed for this, fantasized about it in the secret corners of his mind, but hearing her say it aloud made it real—too real. "Lara, are you sure…?"

Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them, her hand reaching out to gently cup his cheek. Her touch was divine; it sent a jolt of pure pleasure through Greg as her lips brushed against his.

It started as a featherlight kiss that quickly deepened. Greg responded instinctively; his hand moved to the back of her neck as he pulled the one he most desired closer; their kiss grew more sensual, more urgent.

Greg could taste the sweetness of her lips and feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingers; it was beyond anything he'd ever fantasized about. The car faded away, leaving only the two of them entwined in the heat of the moment.

Lara's hands moved to his shirt, tugging it free from his jeans as she traced her fingers along his chest. Greg shivered at the sensation, his own hands exploring the curve of her waist, the small of her back, every inch of her that he had yearned to feel.

They moved together with a natural rhythm as if this was how it was always meant to be. Every kiss, every touch, sent them spiraling deeper into each other, the line between reality and fantasy blurring until it no longer mattered.

Lara's breath hitched as Greg's lips traveled down her neck, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she arched into him. He could feel her heartbeat its steady beat filled his ears. The cacophony of their beating hearts only served to fuel the raging fire between them.

"Greg…" she whispered his name like a prayer, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

The dream moved faster now, as dreams often do. Clothes were long discarded. They found themselves entwined, skin to skin, every touch igniting sparks that set them aflame. Lara's breathy moans filled the air, mingling with Greg's gasps as they moved together, lost in the heat of the moment.

As they reached the inevitable climax, Greg felt an overwhelming surge of emotion—a mix of euphoria and disbelief that this was happening, that this woman he had admired and desired for so long was in his arms, giving herself to him as completely as he was to her. It was everything he had ever wanted.

But before they reached their crescendo, the dream began to fracture. Lara faded like a fog being burned off by the morning sun. Her face, flushed and beautiful, vanished, and her voice grew distant.

"No… don't go," Greg murmured, reaching out to keep hold of her.

But it was too late. The dream shattered, and Greg jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. He was in the darkened room, the only sound the soft snores of his friends sleeping around him.

Greg sat up, disoriented, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to cold sweat poured from his forehead. The dream had felt so real, so vivid, and for a moment, he wasn't sure where the dream ended and reality began. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, and slowly the truth sank in.

It was just a dream, he told himself, running a hand through his damp hair. Silly boy, you are eighteen, and she is thirty-nine and your best friend's mother. There is no way she would do any of that stuff. Well, she did kiss me in the kitchen. No, that was the wine—a drunken mistake.

Even with this rationalization, he still trembled; his body hummed with the phantom sensations of his imagination's version of Lara's touch.

Greg lay back down, staring at the ceiling, the memory of the dream playing repeatedly in his mind. He knew it was wrong—he knew it was something that could never happen, something that shouldn't even be in his thoughts. But the dream had made keeping his desires buried nearly impossible, and now, in the quiet darkness, they taunted him with the what-ifs and the maybes.

He closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him, but the dream had left a mark, and he knew it would be a long time, if it were even possible, before he could forget the sensation of Lara's lips on his.