The Thirsty Sleepwalker

Wyatt fell asleep, but not after a long time. It wasn't stress that kept her awake, nor was it the existential crisis that she knew she should be feeling due to the transformation of almost every aspect of her life. No, what kept Wyatt from drifting off was arousal.

She wasn't exactly sure what other people saw when they looked at her best friend Gary. Despite how he dressed, he was still the same lanky blond boy that she had known her whole life. Did some sort of universal filter translate his image into that of a beautiful woman, akin to how Wyatt herself actually looked? Somehow she doubted that, having heard everyone use male pronouns to address Gary, even though they used the name 'Lisa' and described him as a woman.

One hypothesis was that they saw him how Wyatt saw him: an incredibly sexy young man with amazing style, showing off his body in an almost overwhelmingly seductive manner. When Wyatt looked at Gary Wallace, it took almost every ounce of willpower to keep herself from jumping up, throwing her legs around his waist, and letting him slide his manhood into her dripping vagina.

And that was the arousal that had kept her up.

But not all night.

No, while old Wyatt might have drowned in anxious arousal all night, new Wyatt knew how to relieve herself. Phone in hand, video playing quietly, Wyatt slipped her slender hand between her legs, pushed aside her lingerie, and slipped it inside of her. It was the first time she had masturbated in her new body, and it was glorious. Every sensation was new, every tingle, every pleasure. When she had been male, she had been no stranger to finding relief in the palm of her hand. But this was different. Wyatt's whole body responded to the touch, as if she had been designed in a lab for ecstasy.

Four times. She came four times. Each one bigger than the last. Each one both easing her overwhelming arousal, while at the same time teasing more out of the depths. Wyatt was insatiable. What had she unleashed? She wanted more, to feel this forever. It was only mid-way through her fifth round that sleep finally claimed her.

And then her dreaming began.

Gary stood across from her on a beach at dusk, the sky a soft violet bruising into gold. He wore the emerald minidress looking almost exactly like he had in the video that had brought Wyatt so much pleasure. Just one detail had changed. One big, important detail.

There, right near the hem of Gary's dress, was the outline of an erection.

Back when Wyatt had been the proud owner of her own penis, seeing an erection would have been easily dismissed. Now, though, that she'd been transformed, Gary's penis was a revelation. It was hidden away in Gary's dress, and that wasn't enough. She wanted, no, she needed to see it, to touch it.

To taste it.

"Lisa..." Wyatt murmured.

He turned toward her. He smiled—soft, uncertain, like he couldn't believe she was looking at him that way. His golden hair caught the evening light like birch trees in the fall.

A step forward.

And somewhere far away, quiet, unnoticed, her sleeping body swung its legs over the edge of the bed.

Gary reached out a hand, fingertips hovering close to hers. Not touching. Never touching. Even in the dream world that rule held true.

"You came," he said, voice warm as the dusk light.

"Of course I did," she breathed, answering a question tied to some dream narrative that she did not know.

The dream shifted, as dreams do. Wyatt found herself standing in a large master bedroom. And she was not alone. At the foot of the bed knelt Gary, not in the emerald green microdress, but in an emerald green lingerie set: a lace bustier, garters, and fishnet stockings. If Wyatt had thought him beautiful before, she now had to quickly revise her definition of beauty. Gary was beyond stunning.

Perhaps in dreams the no touching rule was more like a suggestion. Wyatt stepped closer.

And far away—her sleeping body stepped through the doorway of her bedroom with the slow, drifting certainty of someone walking underwater. Her bare feet made no sound on the floor.

"Let me take care of you," Dream-Gary said softly, "I can be a good girl for you."

Had Wyatt's arousal come with a gauge, it would have buried the needle. She wanted to pick him up and throw him on the bed, spread her legs for him, let his penis slip out of his panties and into her own. But something stopped her. Something about avoiding touching. Yes, there was a rule, wasn't there? What was that all about, anyway? Hadn't Gary and Wyatt always been intimate? Wasn't this their bedroom? Wasn't Gary Wyatt's good girl?

She took another step toward him, but got no closer. How far was he, anyway? How big was this bedroom?

In the waking world, she took another step and softly opened a door in the hallway, stepping into a dark room.

The dream deepened, sweetened, drawing her in. Gary had gotten to his feet and was stepping backward onto soft sheets—her sheets, Gary's sheets, a shifting blend that felt like both. He slowly lowered himself, laying on his back, inviting Wyatt to join him.

"Come closer, baby," he said softly. "Your good girl is lonely on this big bed."

Her body obeyed without hesitation.

And in the waking world, her sleeping body obeyed too, lowering herself down onto a soft bed, slowly crawling forward.

Soon, she could feel Dream-Gary's breath on her face, the heat of his body so close that it was warming up her own. She wanted to kiss him. She licked her lips, but hesitated. Why was she holding herself back? Hadn't she kissed Gary hundreds of times in the past? What could possibly be the problem?

She wanted him so badly it ached.

"Wy-?"

There was something different about Gary's voice.

"Wyatt!"

Her eyes snapped open.

She wasn't on the beach.

She wasn't in a master bedroom.

She was hovering over Gary in his bed, arms locked, body hanging just inches above his, their noses almost touching.

He stared up at her, shocked, half-sitting, half-frozen.

"Wyatt," he gasped, voice pitching high with disbelief, "what are you—!? How did you—??"

The confusion hit her like a physical blow.

Her elbows buckled.

She fell.

And her lips met his.