Could it have been anything else?...

The sheets clung to your body, sticky, undeniable. For a second you lay frozen, heart hammering, as the last images of the dream replayed behind your eyes. Jamal’s voice, Darnell’s hand, James’ smirk, Samuel’s heat so close to you, all of it so vivid it felt like they had just been here.

You dragged a shaky hand over your belly, your fingertips brushing the mess you’d made of yourself. Your breath caught. You hadn’t… done this in your sleep since you were a kid. But this time it wasn’t random, it wasn’t innocent. You knew what you’d been dreaming about. Who you’d been dreaming about.

You sat up slowly, the sheets sliding from your bare skin. You always slept naked, it had never felt strange before. Now, though, the cool air against your sticky stomach made your whole body burn with a mixture of shame and memory. You could almost still feel them. The firm press of Jamal’s hand on your hip. Samuel’s chest flexing under your palm. Darnell’s grip on your ass, James’ voice telling you that you were made for them.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to will the feelings away. But they clung stubbornly, wrapping around you tighter than the dream itself.

You needed to shower.

The bathroom filled quickly with steam, the hiss of water filling the silence as you stepped under the spray. The first rush of warmth against your skin made you shudder, your eyes closing, head tipping back. Droplets ran down your pale chest, over your sticky stomach, washing away the evidence, but not the heat, not the memory, not the want.

Your hands moved almost automatically, spreading soap across your body. You rubbed it in slowly, fingers gliding over your white skin, watching as it gleamed slick and smooth under the water. For a moment, you just stared at yourself, the curve of your shoulders, the slope of your waist, the way your thighs pressed together when you shifted. You weren’t huge, weren’t sculpted like them, but you were… soft, thick. Touchable.

And in your mind, their hands returned.

You could see it again, Samuel shirtless, his muscles sharp and perfect. James’ strong arm sliding onto Emma’s thigh. Darnell towering over Abigail, holding her like she belonged to him, like he owned her. And Jamal, always Jamal, his towel clinging low on his hips, the drops of water trailing down the ridges of his dark skinned abs, the way he looked at you like he already knew.

Your hands slowed over your chest, fingertips brushing your own stuff nipples. You swallowed hard, your breath shaky. It was just soap, just skin, but your body was responding like it wasn’t you touching yourself at all. Like it was them.

You rubbed down your arms, over your belly, circling lower. Every curve you passed seemed to echo with the dream, every spot a place someone else had touched, claimed, praised. You remembered Jamal whispering how sexy you looked, how you were built for their big black cocks. You remembered Abigail’s voice telling you to just give in.

And then, their underwear.

That last image wouldn’t leave you. The way the fabric had stretched tight across them, leaving little to the imagination but never revealing what you hadn’t seen. The heavy bulges pressing forward, close enough that you’d had to tilt your head back just to keep looking at their faces. In the dream, you’d been so close, on your knees, eye level with everything you weren’t supposed to see.

Your hand lingered on your hip, then slid back to cup the curve of your ass and then you again tuched your virgin hole. Sensation rushed trough you. You felt the weight of James’ voice in your head: “So soft. Made for us.” Your breath hitched, heat flushing your neck.

You pressed your palm against the slick tile wall, water streaming down your back. Your other hand traced along your thigh, up and down, trembling slightly. Curiosity gnawed at you, what would it have been like to see past the fabric? What was under there, what they hadn’t shown you? What you had almost uncovered before waking?

The thought sent a wave of heat through you, curling tight in your belly.

You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing, but the steam only wrapped tighter around you, clouding everything. You couldn’t get the images out. The way their dark skin gleamed under the light, so stark against Emma’s pale body… against Abigail’s… against yours. The contrast was beautiful, striking, intoxicating. You imagined how your own soft white skin would look against Jamal’s chest if he pressed you close, if his hands wrapped fully around you.

You shivered under the hot water, nails digging lightly into your thigh.

The shower went on like that, your hands washing but also exploring, tracing yourself as though through someone else’s touch, the dream replaying in flashes that made your chest tight and your stomach churn with something you didn’t want to name but couldn’t stop feeling.

Once you reached orgasm again a rush of embarrassment came over you. Why had you thought of all this stuff while pleasuring yourself? These were men you were dreaming about and you aren't gay... are you?...

When you finally turned off the water, your body felt weak, unsteady, as though the dream had followed you here, clung to you like the steam itself.

You wrapped a towel around yourself and stood in front of the mirror. Your face was flushed, your lips slightly parted, your eyes bright in a way you didn’t recognize. You looked different.

You looked like someone who had seen something they couldn’t unsee.

And for some reason you wanted more.