by Sara Cate
“That was good,” Jesse speaks after a while, and I glance over to see him holding up his glass. “Can I have more?”
I shrug and stand. “Why the hell not.”
Taking both of our empty cups to the kitchen, I pour more eggnog, and even more brandy this time. I’m not trying to get drunk, and I’m definitely not trying to get Jesse drunk either, even though I’m now fairly certain this amount of alcohol could get him there, since apparently he’s not a big drinker. I’m pleased by this fact. I like that he has a good head on his shoulders and knows that drowning your sorrows in vices is never the way.
But I also think I like this new part of our tradition. Opening him up a bit is a good thing. I’d like to know more about his life, and I want him to feel comfortable sharing.
Back in the living room, I hand him his fresh drink and plop down on his toes again. But rather than pulling them away this time, he wiggles them under my thigh.
I can feel my grin, but I squash it, and mutter, “Are you cold?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just… getting cozy.”
I keep my face aimed forward at the television, feeling him relax, leaning back and wedging his feet further beneath my legs. I’m sort of tense, and I’m not sure why, so I ignore it and focus on the movie.
But for some reason, I’m abnormally aware of Jesse while he sips his drink. It’s as if I can feel his buzz as he melts deeper into the couch.
Then it dawns on me that I might be getting a buzz on myself, which is why I’m feeling this way.
Who knows.
The movie continues, and we watch as we always do. Chuckling at certain parts we know so well. By the time the kid on the screen is getting his tongue stuck to the pole, I’m so relaxed I barely even notice that Jesse’s feet aren’t under my legs anymore. They’re resting on my lap.
He has his legs draped over mine. When did that happen?
We’ve never sat like this before, and for some reason, it’s keying me up once again. I’m not sure why. It’s not unusual for him to sprawl out and take up the whole couch. It’s kind of his thing. But his long legs stretched over my thighs seem to be the only things I can pay any attention to, for minutes on end.
I’m acting like I’m watching the movie, but really my eyes keep falling to his feet in those cartoon socks, toes visibly wiggling every now and then.
It’s good. He’s happy. He’s comfortable… That’s all I care about.
Not my own bizarre anxiety, which doesn’t make any sense.
The night wears on. The movie ends and starts up again, on a loop, because that’s another part of the tradition, for everyone apparently, not just us.
I’m lulled into an easy state, my hands resting on Jesse’s shins once the drink is long empty, cup down on the floor. After a while, my eyelids begin to flutter, sleepiness overtaking me.
The last thing I remember is glancing at Jesse, to find him out cold, head lolling off to the side, his chest rising and falling in content breaths of slumber.
A soft smile graces my lips, and I lean back, succumbing to the sleep that steals me.
Warmth.
All I can feel is warm, everywhere.
A heat I didn’t have before has settled over my skin, something like a dream burning me right up.
Tightness clutches, and it takes several generous moments for me to realize it’s spreading from my gut up to my chest.
Starting in my loins.
Foggy and lost in my subconscious, a fantastic sensation washes over me. Tingles sweep through my limbs, settling below my waist.
Sex.
That’s what it feels like. A sex dream.
Lying back, I give in to the pleasure, my cock firm and my balls aching. It feels so fucking good, there’s no way this is real. I haven’t had something this nice in a while.
My eyes aren’t open, and I’m certain I’m deep in my own peaceful dreamland, the familiar warm wetness sliding up and down my dick. It only takes me another moment of fizzling desire to recognize it as a mouth.
I’m getting head in my dream. Awesome.
The tongue cradles my erection, stiff and pumped full of blood, soft lips and saliva coating me, sucking and sucking, at such a leisurely pace, it’s almost as if it’s barely happening at all. The mouth is just holding my cock, taking its time, and it feels divine.
Leslie? I want to ask, because who else would have my dick in their mouth?
But that assumption doesn’t feel accurate. It feels… different. Unlike anything Leslie did to me in our two years together.
So it must be a mystery woman, then. Sucking me off in my dream like a good little slut, taking me all the way back until my head nudges her throat.
“So good…” I whimper, dazed and enraptured by a thick cloud of arousal.
My hips flick, gradually, with the movements of the mouth, feeding my length between the softest lips ever created. That’s how I know it’s not real. No one has lips this plush. Like pillows of silk, working up and down my dick so slowly, it’s driving me insane.
“You teasing me, baby…?” My sleepy words fall out on an exhale of calm breath, fingers twitching at my sides with the need to hold her face and guide her.
Suck me like a good girl…
Inching one hand upward, my fingers dance along a sharp jaw. But I don’t even notice.
Not until I reach hair. Smooth, silky strands fill my fingers. But it’s short.
It’s too short. There’s not much of it at all.
That’s weird. Do I know any girls with short hair like this…?
I’m distracted by my confusion when the tongue swirls around the crown of my cock, dragging a quiet moan from my throat. My hips shift, pushing between those luscious lips once more.
This feels so real. More real than any dream I’ve had before.
My mind finally awakens enough for my eyes to creep open.
And I freeze.
My heart stops cold from its steady thump.
Now I’m certain I’m dreaming. Because it looks like… Jesse.
Jesse with his eyes closed, lying on his stomach between my parted thighs. With my dick in his mouth.
This isn’t real. There’s no fucking way.
It’s a dream. It has to be.
More like an aching nightmare.
Chapter 6
Jesse
* * *
The throb in my balls is what wakes me up.
They’re pumping so strong, it’s as if my heart is between my legs.
That and I think I’m drooling in my sleep. I can feel saliva trickling from the corner of my mouth, and my jaw is sore.
I must have been grinding my teeth.
But as I slip back into reality from wherever I was nestled in my subconscious, I find myself… sucking on something.
My first realization is that I must have been sleepwalking. I fell asleep on the couch next to James, watching the movie. I was curled up on my side, dozing.
But now I’m on my stomach, and without even noticing it until right now, my hips are grinding into the cushion.
I register my dick, stiff as a metal pole, trying to jam its way through my pants and into the fabric of the couch. My hips are doing its bidding, driving in slow thrusts as I hump and hump.
But the more I come to, the more I taste… salt. And skin.
That’s what wakes me fully the fuck up. The fact that I have something hard in my mouth, and I’m sucking on it, and it tastes suspiciously like a dick.
My eyelids flutter, and I glance up. Terror seizes my entire body.
James is lying before me, beneath me, sort of. His legs parted with me in between, pants unbuttoned and open. Dick out.
In my mouth.
His dick is in my mouth.
Holy fuck. Oh my God.
No no no… what am I doing?? How is this happening??
Panic sweeps through me fast, but I’m too frozen to move. I close my eyes and will myself back into the dream.
&n
bsp; That’s gotta be it, right? I’m dreaming.
There’s no earthly way this is happening for real.
Opening my eyes a crack, I peek back up. And I catch the tail-end of James’s deep gray gaze, locked on mine. Before his lids slam shut.
Confusion ripples in my mind. Does he know what’s happening? Is he awake?
No. No one’s awake, because this is a dream. It’s not real.
And my attention is immediately back on the fact that I still have his dick in my mouth.
It’s long, so so long, and thick. Huge, really.
That must be why my jaw is sore…
My tongue slides on its own, no clue why, but it does. And a sound graces my ears.
A hum. A soft, raspy noise that came straight from the chest of a grown-ass man.
It sounds like him.
I can’t deny the fact that I’m clearly in love with this. If it is a dream, it’s mine come true. And it has to be one, which is why I’m not moving my mouth, nor is he stopping me.
It’s not really happening… And in my dreams, I get to do the things I could never do in real life.
Like sucking off my father.
Cringing, I dispel that thought. He’s not my father…
Yea, so he raised me. Big deal. Right now, he’s just the hot as fuck dude in his thirties who’s letting me wrap my lips around his severely impressive erection.
My cock jolts beneath me, precum dripping from my tip. I can feel it, and judging by the stickiness in my boxers, that wasn’t the first time.
Goddamn… This is so hot. I never want to wake up from this dream.
Using what few skills I have, I pick back up with slow movements of my mouth, slurping the huge cock, letting it hit the back of my throat and ignoring the reflex to gag. Hollowing my cheeks, I suck harder and the groan happens again.
And then I notice fingers, sliding up my jaw and curling at the nape of my neck.
He’s holding me in place. No, he’s trying to stuff himself deeper.
My dick pulses again, and I let him guide me, fucking my mouth with gentle thrusts as I lie there and take it, swallowing on him until I hear a hushed, “Fuck…”
My eyes flutter open again, and I tremor when I find him staring down at me, his own gaze hooded and wanting to fall, though it doesn’t. He keeps watching me, holding my eyes with his, cheeks visibly flushed even in the dark, lips parted and trembling.
Jesus, he looks good. I wish this was real…
But there’s no way it is, because he’s not stopping me. He’s not pushing me off him and calling me disgusting.
He’s as lost to this as I am.
His head drops back, and he bites his lip, throat dipping in a swallow. Which reminds me of how much spit is flowing from my mouth. I gulp on his cock once more and he whimpers.
“Fuck yes, baby,” he growls. “Suck my dick.”
My balls draw up. I’m so close to coming myself, from nothing more than having his dick in my mouth while I hump the couch. It’s amazing, and also not, because I’m so turned on by everything about him. It wouldn’t be the first time I came in my pants just from imagining having him like this.
At my mercy. Needing it, as much as I have for fucking years.
I’ve sucked a few dicks before, but it’s never been like this. I’ve never wanted someone to just live in my throat before.
My hips push some more, the friction on my cock, and my nuts, driving me absolutely wild. I continue to suck him, deep, worshipping his long dick with my lips, drawing out more of those salacious noises I’ve been dreaming about for so long.
The thing is, though… these ones are different. There’s something about them that’s registering in my head.
Less echo, more presence. Vibration in his body when he whispers, “Baby, I’m… I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me come so soon.”
I let out my own hum on his dick, tonguing it with fervor, taking him as deep as I possibly can until I’m so dizzy I can barely hold myself up.
A sudden spark of pain brings my eyes up. He’s yanking at my hair, hard. Chewing on his bottom lip, eyes black like coal, the wide wall of muscle that is his chest pumping through heavy breaths.
This is real.
This is fucking real.
My lashes flutter, my balls spin out. And I fucking come.
Whimpering on his stiff flesh while my dick shoots off in my pants, I find myself gripping his thighs, digging my fingertips into the muscle. As hard as he’s gripping my hair.
Then he shoves his dick so deep into my throat, I have tears running from my eyes as he growls, “Fuck… yessss.”
An explosion of thick, salty liquid hits, pulsing onto the back of my tongue and all in my mouth. It keeps the high of my own orgasm going for what feels like hours while I drink him down, sipping his flavor like the eggnog from earlier…
On this couch. Right fucking here.
When I’m done eating his load, I pull my mouth off his many inches, head spiraling like a top.
I’m fucking lost. There’s no way that could have really just happened, but… it did.
I can taste him on my tongue. Feel him panting, and hear it, ringing through the room.
Glancing up at him, we lock eyes for several generous seconds of awkward, puzzled and blissful silence.
I blink.
He blinks.
We both blink.
His fingers finally release my hair, swiping the line of my jaw. Then they trail over my lower lip, brushing it in bewilderment that’s palpable.
The calm in this moment, however, dissipates fast. And then I witness a rage grow on his face. Guilt and shame and… disgust.
Yea… It was definitely real.
Those feelings are all too familiar to me. Except I’ve only ever felt them in myself. Having them mirrored back to me on his face is… not fun.
So I choose to hide.
I cower, zipping my eyes shut tight and curling up into a ball, pretending to fall back asleep. I’m not even really pretending as much as I’m wishing for it.
Praying that this was all just another one of my twisted dreams.
Though I know damn well, in my heart, it was not.
Chapter 7
James
* * *
Pacing.
Pacing and pacing and pacing, in circles and circles and circles.
I think I’ve walked the entire circumference of my bedroom fifty times. Maybe more.
All the while, my brain teetering between an active slideshow of what happened downstairs and a mental block forcing myself to erase it completely.
I’m still fighting for some kind of hope that it didn’t really happen. It cannot have been real.
But even if it weren’t, it’s equally bad. If I dreamt about something like that… then what the fuck is really wrong with me?
After what shall henceforth be referred to as The Incident, Jesse curled up and fell asleep. Maybe he truly was asleep the whole time. Which in no way makes it better.
I was stunned for many minutes. Unable to move or speak or even think. The orgasm fog wore off fast, and I was hit with a wave of guilt and shame unlike any other. A tsunami of bad and wrong swept me under, and I stumbled off the couch, running as fast as I could while trying to remain quiet, stealth.
I sprinted up the stairs two at a time and locked myself in my bedroom. Which is where I am now… Pacing.
Hours have passed by the time I finally crash onto my bed, exhausted from all the bullshit bubbling up in my head. It’s five in the morning and still dark outside as I crawl beneath my covers, rubbing my eyes hard with my fingers. What the fuck even happened down there?
Everything was normal. We watched the movie, Jesse passed out on the couch, as he’s done a million times before. Then I fell asleep too, which hasn’t happened in a while, but still, it’s not completely out of the ordinary that we’d both conk out on the couch.
How in the holy fuck does that translate into… The Incident??
Jesse’s sleepwalking has clearly taken a turn for the devious. But it’s not his fault. I can’t blame him for something he did in his sleep, just like I can’t blame him for his sleepwalking, even if it brings him into my bed on occasion. It’s never crossed any sort of line before tonight.
So what changed? What happened to turn his seemingly innocent subconscious travels into actions of the… blowing persuasion?
Jesus, I can’t think about this anymore.
My heavy eyelids droop with that word floating behind my eyes.
Can’t. Can’t can’t can’t can’t can’t.
Cracking my eyes open, there isn’t as much light as there was yesterday coming from outside. When I peer at the window, I see gray skies, snow still falling in more of a sleet form.
Great. The roads will be shit for days.
Sliding out of bed, I walk to the door and find it locked.
And recollection comes at me like a pillowcase full of dead batteries to the face.
I haven’t locked my bedroom door in a while… Because of Jesse.
Yet last night, I locked myself in here to hide from him.
My hands cover my face. What in the fuck is going on?
Slating those thoughts for later, I go to the bathroom to take a shower and do my thing.
Exiting slowly many minutes later, I can’t help but glance across the hall at Jesse’s bedroom. The door is open, and he clearly isn’t in there. Did he sleep on the couch all night?
Now I feel kind of bad.
It’s Christmas. We shouldn’t be dealing with whatever nonsense happened last night—or didn’t, if we’re choosing denial, which seems like a comfortable fit. We should be spending time together as a family, like we do every year.
So I go back into my room and get dressed in my Grinch Christmas sweatshirt—Jesse bought it for me when he was twelve, and I wear it every year—and I go downstairs, biting the bullet. Chewing on the damn thing and swallowing it with a solid gulp.
We’re going to have a good Christmas. That’s it. Even if I have to force it, normal is the name of the game we must play.