“I want to tell you about the dream I had. I debated all morning whether I should say that or not. I know we've just started running together, I don't want to make things awkward, but I wanted you to know. I want you to know right from the beginning so you can tell me now before I care too much.”
We were both out of breath as we climbed the hill past the school, aiming for the corner by the church. The mile and a half steady climbing drained from us the ability to talk, but I wanted to start things during the quiet of morning where her response was would be as muted as the colors of the cars that passed us in the morning fog. I knew she wouldn't be able to talk until we crested the hill, and she caught her breath. It would give her time to think.
I get better answers when they have time to think. It lets them work through the shock that I even asked the question at all, especially some of the questions I like to ask.
I like to know things about my friends, especially the sensual, sexy, friendly, friends. To be honest, I like doing things about everyone around me, but I don't often get the chance to ask.
I like to know what you're thinking about, your fears, your hopes and your failures. I want to know your weaknesses and whether you want to make them strengths, I want to know if you want to give up on the things that you are known for, so you can be someone else. I want to know other things, private things, but I only ask a special few about that.
"What dream?" Long sentences were out of the question as we approached the church corner.
"The dream I told you about, the dream I had before waking this morning."
"You told me about it," She said between gasps, "you said we ran into a football team, through a river, that you lost your shirt and your shoes."
"There was more to the dream."
"If you tell me," she asked hesitantly, "will make me want to stop running with you?"
"That is my fear."
"Tell me," she seemed determined to hear it even if it put other things at risk. She stopped running at the crest of the hill and took a few steps off the path into a tree-lined alcove and sat on the bench, extending her right leg and stretching her thigh that had been bothering her all morning. She patted the bench next to her but the cold stone give her shivers and she pulled her hand back quickly.
"Tell me."
I realized that things had gotten too serious, it was just a dream, just as sexy dream. I didn't even do anything to her in it. Now I committed myself and if I stopped she would think it was even worse. And she’d push until I told her and, when it comes down to it, I’m a horrible liar.
"As we were running in the dream I realized that my shirt was missing. At first I was embarrassed, but when I realized that I was in better shape in this dream world than in real life, running without a shirt was no problem, it even felt sexy to be next to you with so few clothes on. Even in the dream I thought about it, I worried about body image, but seeing you running next me, so strong, lean, and fast, I stopped worrying, looked over, and so you smiled at me.
At some point we had to come back to the river, but the riverbed was dry and full of crusted over bulrushes, brittle and loud to the touch. We slowed to a walk to avoid turning an ankle in the uneven dirt. The riverbed that was strewn with rocks brought down from the canyons, tumbled smooth over hundreds of miles of river current. You found a wide spot on the trail, completely hidden by tall brittle golden brown stalks and needed to catch your breath so we stopped and I rubbed your shoulder where it always hurt after swimming. You said nothing, then turned to me and put your hand on my chest, covering my nipple and scratching my chest with your lovely, but short fingernails.
Your fingers came together and you pinched my nipple without breaking eye contact. You want me to know that this was not a poorly thought out spur-of-the-moment act.
As we looked at each other, barely moving except your hands on my sweaty chest, your other hand moved and gently touched me through my shorts. They were baggy enough to hide exactly where I was so you searched through the silk fabric and found me, cradled me in your hand, and squeezed me. With blood pumping everywhere but there, I was soft and tucked away inside my briefs, conveniently sized for running, not for this.
Your hand moved across my chest, discovering the soft hair, matted with sweat, touching and pinching as you crossed from side to side. My body started to react and grow as your lower hand gripped and coddled, 0seeking me through the layers of cloth. I need to give myself room to grow and I reached to my waist band.
"Stop” you said, "I want to.”
I looked up and looked at you to check your reaction to my tale, this outrageously intimate dream, shared to soon, and too intently I am sure. You had stopped stretching and were looking at me as I recounted my dream, and you smiled when I made eye-contact, allowing me to breathe.
“Why did I ask you to stop?” she said breathlessly, but now, for other reasons.
“Listen.” I said, and surprising me, she turned her back to my chest and lay against me, pulling my arms around her.
“I’m cold.” She whispered, “and it’s getting late, but I want to hear the end of the dream.”
“OK, just let me know…” I put my hand around her waist, safely between danger zones, not to high, not too low, just holding her for warmth, but basking in the moment.
“I’m good, keep talking.” She put her arms over mine and they pushed down until my hand rested on her hip. “This is nice.” She said.
I continued.
“As the heat of the morning warmed our damp skin, you told me to put my hands behind my neck, fingers interlaced. I figured your family’s police background was coming out.” I heard her chuckle.
“You pulled the waistband of my shorts away from my dream-skinny body and down. This was followed by my running briefs getting the same treatment. I sprung loose, hard and shiny with sweat and anticipation.”
I awoke with a start and lifted my head off the damp pillow in alarm. I flexed my hips and felt my cock at full power pressing against the bed. I looked at the clock, cursed my inner clock, and turned off my alarms 30 seconds later.”
“That’s it?” she asked, not turning around.
“That’s it.” I said, gently kissing the back of her head and breathing in her fragrance.
“We didn’t do anything else?”
“Nope.” I could hear her breathing. “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep no matter how hard I tried.”
She sighed, “I can never sleep after dreams like that. I’m too restless until…” Her voice trailed off like s suspect that realized she had said too much to the office. I smiled, but didn’t push my luck with a follow-up question. She said too much and I needed to let her hold her peace.
She stuttered a few times, took a breath, and asked, “Did you want the dream to continue?”
An age-old debate whistled though my head in the 5-seconds I waited. Do I admit my attraction or play the “good boy” who knows how to keep his dick in his pants. What answer did she want? Which answer would play out best in the long run?
I snuggled my chin into the crook of her neck and sighed warm air on her neck, gently tightening my grip around her waist, partly as a gesture of affection, partly to restrain her if she disliked my answer and tried to spin and slap me.
“Of course I did.”
She pulled my arms from around her waist and I thought I had answered wrong.
“Stand up.” She said.
I began to stammer out an apology but she shushed me and told me, again, to stand. So I stood.
The morning light was beginning to fill our secluded alcove with light and the traffic noises increased past the fall foliage.
“Put your hands behind your neck and close your eyes.”
I laughed and looked at her in disbelief and told her that she didn’t have to… But she cut me off with a look and told me to close my eyes.
The feeling of being in a dream world overtook me, perhaps not a dream, but an alternate reality where good things finally happened to the right people. I felt her hand on my chest through two layers of running shirts. Her fingernails dug in so I would feel them through the material and I leaned forward to give her more pressure. Wondering how much of the dream she intended to recreate, I desperately tried to refocus some of the blood that was dancing a whirlwind in my head to parts southward.
A bus drove by and she froze for a moment, and then, dreamlike, I felt her second hand grip me gently, but with purpose and intention. Her fingers curled perfectly under my snug sack and warmed me in the palm of her hand. She rolled my twin stones together through the thin lycra shorts.
“Keep your eyes closed.” She whispered, her voice like sweet vanilla. She gave them a firmer squeeze, to prove that she knew what she was doing, and her fingers traced upward along the vein of my hard confined cock.
She traced further up my body and I whimpered a bit when she broke contact with my erection, but shivered as she crossed my chest and put her hand on mine behind my head. She pulled me down and told me to open my eyes.
Upon contact, our eyes locked together and she pulled me in and kissed me lightly on the lips, then on the cheek, and on the ear where she held me.
“I like it when you dream of me.” She said, “You have permission to dream of me again.”
She released me and I stood and she stepped away from me. She smiled, tapped her watch in theatrical style, and declared herself behind schedule and darted out of the alcove and up the hill to her home. Looking at my watch I realized I was out of time to chase her, so I watched her multi-colored shorts move steadily up the hill and turned to head down, back to where I needed to go, to shower, to dress, and eventually, to dream.
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