tagGay MaleDream Man

Dream Man

byDWSimon©

I felt him writhing beneath me. We rolled over the grassy spot just beyond the lake. The misty morning air surrounded us as we arched into each other, joined up in frenzied mating. I could see his stomach muscles ripple beneath the sweat-soaked hair. I could feel his cock pressed into my belly as I moved within him. The mist of early dawn obscured his face. But I knew him anyway. I had seen him before, loved him before. I knew his body as well as I knew my own. But I had yet to see his face. As I built up, arching over and over into him, the cool, wet morning air chilled my sweaty, burning skin. I felt the hair on my chest matt with the sweaty efforts of our lovemaking. I kept moving inside him, feeling him grow and thicken against my belly. He milked me with his beautiful body, causing my own release to coincide with his. I bellowed out …

… I awoke to sweaty, tangled sheets. My underwear was soaked with my release. I still tingled and shook with aftershocks. I was so hard still. I lay spent in my sprawling bed, catching my breath. I was so frustrated. This dream had been coming to me night after night for weeks. It was always the same man. I could see his body, I knew every curve and ridge from his toes to his chin, but I hadn’t seen any further. I knew he was dark haired, almost black. He was tall, almost as tall as my six-six. His chest was matted with unbelievably thick, curly, infinitely soft hair. He was strong, muscled naturally from working with his hands. They were calloused and rough. His shoulders were strong, much broader than his hips. His legs had wrapped themselves around me numerous times. I can still feel that soft hair, the rippling strength bracing my hips as I plunge into his heat. This has got to stop.

I crawled out of bed and dropped my soaked knit boxers in the hamper as I walked to the shower. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My hair, both on my head and body, was matted and mussed with sweat. Whereas my dream man’s body was hulking and corded with muscles, my body was that of a tiger or dolphin. I was sleek and graceful, choosing to run and swim rather than pump iron. My eyes trailed down my mirrored doppelganger. I was still so very erect. I was so engorged that the head was shiny. Each vein stood out in sharp relief and pulsed with my heart. There was still a bluish, milky trace of my slumberous orgasm slicking under my foreskin. I reached my hand down and smoothed it over its surface. My middle finger and thumb didn’t quite meet as I grasped myself. I watched in the mirror as I fisted myself. My hand smoothed back my foreskin, peeling it over the engorged head then pushed it back. I felt my eyes roll back in my head and I felt my dream lover take my hand’s place. I felt his calloused thumb slick over the sensitive ridge on the top of my cock. His strong, long fingers fisted me, milking a response from me. The hand moved faster, skimming the sensitive nerves, strumming me to pleasure. I heard my breath hitch and I started to pant. My testicles rose up and I tingled, inching over the edge. The first spasm gripped me, propelling semen out at explosive force. I opened my eyes to watch my first spurt hit he mirror, followed by a thick second then very loose and wet third. I became aware of the cold marble tiles at my feet as I again worked to equal my breathing. I watched as my image became distorted as my essence ran down the mirror’s shiny surface. I grabbed a towel and wiped it up before heading to my shower.

A few hours later I sat at my desk in my office, overlooking Manhattan. I had always found peace in the view, but not today. The dreams were killing me. Desire was turning into an obsession. At twenty-three, I was at the top of my game, king of the world. But I was already tired of it. A thought that had only been a vague notion before the madness of my dreams started began to take root. I needed to get away. My work was suffering and I spent more time wishing I could be asleep if only just to see him and feel him again. That night, as I rode the train home, I fell asleep …

… We met by the lake, neither of us wasting any time to get there. I felt him walk up behind me. He whispered something that sounded like a mumble, but somehow I understood it, as ‘I love you.’ I was already breathing hard feeling my chest heave for breath at what I knew would follow. My dream lover began to skim my unbuttoned shirt off my shoulders, kissing my warm skin as he went. I fisted my hands in his hair and lifted him for my kiss. I brushed my lips over his as our tongues caressed. I felt his shoulders and moved my hands down his back, under the band of his jeans. I pushed my fingers under the elastic of his underwear and cupped his strong, dimpled ass. I skimmed a finger through the cleft and brushed it through warm hair and sleek heat, searching for his center. I removed one hand and moved it to unbutton his jeans, allowing my other hand greater motion. Once freed of the confine, the jeans slid off his hips and pooled at his feet. My hand moved faster as I tasted his lips. I pushed into him with one finger and felt him shudder beneath me. I kept pushing into him, parting him, making him ready for me. I was so hard and felt pre-cum push through my slit, wetting my boxers. Then my dream man pulled away from my lips, his diaphanous face was still shrouded to me, but I heard him clear his throat than announce my stop …

… I awoke to find myself sweaty and achy. I stood before the train could move on. I couldn’t hide my erection. The tent was obvious. I heard one guy snicker and an older woman smiled at me, leering at my aroused state. I felt the blush rise from my neck as I stepped off the train onto the milling platform. I crawled into my car and drove home. Once there I sought out my shower. It had six nozzles set at varying heights off of three pipes with a central rainmaker over my head. I turned them all blistering cold, willing the frigid water to reign in my erection that hadn’t calmed in the thirty minutes since awaking on the train. After several shivering minutes, I gave up and turned the water scalding and took matters into my own hands, refusing to give in to the urge to fantasize about my dream man. After just a few strong tugs, I exploded, coating the wall of my shower.

Every time I slept, even for a nap, I entered my dream man’s lair. At first it had been pleasant with few details. But each subsequent night, the details filled in. The lake and the grassy spot by it, the mist and the dawn, a few rocks and the trees all took shape and stood out in detail in the dream. Even my mystery lover became more real with each passing nocturnal encounter. There was a scar on his thigh, the left one, about three inches above his knee in one long arch. There was also an inoculation booster shot scar on his left shoulder. His belly button was inward and his shaft was uncircumcised. But most importantly was the cross he wore round his neck. That detail became clear this morning.

With each passing night, I became more convinced that he was real. Something was causing me to dream about him. I just didn’t know what it was. The following Saturday, while watching television, I saw my lake. There was a special on castles in Ireland and near one of them, was a lake, straight from my dream. The willow tree by its side and the rock that jutted from the water were so familiar. I had made love with my guy on that rock, under the willow, on the grassy slope leading back to the castle. My God, I knew where he was. I dropped everything and rushed to the phone, intending to fly to Ireland immediately. But just as I picked up the receiver, logic clouded my mind. I needed to plan this out. I needed to know some things first. So I decided to wait, giving myself two weeks.

During the two allotted weeks, I did some research. I found out the nearby castle was in a state of neglect, which was what the special was about. I looked into it and figured that if I was going to Ireland; I might as well have a reason. I stepped down from my position in the family holdings, becoming a silent partner. I would use the considerable assets I had, but no longer worry about the day-to-day running of the company. When I signed the papers of control, I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. I knew I had made the right decision. I also worked with the Irish government to purchase the castle and the lake property surrounding it. My intention was filed and I was awaiting approval to begin renovations. Now I had an excuse to visit.

After two short weeks, I found myself sitting on a 747, winging my way to Dublin. Once I had made my decision to go, the dreams became sharper, almost real. I even once felt like I was having a dream while awake. I was sitting in my chair, reading about the castle, when I felt his hands on me. I put down the papers and felt the sensation of skin skimming over my skin. It was the strangest sensation. Then I felt as if his mouth were covering my cock. I wasn’t touching myself, but it felt as if he was moving over me. The sensations grew tighter and tighter within me. I knew I was close to cumming. I felt his mouth move away. Then I felt him sit on my lap. I could feel the soft hair on his ass and legs caress me. I felt him part over my shaft. I felt his back rub in the hair on my chest. Then he began to move. Over and over he rode on my shaft, eliciting tight, spiraling sensations. I felt his heat and wetness. Then I felt him clench me, as if he had found his release. He kept bouncing, until I followed him over the edge. I had my eyes open and I was looking at the walls of my living room, but I felt his body milk an orgasm from me. I felt the wetness seep into my shorts and slacks. I felt the clenching of my muscles with each spurt of release. I collapsed back against my chair, the moment my orgasm done, the feel of his body left me. I felt empty without him.

While sitting on the plane, stretched out, lying reclined in the comfortable chair in first class, I was hoping to avoid going to sleep. But it was night during the flight and just before dawn in Ireland. I felt him pull me into the dream with his own sleepy arousal. On the plane, I knew he was real. I just hoped to find him once there. I tried to keep awake, not wanting to do something embarrassing on the plane. But the quiet hum of the engines and the warm, comfortable chair as well as my mystery man’s dream pulled my eyes closed …

… We met at the lake again. I knew he was near. I shucked my clothes and slipped into the glassy lake. The ice-cold water shocked my system, but I knew once he arrived, I would be heated. I heard the brush rustle and saw it part to reveal him. He stood before me in jeans and nothing else. His breath was coming in fast pants, as if he were already aroused. Looking down his chest to the tent in his clothes, he obviously was. With each step he took toward me, his body became clearer. The tufts of hair on his chest and belly, the silky hair on his corded arms, and the strength of his legs encased in tight denim I was already familiar with. But as he came closer, I saw the bridge of his nose. Each step revealed more and more of his face. He had high cheekbones and curly hair. His eyebrows were thick and dark, his lips full and sensuous. But I couldn’t see his eyes, not yet. I trudged out of the water, intent on seeing his eyes. When I reached the shore, he joined me at the water’s edge. Then I glimpsed in his eyes for the first time. Blue, like the brightest, deepest sapphires; so different from my mossy green eyes. It was home, I saw straight into him and somehow I knew he was seeing all of me finally. He reached out and trailed a finger along my chest, chasing a bead of water through the hair down to my belly. I was so hard. He grasped my erection and started moving on me. I didn’t want him to do this. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him to me. I kissed him. When our mouths parted, he looked in my eyes and spoke to me. It was in a language I didn’t understand. I tried to tell him I didn’t know, but he just shook his head and kissed me again. I loved the feel of his tongue brushing against mine. Then his arms wrapped around me and drew me to him. My cold, wet chest nestled into the warm, dry curls of his. My loose erection rubbed against the soft ridges of his denim clad one. I moved my hands down to his jeans, but he stopped me. Then he pushed away from me and shook his head. I didn’t understand why he pushed me away. He looked down at me, at my aroused state and gulped hard before looking in my eyes again. I saw hunger and passion fire in the sparkling blue. But he didn’t move towards me. He shook his head and told me in English, thick with a rich brogue, that we needed to stop this foolish dreaming. He told me he was tired of dreams that stayed unfulfilled. I watched a tear roll down his cheek. I wanted to go to him, tell him I was coming, that I was looking for him. But I never got the chance …

… I felt someone shake my arm. I woke to see a flight attendant tell me it was time to land. I sat up and wiped a tear off my cheek. I was still aroused, but it was a good feeling. I knew that soon I would find him. Whoever he was. After the plane landed, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be going back to America. I went through customs and got a car. I drove towards Galway, to the South actually. I drove to a small inn in the town closest to the castle. On my drive, I watched the rolling, emerald hills, dotted with sheep or rock walls, a few crops and cottages as well as a couple of forested areas. The beauty transfixed me. It was foggy and rainy and I had never seen anything so wonderful. I checked into the little inn, set my stuff down and then walked into the pub connected to it for some lunch. I had a bookmaker’s sandwich. Grilled roast beef and tomatoes. It was delicious. I also had my first experience with an actual Guinness. I sat back and took in the wonders. There were a couple of elderly men playing chess and having a yarn about some game they had played when younger. There was a lively lass who served the food and drinks. When the people heard me talk, they pegged me for the Yank I was and started to talk to me. They asked what I was doing in Ireland and I explained about the castle up the road. There were a few disgusted comments and the people turned from me. The waitress leaned down and explained that Michael had been working on it and was hoping to get a grant to take care of the old castle. I felt really bad, but I understood why the government sold the land to me. I wasn’t looking for help; I could do all the renovations with my own money, pouring much needed cash into the local economy. I just hoped I could make peace with this Michael.

Sensing my welcome was waning; I left and went upstairs to my room. A few hours later, after calling the government contact I had and explained that I had arrived and was going over the property, I asked about this Michael and his claim on the land. Apparently he was a young man (it made me laugh, only being twenty-three myself) who had grown up in the area and had started to clear the land around the castle, wanting to renovate the castle grounds, restoring the gardens. The idea had merit; I had only thought of the building, I hadn’t thought about the grounds. I bought the surrounding land so I could have the lake. Maybe we could work something out.

The time difference with New York had me contemplating the bed when a knock called me to the door. The innkeeper was there. He told me that Michael had found out about my presence and was heading over to have words with me. He told me ‘the lad has a fine temper.’ Apparently his back was up and wanted to have it out with me. Fine, I would confront him, tell him that I owned the land and the castle and then propose a partnership with him. This was just the setback I didn’t need on my quest to find my mystery man.

Deciding it was best to meet him on neutral ground; I headed back down into the pub. But I didn’t make it past the front desk when the front door opened. A tall, big man walked in. He had a hat on his head to shield him from the rain. He turned and placed his raincoat and hat on a peg then turned to me. I couldn’t have been more surprised. It was my dream man. My breath left me. All I could do was stare. He looked in my eyes and he stopped too. He recognized me. I started to grin. Here he was. I was so happy to see him. Then someone from the bar called out and told Michael to leave the Yank alone. Oh God! His name was Michael; the same Michael who was pissed at me for buying the castle. Oh man!

His smile slowly disappeared as the realization dawned. His voice was thick with a delicious brogue. “You! You are the Yank who bought my castle?”

“Look, I did by the castle. But I need to talk to you about it.”

“What, that you and your Yank money can come in and push me out?”

“Please, let me explain. Give me five minutes. Privately. Please?”

He nodded and we walked into the barman’s cozy behind the bar in the pub. I sat in a padded, faded, velvet chair and he in another. The pub owner came in with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He eyed us wearily and then left, shutting the door behind him. I looked at him, taking his measure, enjoying being within touching distance of him. I started to remember some of the delicious things we did to each other.

“Your five minutes is wasting.”

I shook myself and I felt myself blush. “I’m sorry. My name is Patrick Jamison. I have to ask you a personal question.”

He nodded at me. So I swallowed hard and spoke. “Do you have a scar, about three inches long over your left knee?”

I watched him swallow, shock taking over his features. But he did nod. “How did you know about the scar?”

“I’ve seen it. In my dreams.”

I watched Michael swallow. Then he stood and paced the two or three steps he could in the small room. I sat back and watched him move. For such a large, bulky man, he moved with a sleek grace. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at him. His legs were bunching with muscle. He was so tense. He looked as if he could jump through the roof. He was the epitome of caged energy. Then he stopped and looked at me.

“So it was all real. You had the dreams too.” It wasn’t a question but I nodded. “The lake, the woods, all of it real?”

“Yes.”

“Did you dream this morning? I saw your eyes for the first time this morning?”

“Yes. I was on the plane. You said something to me I don’t understand.” I repeated the phrase to him. He just blushed and looked away. “Michael, what did it mean?”

“It’s Gaelic. I was telling you that you are my heart, my love.”

I stood and walked to him. I moved in to kiss him but he pulled back. I was confused. He looked in my eyes and for once the belligerence was gone. Instead he looked sad.

“Patrick, I’m engaged to be married.”

Well that stopped me cold. I felt lost. I had given up my job and my home to come to him. I was at a loss as to what to do. I just looked at him for a minute. He looked truly miserable. I just walked past him and out the door. I headed up the stairs to my room and started to pack my bags. I had no reason to stay in Ireland now. I heard a knock on my door. It was Michael. I walked up and opened the door. He looked miserable and guilty. I felt bad for him, but not bad enough. He saw that I was packing. He stopped what he was about to say and looked me in the eyes. There were so many questions, but I couldn’t answer them. He told me that I should stay, at least for the night. I nodded, knowing I was too tired to drive back to Dublin that night. I shut the door to any more questions and moved my bag off the bed. I sat down and started to tug off my boots. I stood and shucked my jeans and sweater and shirt and crawled under the blankets. I turned off the lights and stared out the window at the moon, willing myself to sleep and this time not to dream. Eventually, after a couple of hours, I felt my eyes drift …

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