Dream Girl

I honestly had no idea where to put this story. I don't think it has the tone and content people expect for romance or group, and none of the other categories fit. It's going in Erotic Couplings but it does involve more than just two people at times, so apologies if that's a dealbreaker for you.

The story could be said to have supernatural elements, but then again maybe not. I tried to leave it up to the reader.

If none of that made you click away, I hope you enjoy the tale.

=================

Aiden

I stand on the edge of a pool.

It's an official pool, like one you'd find at an athletic center or a school; small white and blue tiles everywhere, smoothed concrete where those aren't present, swim lanes painted on the bottom of it.

She swims in it. Her long black hair trails behind her as her body moves through the water smoothly. Somehow the top of the water is completely still, undisturbed, like she slid into the water carefully and then waited beneath it for the surface to still before swimming. I can see her suit is sparse; her darkly tanned body is mostly visible, her long legs undulating together like she is trying to imitate a mermaid. Her butt prominently curves out from her arched back as she pushes herself forward, and whatever suit she has on has a thong bottom, because I can see everything of both cheeks when her hair doesn't block it.

She curves and I realize she is headed for me. I step back as she darts through the water, putting on speed I didn't expect. Soon she is at the wall and I lose sight of her. Then her hands appear over the lip and she hoists herself up.

Her swimsuit is extremely sparse; it isn't there.

She rises until her navel is above the pool-line, her arms straight down either side holding her up. Between them are full, lush breasts with poker-chip sized nipples of dark brown. The color nearly matches her eyes, as I see when she blinks away the water and looks up at me. Her pale pink lips, framed naturally by a darker area marking the start of her skin, split and she smiles at me. Somehow she wiggles the top of her body, sending the round, hanging breasts shifting back and forth.

Then she is standing in front of me, close. I keep my gaze fixed on her eyes, resisting the urge to look down at her breasts, or even farther down to see if she is shaved or has some sort of artful grooming down below. Her hand slides up along my cheek.

Then we hear a splash. She turns away to look.

-=-=-=-=-=-

I start awake, having dozed off in the lounge chair. Her caress is my head slipping out of my hand and down my arm. The splash is the goddess exiting the water. She walks toward me now.

Like the woman in my dream, she is naked. But for that and her body being female, the similarities end. Her hair is short, blonde, and a little wild. Dry, it comes up from her head in wild directions, partially curled and partially just left to sit. Wet, the curls are still there in places, but it mostly looks like a messy hat. Her blue eyes and her lips smile.

The rest of her is toned and thin. Her hip bones protrude a little, as do the bottom of her ribs when she stretches. Her stomach is tight, and her pubis protrudes out before sloping down to the pinched lips of her sex. Her legs and arms have lean muscle up and down. Her breasts are smal round domes on her chest with smaller domes for areolae that push up her eraser nipples when she is cold, or horny.

She seems very businesslike as she walks up to me, but she has an almost ethereal quality as the sun shines behind her, framing her body and making her hair glow. She walks up and straddles me on the seat, kissing me immediately. I'm in shorts and a T-shirt and she is still wet, but I don't mind. Her tongue pushes into my mouth but she isn't urgent about it. It is simply a sensual, intense French kiss. We pull back for breath and she wriggles on my lap.

"You dreamt of her again?" she asks. Her voice isn't accusatory, or sad. She is simply curious. I nod and she smiles.

"I still don't understand how you can be happy about that," I say.

"Because I reap the benefits of her influence," she replies, and then slides down, pulling my shorts down with her.

My cock springs up. Already partially hard because of the dream, her mounting of me finishes the job. I am only a bit above average, assuming the average is six and change. It always makes my goddess happy.

She doesn't have to move much; she simply goes from sitting back on her heels to up on her hands and knees. She chases the head of my cock around with her mouth, and I flex a few times to make it bob around. I enjoy my moment of teasing her, because I know I'm about to totally lose control of the situation.

Finally her lips catch the head, sealing themselves just below my glans. I feel her tongue slowly bathe the head of my cock and explore the slit and hole at the top. My hands fist as she finds all the right nerves and presses them as much as she can.

Her lips move down, sinking halfway down my shaft and coming back up, her tongue tracing the vein on the underside until her mouth gets back to the top, where she gives the head a few more swirls. She sinks down again, slightly deeper, then pulls up. Each push down goes deeper and deeper. I bump against her throat once she gets maybe two thirds of the way down. My wonder about her taking me farther is answered as her hand wraps around the base.

She doesn't move her hand, just holds me in place as her mouth slides up and down my shaft, coating it in wetness. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks on it, and I still feel her tongue swirling. She doesn't pick up speed, simply keeping the stimulation constant. She could keep me like this for hours, and she'd done so in the past.

It's Sunday evening, I suddenly realize, probably around six. The next thing either of us has to do is maybe eat, and go to work the next morning. I suddenly wonder how long she'll want to keep this up. With my legs trapped beneath her, I can't move her off without hurting her.

As if she read my thoughts, she pulls off and looks up at me. She doesn't say anything, just looks me in the eyes and smiles, her lips a little puffy from her oral work. She leans forward again and we share another kiss. I don't hesitate at all; it's juvenile to balk at tasting yourself, especially as I hadn't cum.

As we kiss, she shuffles forward. Soon she has herself lined up. I pull away.

"Don't you-"

She shushes me with a finger over my lips, then sinks her other lips down on my cock.

She'd lined herself up perfectly and is wet enough that I slide in without a hitch. She descends slowly, letting the sheath of her tunnel slide down my rod, enveloping it in the silky, warmth of her insides. It feels like she moves at a glacial speed, the heat creeping along my shaft. As she moves, I feel little ripples as she clenches her Kegels, massaging my cock from all sides. I groan at the erotic torture.

Either to distract me or make the torture worse, she grabs my fisted hands and brings them up to her breasts. I open my fingers and grab them. They fit perfectly in my palms, their slight weight pressing the nipples against me. I scrunch my hands to trap the buds in the folds of my palms and I see her smile and close her eyes. She has sensitive nipples, a blessing or a curse depending on the day and the circumstances.

In the bedroom they are a blessing, for I know exactly how to treat them. You would hope, after a year of sharing intimacies, that would be the case, but you'd be surprised if you talked to a lot of couples. At least, if you talked to a lot of the women.

I keep up the light pinches, trapping the nipples in my skin, pulling back with my hands until they pop free, then covering her whole breasts with my hands and doing it again. She presses my hands down again at the same time I feel her body settle on my hips. I am inside her, all the way, her vagina totally full of my cock.

She holds my hands to her chest still and leans forward. I take her weight, the little bit of it there is in this position. She grips my forearms and then she starts moving. Her legs and her hips come up, then drop back down. Up and down, up and down she thrusts her body on my cock, leaning herself into my hands.

Her breasts shift under my palms as her body moves. Her eyes are closed and her head thrown back a bit; I know she enjoys this, if the wetness leaking around my shaft and down onto my legs isn't enough of a clue.

I watch her. My goddess's face is one of the most erotic things to watch during sex; she has a wide range of expressions, and when she's feeling pleasure she doesn't hold them back. It makes me feel like a complete erotic god when I see her make those faces, even though she probably makes the same ones when she's alone pleasuring herself.

I don't know what faces I make, but I have to shut my eyes and groan as she gets her Kegels involved in our lovemaking again. Tight squeeze on the way up, looser coming down. The pleasure is ratcheting up and I can't help meeting her thrusts. The impacts create a slap between our bodies and her mouth opens as they hit, her face looking like she's had the best shock of her life. Her hands try to crush mine, still stuck on her breasts.

I feel her thrust harder, my cock pressing deeper into her. Her thighs bulge as she flexes to raise and drop her body harder and harder. Then she slams down and her back arches, pulling her away from my hands. I feel her pussy rippling as she orgasms.

The internal reaction to her cumming sets me off and I sigh and groan as I release inside her, my hands dropping to her hips to hold her there, pull her against me, and make sure she doesn't leave. Soon enough she comes down from her climax, settling onto me and kissing me tenderly.

"Like I said, reaping benefits," she says to me.

I smile and shift, which is when we notice it had gotten a little cooler, something more obvious because of my wet shirt and our wet crotches.

"That isn't the only thing you reaped," I say.

"True," she agrees "I'd say we can wash off with a dip in the pool, but I think inside is better. As much as Mother Nature's creations serve a purpose and are to be revered, mosquitos have a population in the hundred trillions, so I'm not above smacking a few into oblivion. They'd probably bite me first though."

"All right, my sweet, bright Dawn," I say, "Inside we go. Shower and a meal?"

"I already had my meal," she says with a cheeky smirk and a lick of her lips, "The Aiden sausage is quite yummy."

"Hm, maybe there's something for me to eat in the shower, then?" I suggest with a leer.

"Ohh, perhaps," Dawn says.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Dawn

I wake wonderfully sore.

My muscles are sore because of the laps I'd swum in our pool the previous evening. My tongue and pussy are sore because of the exercise afterward.

My husband had eaten me out in the shower as promised, and when he'd finished I demanded another round of good sex. The shower/tub has a grab handle along the inside. After my first climax, I grabbed onto the bar with both hands and let Aiden lift me by the thighs and drive himself into me until we both exploded in the shower. I even let my extra naughty side out and sucked on his cock when we were done, tasting myself on him for a bit before the water cleansed us both.

Aiden is already gone, but that is typical; his job still requires him to be in the office on a regular basis. It is patently ridiculous in my opinion; they are a consulting firm that hires out staff to firms around the country, sometimes internationally too. Ninety percent of the meetings Aiden goes to are on video chat, and the rest could easily be the same. Aiden says the company wants to maintain personal camaraderie between staffers. Personally I think they just didn't want to lose out on the probably ridiculous lease they signed on their part of the building. The spiritual and mental benefits of interacting in person are not to be dismissed, but when the interaction is forced the balances of spirit are off; it could do as much harm as good.

But Aiden isn't the type to rock the boat and threaten to quit. I am the revolutionary in the marriage, the one who goes against the grain and defied norms. I am also a consultant, but in a very different field. I've been called a 'guru', a 'spiritual advisor', a 'swami' by the ill-informed; I'm not Hindu. Of course, that mistake is the tamer of the labels those people gave me. "Delusional hippie," "crunchy granola nutjob," and "crazy crystal lady" are all options in their repertoire.

I smile at the last one; my best friend is named Crystal, and more than once in my past I had been a "crystal lady" for an evening.

She had a different name for me lately; stupid bimbo. It was said in love, I knew, and merely reflected her concern for me. Also, if we are both honest, a bit of jealousy.

Crystal is a goth. My spiritual focus is much more on the life affirming and renewing aspects of the universe. Crystal embraces what I believe are the true essences of goth, truly celebrating death and all the possibilities that lay therein. She is constantly dressed as if attending a funeral, with makeup to make her pallor deathly. When I wear clothes they are as light and flowy as I can get away with, and often sparse; I regularly run to the grocery store in nothing but a sundress and my necklace of crystals, which is a far cry from the full pound of metal often attached to and through Crystal's body, along with her layers of black clothing.

We knew from our first meeting that we weren't life partners. Life and death coexist by necessity, but while their union can be fruitful, it is often messy. The things that grow directly from death are an intrinsic part of life cycles, but few would say they are attractive. We might have been able to form some sort of long-term relationship, but neither of us wanted to put in the work. Instead, we acted like a celebratory funeral; every so often there would be a bunch of pretty flowers and a gathering of shared spirits and emotions, then everyone went back to their own lives.

Then I met Aiden.

I'd been hired to do a seminar on relating to people, meeting them where they are. For a consultancy firm, it made sense. People in sales often have very malleable energies; they mold and bend to fit into the energy of anyone around them easily, or their energies are aggressive and envelop and overwhelm others. Aiden is a project manager. They base their lives on schedules and holding others to account. The natural state of their energies is often unyielding, sometimes like rocks, though the best ones are formed like trees, which bend a bit under stress but ultimately stay solid in place.

Many people hear about my "forming connections personally and spiritually" workshops and expect me to put on multicolored cotton clothes, set up candles around the conference room that smell like incense and then play ethereal music on an old CD player while I try to explain to them about "chi" or "chakras." To be clear, I can absolutely do that, but only for people who specifically ask for it and I know can take it seriously. Walking into a meeting with a new group of people and starting from there would be like a physicist walking into a room full of twelve year olds and starting off explaining how to identify the Higgs Boson. They wouldn't understand it, and they would think the physicist is talking nonsense. Except it's worse for me, because most people believe physics is a thing.

Instead for those groups I do basic level interpersonal relation exercises and advice, and most of it is stuff you could find in a psychology textbook or just pick up at a basic group therapy session. I do pull a few tricks, mostly around posture. So many of those people sit badly all day, forcing them into better posture for even ten minutes does them a world of difference. Just to give myself an edge I have them hold clear calcite crystals while they do it. Even I will admit 90% of the benefit they get is because of physiology, but the extra 10% can't hurt. It certainly didn't with Aiden.

He was one of the most open people that went to that meeting. He genuinely listened to me and his eyes stayed on me. My body could definitely catch eyes, but I had to wear the right clothes to make myself shine. The size of my chest and ass mean they don't stand out without support and tight clothes, and I hadn't worn them to the meeting. But Aiden's attention was fully on me the whole time regardless.

When I had them try a meditative breathing exercise for a few minutes with their eyes closed I really looked at him.

His aura took me aback. I said the best people in his profession are like trees; bending with stress and storms, but staying rooted and doing their thing.

Aiden is a glacier. He doesn't bend; he doesn't need to. His core is so solid it takes something catastrophic to shake it. He moves slow, but when he does there is no stopping; you either jump on, get out of the way, or get obliterated. He has an outwardly plain appearance that holds a wealth of history and depth.

When he came up and thanked me personally for the session and asked if there was more that I could teach, I invited him to meet me for dinner.

To many in college and earlier school, I came off as flighty and, honestly, a bit of a slut. If I felt compatible with someone, I would absolutely fuck on the first date. If you're testing out how well your spirits mesh, why would you settle for testing emotional and intellectual aspects and leave out physical? It wastes time; life is too short. And as long as you aren't ignorant about it there's minimal risk. I carried condoms with me every time I went out, and I was on the pill to boot. And, because I'm not an idiot, I also had mace and a taser, and practiced Tai Kwan Do as much as I did Yoga.

Our discussion of my spiritualist approach to life moved on to his own experiences with toxic religion and a loss of faith after the death of his parents, then onto his drive and ambition within his job, where he was already one of the youngest group leads. I felt myself being swept up in his glacial energy, the ever-moving, patient roll of his life. I decided to hang on.

I boldly asked to come back to his place, where I laid all my cards on the table (not literally; not something I do). I told him about my relationship philosophy and what I felt about his energy. I honestly don't know how much of my speech he heard that night, because I'd dropped my dress to the floor as soon as I entered his apartment. It is a dress where I can get away with not wearing underwear, and I hadn't.

After a night of amazingly passionate lovemaking, we were inseparable. I changed my view of him soon afterward; he is a star. Burning bright, exuding gravity, pulling things in and stabilizing orbits around him. If anything gets out of place, it either burns up or is flung away.

I am a comet. I would have loved to be a planet for him, orbiting steadily at the same distance, predictable. It would have been easier for both of us. But it's not who I am.

I flew too close to his boundaries and got burned, then drifted away until I barely felt his pull. Then I came back again. By the time he proposed to me (using a hempen ring with my birthstone inside it, remembering my lecture on the evils of the diamond trade after he'd asked me why they aren't part of my crystals) my orbit had stabilized. It is still uneven; drifting close and then pulling away. But I'm not leaving his pull.

A week after I accepted, he told me about her.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Aiden

I walk the paths of a park, or maybe a school campus. There are stone buildings with Grecian columns facing inward to the grass field with walkways crisscrossing it. She walks next to me, her turquoise dress billowing out behind her in the breeze, pressing the fabric up against her full breasts. She smiles at me again.