Ex Sex Dreams

It had been six months since Peter and I had broken up. It had been a sudden end. Everything up to that point had been incredible. We were best friends and spent our free time going on all sorts of adventures. Hikes, road trips. Once, we even drove to Canada just to see if we could. We laughed and sang "I'm Going to Be" by the Proclaimers over and over and over again. We slept in the car, cuddling and fogging up the glass by the morning. It ranks among my top memories of all time.

One day we were fighting over something or another, I can't remember what, but it must have been serious. We both were proud people and refused to apologize when it was over. And suddenly we found ourselves declaring that we didn't need the other person and that we were fine being on our own! Unlike with other fights, this one didn't end in make-up sex.

Since then, we've texted a few times but agreed that it was probably healthiest to go without talking for a while. More than once I drafted a message telling him I wanted to see him, before deleting it, not wanting to be the one that caved first.

Then he went abroad. After the last day of classes, he flew to Quito, Ecuador. I learned about it on social media. He had been learning Spanish for a few years and told me frequently how he wanted to try out his language skills on some grand adventure. Through Instagram, I saw snapshots of his trip. Hiking to the top of Machu Pichu, colorful ceviche dishes. Selfies at bars with a group of mid-20s backpackers. In one photo, at the top of a hike, he had his arms wrapped around two people. Both looked Ecuadorian or at least South American. One guy and one girl. I paid no attention to the guy. Peter had always been gregarious and this was probably another of his unwitting 'fast friends.' The girl on the other hand was petite, with an angular face and absorbing golden-brown eyes. I had no right to feel it, but a pang of jealousy stabbed at my chest.

I wanted to text him to figure out who this girl was. I wouldn't come right out and ask, but maybe start slowly with something like "Hola! Looks like you're having fun with your adventures. We should catch up soon!" before finishing off with "Looks like you've made some really good friends." He would pick up on the message.

But as much as I wanted to get to the bottom of it, I doubted the text would go through. He was always talking about disconnecting and going off on a grand adventure. I'm sure the airhead purposely didn't buy an international phone plan. For a second I thought about booking a ticket to Quito and trying to win him back, 90s rom-com style. But then what? Walk around a foreign city, hoping to run into him? Asking random strangers "Have you seen a tall, brown-haired boy, floral tattoos down his right thigh, and vibrant green eyes that you just want your kids to inherit??" Lo siento, no entiendo español. Hablas ingles?

Instead, I scrolled through our old photos and fitfully drifted off to sleep. I had what at first was a nightmare. It looked like a tiny hotel room, maybe a hostel, but what threw me was that it was remarkably clean, not like what you see in the movies. A warm light showed through a large picture window and bathed the hardwood floor with a reddish hue. The walls were stark white and a big bamboo-framed bed sat against the wall. Of all people, Peter was perched at the edge of the bed, his shirt unbuttoned down to his chest.

"Peter?" I murmured, but there was no response. The squeak of a sink shutting off and a door unlocking came from the adjoining bathroom. Bathroom lights flicked off as the same girl from the photos stepped out drying her hands on a towel. She was prettier than in the photo in the photo and was dressed in a flowy, matching sleepwear set. A breeze through an open window pane brought a chill to the air and her nipples hardened, outlined through her waffle tank top.

Oh no, I thought. No, no, no. This can not be what I think it is. I watched in horror as John said "Maria, eres hermosa, eres sexy" in stilted, goofy Spanish. Maybe he is not as good as I thought. Maria laughed and blushed and stepped closer to him. I knew I should be irate, but I couldn't peel my eyes away. I wanted to see what would happen next.

She kept walking until she finally stopped, standing between his legs on the edge of the bed. He pulled her in closer by the backs of the thighs as she bent down to kiss him. Slow up to this point, their heads became magnetic, attracted to one another. Their kiss was passionate and rhythmic, opening their mouths and exploring each other with their tongues. They held each other's heads both gently but with a sense of immediacy. She grasped his hair tightly and he bit her bottom lip, dragging it back towards himself playfully.

His hands, at first resting on the back of her thighs, had now moved up to her peach-shaped butt. She moved closer to him and slid her lips from his mouth down to kiss his neck, something I know he loves. His head rocked back as she kissed lower and lower on his neck till she got to his prominent collarbone. She left a trail of kisses from his chest until eventually reaching the waist of his pants. He leaned back on his hands watching intently. Then she began kissing him through his pants.

She unbuckled his belt (a belt I had unbuckled many times before) and unbuttoned his pants with ease. As she did this, he played with her black hair with one hand, propping himself up with the other. She slid his pants and underwear down to his ankles in one motion. He was already hard but got even harder as she licked his shaft from base to tip like a lollypop. She ran her tongue around his head before beginning to bob up and down slowly. A deep moan escaped Peter's closed lips.

In the dream, I thought, "I should be pissed! He's cheating on me!" But instead, I was so intrigued and more than a little turned on at the sight of his pleasure. There was something so naughty about watching your ex with someone else. It should be wrong, but it didn't feel that way at the time.

In the dream, he cupped her chin and pulled her face up towards his. Her lips were flush and wet. She went to wipe them on her arm, but he stopped her. He sunk down to press his tongue on hers with one massive kiss. I knew what that was. He always loved to taste everything after oral sex, whether it was on him or me. We both loved the intimacy that it showed - an intimacy he was now sharing with Maria.

He lifted her by the waist, suggesting she stand as he himself went to his knees in front of her. He kissed her flat stomach and pulled down her shorts but not her underwear. He began to return the favor as he kissed her over her underwear, breathing out deeply to warm her with his breath. She drew heavier breaths and closed her eyes. She looked down watching him and ruffling his hair as he worked. He pulled her leg up over his shoulder and rested it on the bed behind him. In one motion, he shifted her panties to one side of her lips.

It must have been a lucid dream because I could watch from any angle I chose, omnipotent in my voyeurism. Now, I chose to watch up close. Her soaking wet lips parted as she lifted her leg, revealing her beautiful, pink pussy. She was trembling for his touch but teased her, kissing her inner thighs until she couldn't handle it anymore. She grasped his head, just as he pressed his mouth against her. She gasped for breath as if she had just jumped into a freezing cold lake.

As if kissing her mouth, he began to eat her out, periodically pulling back to lap at her clit. Over and over again he licked until her juices and his saliva were indistinguishable. He grabbed both her ass cheeks, increasing the pressure and pressing his tongue further inside her. Shivers went down her spine. He leaned back, watching her pleasure as he rubbed his palm across her soaking vagina. Locking eyes, she said "fuuck" in a thick accent.

With both her legs back on the ground, but with clearly weak knees from all the pleasure, John slipped a finger into her, rubbing inside slowly and coming back out freshly lubricated to rub her clit more. Her vagina was a waterfall now, wetting all of her inner thighs. As he rubbed faster, her fingers dug into his shoulder. Soon she was panting quickly. "Don't stop!" she yelled too loudly, certainly audible to their neighbors. A shake wracked her as she collapsed to her knees in front of him.

I woke dazed. Slowly I reoriented myself in my dark room. Immediately, I noticed I was soaking through my cotton underwear. These weren't the sexy underwear that I would wear on a night out, they were full-butted and not very flattering. On top of that, I was wearing my cozy pajamas. I reached down and could feel the moisture had soaked through both layers. I shifted my legs and felt my lips slide against each other. It felt good. I did it again, pressing my legs into each other, sliding my lips past my clit.

I brought back the image of Peter and Maria to my mind, but this time with me in Maria's place. I imagined how his hot mouth would feel licking my pussy and how his tongue would feel parting my lips as he had done to her. I plunged two fingers inside myself (I had been masturbating quite a lot recently, so I probably could have fit three). As I fingered myself, I rubbed my clit with my palm, just as Peter had done in my dream. Back and forth my hand slid across, each time sending waves of pleasure through my whole body. I did not want to come yet. I wanted to continue to live this fantasy.

After prolonging it for long enough, I began toying with my clit faster and faster until finally I tensed my entire body. My legs stretched out straight and a violent orgasm lashed my whole body. I came so hard and shook when I was done.

In the post-masturbation clarity, I wondered whether I was twisted to be thinking of John with some other girl. Is that normal? I'd always been such a jealous girlfriend, jumping at him when he would even talk to other pretty girls. But watching him please someone else, be pleased himself, even the naughtiness of watching turned me on so much. I tried to push it back to my subconscious and continue with the rest of my day.

I wouldn't see Peter again, in dream form or real life for three more months.

To be continued.