Date: Wed, 20 Feb 2013 17:28:35 -0600 From: Luis Subject: What Dreams May Come: Chapter 1: Recurrent Nightmares and Unorthodox Methods Disclaimer: The following document is a work of fiction in its entirety. None of the characters or situations described here, or in any possible sequels, are real. Furthermore, its actions take place in an alternate reality with no real consequences, unlike ours. Thus, the writer does not condone or advice anyone to re-enact or reproduce them. Finally, if you are not legally permitted to read the kind of material published in an adult literature website, you should know better than keep on reading. With that said, I hope you enjoy this story. Feedback is of the most advisable nature. If you send me any ideas you would like to see happen or stories you would like to see dropped, I'll take them into consideration for future chapters. Email me at niftyanswers@gmail.com! What dreams may cum... Part I: Therapy Sessions Chapter I: Recurring Nightmares and Unorthodox Methods "I had it again" said Mickey quivering. He felt cold sweat running down his back. The leather in the seat was warm from the summer heat, but the sixteen-year-old kid knew better than to blame his sweating on that. It was anxiety, disgust, guilt, fear... He gulped and brought his hands up to his face, closing his eyes momentarily and scratching his eyelids behind his thickly rimmed glasses. Their blackness contrasted beautifully against his milky white skin. His hair, almost the same colour as the glasses, combined beautifully with them. No one wouldn't agree the nerdish, hipster-like vibe the kid had going on wasn't sexy on him. However, the truth was Mickey didn't do it as a fashion statement. He needed the glasses and he had always had the same sense of style, it was just natural coolness. "You had what?" asked the old man with a thick British accent. Mickey gulped again and took a deep breath before answering. "The nightmare... I had it again." It made sick to even speak of it. He felt disgusted about it. As many times as his therapist had told him that dreams had nothing to do with the conscious mind and that they didn't mean anything, he couldn't refrain himself from having them. At this point, he was almost afraid of going to sleep. The worst part about it all was that, even though he knew how absolutely wrong they were, and although he felt the guilt creep in almost momentarily; in brief seconds right after he woke up in the morning, when his brain still hadn't woken up completely, he felt pleasure from he had just experienced. "I've told you already, Michael. Dreams have no meaning. The only thing we can know from them is that you have a wild imagination." The kid nodded. He knew that. He repeated that to himself constantly. He knew it already. "Yes. You're right. I shouldn't feel bad about them, right?" he said sitting up of the therapist's office chair. "I read this thing online, though, about hypnotherapy work with recurring nightmare cases. It worked really well on this woman in Florida who kept dreaming she murdered her already dead mother. She..." Doctor Greinsteen interrupted him. "Michael, we have discussed it before. Those are extreme cases. You're just having sex dreams. It's normal. You're a teenager after all, your hormones are altered." Mickey's tone had a hint of anger now "Normal? Are you fucking kidding me, man? Normal would be if I dreamt of me fucking the brains out of fucking Selena Gomez or some shit like that, not... Not having cocks up my ass." His voice broke slightly with the last of that sentence. "Michael, if you have already said to me you are not gay, then the dreams mean nothing. If you dream of bottoming, it very possibly is just an unfulfilled desire of sexual experimentation that is normal to teenagers. You will soon have plenty of opportunities to experiment as much as you want sexually." The kid had tears in his eyes by now. "Doctor, you have no idea how this feels. I feel disgusted every time I think of it. It's my fucking father, for fuck's sake. What am I suppose to do? Lay back and enjoy the feelings? Experiment it in real life to see if that ends it? I can't do shit! I can't even talk to anyone but you about it cause they will think I'm a fucking pervert. I'm going crazy. I can't even concentrate in school cause I get horny, but I can't jerk off or try and bang some chick cause I remember it. I need help, doc. Please just suggest the hypnosis thing to my dad so I can get some help. Please!" The doctor smiled. "So, you have thought of giving it a shot in real life?" Michael looked away. "You say it smiling and yet if I tell this story to anyone I will be the perv." "Well, it's not a happiness smile, Michael, it's just that you're finally opening up about it to me. Before today the only thing you've told me is that you dreamt about it." There was a very long pause in the room. Silence was deafening. "Yes, I've thought about it a couple of times. I know it's fucking impossible, and let's not even think of how fucking disgusting it is, but I just am running out of ideas, doc. I'm going insane." The doctor took some notes in a white pad. "Michael, you say you have tried masturbating but the images haunt you. Have you ever tried... Let me see how to phrase this... Have you tried powering through them?" Michael turned around with a look of shock on his face. What was the doctor implying. "You mean like keep jerking?" he asked. "Well, yes. Perhaps if we can get you to climax even with those images in your head, we could get you to have actual coitus with a woman and start changing those dream memories for real ones of your encounters. I'm not following any theory here and my colleagues would probably stake me for suggesting this, but I see how desperate you are, so I'm willing to try alternative methods with you if you promise absolute confidence and an open mind." Michael took half a minute to consider it. He supposed he could always just stop going to therapy if things got out of hand. He really was desperate and it seemed that the doctor had some ideas to help him. "Alright, doc. What do you suggest?" he asked feeling almost excited. "Well, let's begin with something simple. Tonight I want you to go home and masturbate. However, instead of fighting the images, embrace them. Feel the pleasure you say you feel in your dreams. Let your imagination go and, above all, keep on masturbating no matter what. Right down your experiences in a journal and bring it back next week. Try doing it at least three times a day so we can have enough material to work with." "So, basically you're saying to jerk off to my dad fucking me and keep a journal about it?" The doctor got serious. "You were the one who begged me to help you, Michael. Believe me when I say this is uncomfortable for me too, but I'm doing it all in good will. So, are you gonna judge my methods or work to help yourself?" All the way back home Mickey was quiet. He kept thinking about what the doctor had told him and what he would have to do that night. He felt dizzy. He needed the car to stop before he vomited. "Shit, dad. Stop the car!" The older Michael Stranton didn't understand. "Are you alright, son?" "Dad pullover or I'll be sick!" The car stopped by the side of the road. Michael could barely get out before he started vomiting everywhere. The only thing he could feel was puke taste and a burning sensation in his throat. "Fuck!" he said when he could. "Are you alright, Mickey?" his father asked worried. He had stepped out of the car and was by his son's side, patting his back as he vomited what seemed like a week's worth. When Mickey came back to his senses he couldn't help but feel bad. That was all that his dad had done for him ever since he could remember, be there for him. He had stayed behind him and patted his back, and encouraged him to do anything he wanted every day. He had been a father and a mother to him since he was a kid, and all Mickey had done was dream about him violating his son. The guilt was the worst part. "I'm fine dad. I just... I'll walk from here. It's only three more blocks." His dad looked very worried about him. "Are you sure, son?" "Yeah, I can't get on a car right now. Too much nausea." Michael tried to argue, but ultimately he drove away. Mickey walked back home trying to keep a blank head. The cold breeze helped him relax. That was the biggest reason he had entered the track team at school. Coincidentally, that had also helped him realize he loved running and it had gotten him a very strong, fit body that helped with the girls. If Dr. Greinsteen was right, maybe he would finally be able to get a girlfriend. He eventually arrived home to a concerned father. He blamed his sickness on a bad burrito form the school cafeteria and used the excuse to avoid dinner. By the time his dad finished questioning him about the need to go to hospital, it was late and they headed to bed. In the silent darkness of the house, Michael couldn't avoid it any longer. It was time to face his dreams. Wrapping a hand around his soft penis, the kid starting jerking. At first his mind was busy with the feelings he was getting from his warm sweaty palm. It felt good. He hadn't even touched himself in so long. Soon he was hard. Sooner, though, there were the clear, kinky images he had tried to avoid for very long. His sweaty, strong father grinned at him behind a jet-black beard. He, just as his son, was pale as the moon, with dark hair and red, small nipples. His strong body from working as a constructor was covered in thick layers of body hair, his arms, his chest, his legs and his crotch. That was the one thing Mickey hadn't copied yet. He had light fluffy hair on his body, but not nearly half as thick as his dad's. In the fantasy, Michael was sitting on his living room house on a hot summer day. He was naked, except for the glasses he wore. His thick, flaccid cock lay there between his thick, hairy legs, inviting. His balls looked moist, big, low hanging and delicious. He smiled at Mickey. He called him sweet things and motioned for him t come closer. The teenager complied ever so nervously. He hesitated at first, but them the smell of his father helped him relax. It was the same smell form they wrestled, playing when he was a kid. The same one from when they showered together. Mickey walked closer. He walked right next to his dad and sat on his lap. His eyes were stuck to the thick piece of meat on his crotch, the same one that now seemed to grow thicker. Michael's hands caressed his son's body and right then Mickey realizes his own nudity. He doesn't care, though. He feels safe from anything in his father's strong grip. Even self-consciousness isn't an issue anymore. He wants to thank his dad for that, for helping him feel safe. In a gesture of gratitude, he hugs his father, sticking his head in the man's warm chest. The soft chest hair tickles his face and Mickey breathes in. Suddenly lust comes over and he feels his cock get hard. He looks down in embarrassment, but realizes his father's is hard too. He instinctively looks for his father's eyes. He desperately needs reassurance that everything is alright. He feels scared, but excited. His father smiles at him with love. He smiles and pulls his face closer to Mickey's, eventually pressing his lips onto his son's like when he was a toddler. Mickey closes his eyes and feels a warm feeling take over. He feels his father kiss him gently again, but this time something is different. His father feels different, and he pushes his tongue inside his son's mouth. Mickey welcomes the feeling. He has never felt safer, happier or more loved. He lets everything go away as his father kisses him and runs his hands on his sensitive skin. They're cocks bang against each other. Suddenly, Mickey feels his body tense. He opens his eyes involuntarily and is immediately brought back to reality. He's cumming in his room. It's the middle of the night in chilly October. Seven jets of semen splash everywhere. One even reaches his forehead. The kid is left there panting. He cannot believe what just happened. He felt exhausted, yet ecstatic. A sense of release overwhelms him. That was his best sexual experience yet. Even before the dreams, when he jerked off regularly, he never had such a powerful orgasm. His body and his mind tingled. However, guilt started to creep back in. "What the fuck did I just do?" asks Mickey to himself. He had just jerked off to his father kissing him. He also enjoyed it so much he couldn't even describe it. He was ok with it as long as he could tell himself that he was just following his therapist's orders, but he couldn't do that anymore. For the fantasy he had masturbated to did relate his father and him, but it was nothing like his dreams. He had jerked off to his completely conscious imagination of incest and, dreams may mean nothing, but this certainly did...