Dreams by Harrison Coin

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Dreams by Harrison Coin

It had been a long, hard day, David Smith thought. Assholes in school, bimbos at work, a massive report due tomorrow that luckily he was half-finished with. But now he had time to relax.

He was a natural blonde, and had dark green eyes which were magnified by wire-frame glasses. He tended to wear black, white and grey, right now he was in a Batman tank top and grey sweat pants. He was muscular, the result of buying a book on working out and following all the steps precisely. His bookshelves were an eclectic, random configuration, David Foster Wallace next to Orson Scott Card, books on chaos next to a printout of the MIT Guide to Lockpicking.

He fell on his bed, face down, penis already twitching. Unlike his idiot peers, he preferred to thrust into the bed when he masturbated. He closed his eyes...

...and found himself in the apartment of Dana Scully. There she was, in silk bra and panties, and nothing else. No words pass between them, instead she walks up to him, taking his head in her hands and kissing him deeply. His sweatpants disappear, and his hands explore her body, tweaking her erect nipples under the bra, hearing her gasp.

His tongue cases her mouth, running over her teeth, feeling the pebbliness of the palate, intertwining with her tongue. The clasp of her bra comes free, and he slides down to her breasts, her skin like the silk of her clothing, and takes a nipple in his mouth. She presses him closer, as if to nurse him.

She reaches down, and rips away his jockey shorts, the scream of cloth parting almost unbearably erotic. His thumbs hook under the waistband of her panties and pull, revealing her to him. His finger slides inside her, and begins dipping and weaving. They hold each other for a long time, she gripping his penis, he giving her pleasure with his hand.

Finally, they have had enough of foreplay. She lays down on the floor, too horny to even wait for the bed, and he thrusts inside her, and she grins like the devil as she rolls him over and takes control, squatting on him, her hands all over his chest, pulling up the tanktop. His hands settle on her hips, but she controls the rythm. For as long as he can hold back, he remains utterly motionless.

And then, he can hold back no more. He thrusts in time to meet her, rewarded by her cry. They ran together until every blurs and spills over and they come together, an incredible shock...

"I wish she was real." He shook his head at his own foolishness. If she were, she'd never be interested in him. There were so many other better men out there... He sighed and got up to work on his paper.

He never noticed that his jockey shorts were gone.

END

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