Wet Dream
Sheldon considered himself to be asexual.
He found the whole act of sex repelling. The touching, the breathing, the fluids. It was unclean, unnecessary, and, quite frankly, dangerous. As far as he was concerned, if someone wanted to have a child, a petri dish would make the perfect substitute.
He had no conscious desire to commit any sexual acts. He knew this was abnormal, and the most rational explanation for it was simply the fact that his brain was already filled with so much information that it pushed out any carnal urges so that he could make room for more science.
His mind was always in overdrive, and it was because he didn't have any social skills or sexual desires that he was able to mentally keep up with it all. And since his brain was always working on hard mode at all times, there was never a moment for anything else.
Well, almost never a moment.
There was, of course, when he was sleeping. REM sleep lasted for a couple of hours, and the time in which it occurred was open for anything.
Yes, he was asexual. But that didn't stop the fact that he still had a body, functioning genitalia, and, no matter how repressed it was, a need to ejaculate.
It happened about once a year. He'd wake up to find his pajama pants sticking to his body without any memory of the dream that had caused it. He was glad for that, considering it was already repulsing enough to see the evidence of it.
Except the most recent incident.
The last time he had experienced what society deemed a wet dream, he had a quite vivid recollection on what had been going through his head.
The touch of smooth skin, the physical desire to commit sexual intercourse, the soft lips, the sensations...
"Penny," he gasped when he woke up, his eyes wide open and his chest heaving to catch his breath. It was morning, and he could see the rising sun cast shadows into his room. He was alone.
Disgusted with himself, he shut his eyes once more and tried not to listen to Leonard and Penny fornicating in the other room.
The End