Things in my life seemed peachy. I'd just been promoted in a high-paid job, I had a gorgeous flat in a desirable part of London, and I still managed to find time to see my few close friends. And yet I still felt like something was missing from my life. I wasn't in a relationship, but that wasn't what was lacking. Not exactly.
Perhaps I wasn't attracting the right ones; men tended to be a little threatened by my job and by my ambition. I was the youngest Executive Director in my firm—and the only female. I certainly didn't want to settle down and start a family any time soon. My career came first, and I was still young: only 25. I wasn't actually sure I wanted children at all, though I hadn't given it that much thought. Of course, not every man I dated wanted them, but I got the feeling that a woman who didn't unsettled them somehow. They'd probably have been more comfortable being the alpha-male and providing for me, or at least earning more than I did.
I'd tried a trial membership at the gym, thinking maybe the endorphins from exercise could be what I needed. I didn't need to lose weight, but people said exercise could become addictive. Despite the fact that I could see progress on each visit, it just wasn't doing it for me. I tried other hobbies: I was sure I didn't have the patience for crafts but cooking was a possibility, or even an evening class. Perhaps I could meet a different sort of man that way too. But nothing was floating my boat. I began to get frustrated, but life went on. I worked hard and relaxed in the evenings either at home or out with friends.
One night, I woke up from a strange dream. I felt hot and my heart was beating faster than usual. I quickly realised that my hand was between my legs, and I could feel arousal on my fingers. There was more when I tentatively dipped one further in. Apparently, I'd had a sleep orgasm. I couldn't remember this ever happening to me before.
The red digits on my alarm clock read 05:41. I had another hour before I needed to get up. I did feel tired, and so I wasn't tempted to masturbate again now that I was conscious, but I found that I wasn't able to sleep immediately either. I tried to remember what the dream had been about.
Jake's face came to me, and then his naked body: I'd dreamed of my ex. Sex with him. More details started to came back, even as I tried to dismiss the strange conjurings of my brain in favour of some shut-eye.
I could picture myself in the dream as if looking on from above. I'd been face down on the bed, and blindfolded. I was laid out spread-eagle, my ankles and wrists tied with rope to the four bed posts. I was laid out horizontally, with my left hand at the bottom of the bed and my right at the top. Jake was stood at the edge of the bed, lined up with my pussy. I felt turned on again thinking about how vulnerable I'd be like that. Frustratingly, I couldn't remember him actually fucking me. although I had a definite memory that my orgasm had been mind-blowing—something I hadn't experienced with him in reality.
I looked at the clock again. 06:16. I decided there was little point in trying to sleep any more. My mind was too active now.
I got up and took a leisurely shower, still thinking about the dream.
Jake had actually liked that sort of stuff—bondage and a little spanking—but I'd been rather hesitant when he'd divulged that. I'd been willing to try it, but our sex life had never been much to speak of even before that, and I'd written off the experience after one go, like I'd written off our relationship.
I lathered up the shower gel on my chest and looked down at my boobs. They were small, yet a nice shape. Jake had always liked them, and that had made me learn to do so more myself.
He'd been good for me in some ways, but the sex just hadn't been good. I'd spent months avoiding the fact, but we'd lacked any real spark. I supposed I'd had a few mental barriers to the kink-lite that he'd wanted from me: I hadn't truly been able to relax because I felt unsure about the idea. For one thing, submitting sexually to a man had seemed at odds with my strong personality; I wouldn't be happy letting a man dictate to me at work, so why should I want it in the bedroom? Secondly, I just hadn't felt that excited by the idea at the time, nor the reality of it. Submission, BDSM or whatever you labelled it, had seemed to me to be a fad inspired by soft-porn romance novels— something everyone my age was trying once.
None of this was conducive to me enjoying our experiment. I was ashamed to remember it, but I'd actually faked an orgasm. Jake had come soon after.
He'd suggested on a few occasions that we explore bondage some more, but I made it clear I wasn't interested. He soon gave up mentioning it, though perhaps that made him less satisfied in our relationship and contributed to our breakup.
So why was I dreaming of him now? What was my brain trying to tell me, if anything? The setup in the scene from my dream was hotter than what we'd tried in reality, though perhaps if Jake had had his way, we'd have progressed to something more like that. I was turned on by the situation, and not by him. At least that hadn't changed. Perhaps the fact it had been Jake was inconsequential. I didn't want this with him, but I was beginning to think now that I did want it.
A/N: this is something I've had ticking over in my head for a little while. Hoping I'll have the ideas to see it through and that you'll join me for the journey. Please let me know your thoughts! It would be good to know that someone is reading.
