Date: Wed, 20 Feb 2013 17:28:35 -0600
From: Luis <niftyanswers@gmail.com>
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...