Author’s note: Parts 2 are each direct endings of Part 1. Each Part 2 is independent of all other Parts 2.
*********
A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
The doorbell rang. Followed by a knock.
My sleep-deprived brain was agitated by this nonsense. Who the hell comes by the house at this hour–
I opened the door.
My mind balked.
Chills spread across my body.
In the dim porch light stood a figure in a black hoodie.
**********
“Matt!” The figure threw her arms around me.
“Jen?” I hesitated for a second, then returned the hug.
“I’m sorry to get here so early,” she said. “Couldn’t sleep. Drove all night. Where’s Chris? Still in bed, I hope.”
I started to reply, then realized I hadn’t been in the same bed, so I didn’t know.
She saw my face and knew something was up. The two sisters were close. They talked on the phone daily. And they were smart and intuitive. A deadly combination for a guilty husband.
“It’s the dream.” She said flatly, then noticed the bag I had put down to hug her.
She just gave me that look, the same damn one Chris gives me when she knows I will start talking like a tortured spy if I know what is good for me.
I sighed. “I was on my way…. somewhere else.”
She smiled and took my hand. “Let’s go there, then.”
**********
She drove us to a little breakfast place where we had waffles and bacon and I told her the whole story, holding nothing back, omitting not an embarrassing detail.
Jen was Chris’s older sister by three years. They looked similar, they talked similar. I hoped that they thought similar, because I really needed a person not my wife to tell me what to do, as I was afraid that my wife’s judgement had been tainted by the magnificent fuckings she had been getting. In her sleep, admittedly, and by a lover who was not flesh and blood, but still real enough to me that I had a packed bag waiting.
Jen draped one arm around me as I told the story. We were so close together that a few regulars of the place who knew me and Chris by sight did double takes. None came to say good morning, I suppose given the evidence that I was being quite intimate with a woman who looked a lot like my wife but upon careful examination wasn’t.
“Fuck, Matt,” Jen said slowly at the conclusion of my tale. “It is just a dream, like you said. But from your perspective, she’s having an emotional affair with this imaginary guy.”
I nodded. “How do you compete with a dream?”
Jen looked down into her coffee. “I know…. My boyfriend is fucking around on me with a younger woman.”
“Oh shit,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
She held up her left hand. “No ring, so no foul. Right? I’m going back after my visit with you guys and throw the bastard out.”
I shook my head. How could this beautiful intelligent woman not have a man equal to her?
Did she have… those dreams? Was it genetic? No, she would have told me.
**********
The sisters had a happy reunion. Jen lives just far enough away that they don’t get to see each other more than a few times a year. While they chattered and Jen told her about the failure of her latest romance, I snuck my bag up the stairs and returned everything to my drawers. And moved my stuff which had migrated to the guestroom back to our room.
Tonight I would be sleeping with my wife. Would Justin be in the bed with us?
We went out to dinner, then came back home and sat on the deck drinking wine and gossiping until Jen begged off tired from the long drive.
When she was gone, Chris looked at me and raised her eyebrows suggestively.
We hadn’t fucked for several days. If by we you mean the two of us and don’t count my wife getting hammered in her dreams by a stud with a huge cock, yeah we hadn’t fucked.
We made up for it. I pulled her onto the bed and stripped her, kissing her hard all the while. A graduate-level problem in topology – not an easy thing to do. She scooted her wonderful ass upside to my down and she sucked my cock while I chased her clit with my tongue as her hips swiveled and swerved with shocks of pleasure. This could be the best carnival game ever, I decided. Like Whac-a-Mole but with a clitoris.
The mole was eventually well whacked, and Chris arched her back and curled her toes as I applied lip pressure to her hard little boatman. We spun around and around, a blurry cartoon of a dog fighting a cat, and ended up with me on top, thrusting like old times, like I didn’t have a care in the world. I had no reason or ability to hold back and the little dam inside my groin burst. Deep into her, and she squealed as if being thrown a surprise party and gripped me tight.
We drifted off. Satisfied. Contented.
I talked in my sleep. I said, “Oh for the love of Christ–”
And woke up. My wife had banged me in the head with her elbow as she rolled violently from side to side.
I threw up my hands to protect myself as Chris began to moan. Loud desperate moans of satisfaction and need. The volume and the passion increased. I threw back the covers in disgust and started to get up.
The door burst open and Jen ran in holding a full glass. She skidded to a stop at the side of the bed and launched the liquid into her sister’s face.
Chris sat up abruptly. “What the fuck?” she yelled, wiping at her dripping face and tits with both hands. Not a trace of ecstasy remained in her outrage.
Jen bent over her and screamed. “You stupid cunt! You were cumming with your dream prick better than you did with your real prick. I know! I heard everything. Both times. How do you think he feels?” Jen waved over in my direction.
“He used to like it,” Chris shouted back. “He used to get turned on by it and fuck me hard. It was fantastic.”
“Was?” Jen said. “How long ago was the last was?”
Chris’s face fell and she turned to me. “Oh, my god, Matt. I am so sorry.”
I shrugged. No big deal. Just cuckolded by Freud. Or did we hang this on Jung?
Jen had her arms crossed. “You are so clueless. I know Matt would never tell you — when I got here yesterday morning, he was headed out the door with a packed bag. And I don’t think he was planning on coming back.”
Chris turned to me, panic-stricken and dripping. She had to be freezing cold by now. Her nipples agreed.
I nodded slowly, and she burst into tears. She cried like a forlorn little girl.
Jen opened her arms. She sat down on the bed and embraced her sister.
“You have to do something about that son of a bitch in your head, sis. Before you lose your husband.”
“But. It’s. Just. A. Dream.” Chris sobbed.
While the two held each other and rocked and smeared tears and snot, I considered. What if her lover Justin had been real? What would I do? How do you cockblock a ghost? What would I do if we were actually in a dream, competing for the love of Christine–
As I thought, my gaze wandered the room. It was just ten after five. Five in the goddamn morning every goddamn morning.
Then I grinned. Then I laughed out loud. I kept smiling while the sisters hugged it out.
I was so stupid the city would probably put up a plaque on my house.
I rolled back into bed, the dry side, and pulled the covers, the dry ones, over me.