Nightdreams

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I never thought I'd admit to my deepest secret, let alone write an entire novel about it. I had no way of knowing where it would lead me. It all started with a trip to a metaphysical store that had just opened, and I happened to find a rare deck of oracle cards that would change my life forever.I discovered that the dream world was a very real place, and those cards were my key. I ended up on a journey of self-discovery, and the strange and otherworldly denizens of the dream world were more than eager to indulge my particular appetites, including Nightmare itself.It was my addiction. The waking world became less and less desirable, and I was willing to risk everything to dream forever — to hold on to my own little piece of what I thought was Heaven.But as is the case with many beautiful things, appearances can be deceiving.

This book contains explicit content and focuses on kink play and erotic scenes without sex. Kinks and subject matter covered are; consensual exhibitionism, masturbation, orgasm denial, spanking, praise, shackles, blindfolding, and collaring.

Content warnings; discussions about major depression and its symptoms, bullying, manipulation, and overuse of sleeping pills.

This is an early preview and does not necessarily reflect the final version.
This chapter has explicit content and is for readers 18+

I NEVER THOUGHT I'D BE WRITING any of this down, nor did I ever think I’d admit something so… awkward out loud.I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start again, properly this time.Hello, I’m Dream. That’s not my real name, but it will do for now. I’m an agender AMAB person, meaning I was assigned male at birth but I don’t really identify with any gender. I’m on the asexual spectrum, although it’s complicated. I’m twenty-eight.I write erotica, although I’ve lacked inspiration lately. Since it started raining in my city my depression has worsened, and it’s been partly at fault for my writer’s block. It hasn’t stopped raining for a while now. Well, not completely. It drizzles often, and at others, it falls softly with a slight rumble of thunder in the distance. The newscasters aren’t sure when the clouds will clear.This morning, it was no different. I slid out of my foldout bed, crossed my efficiency apartment into the kitchenette, opened the refrigerator, stared, and then closed it again. My black striped shirt drooped off of me because of the weight loss, and I realized I hadn’t eaten in about a day.I scarfed down a banana and slipped into the bathroom. When I looked into the mirror, a pale face stared back at me with messy, short black hair that nearly reached my shoulders. I brushed it away from my face and noticed the same emptiness in my dark brown eyes that was always present. It had been for the past few years, never brightening. Never reflecting anything but the void in my stomach.My psychiatrist said it was major depression. My past wasn’t the greatest, and I knew that was a likely cause, but it wasn’t extremely traumatic or anything. Just… not right. Not how things should have been. I was bullied sometimes, and one particular instance caused rumors to spread about me that ruined my high school life for a little while.It left me with…Anyway. I turned to use the toilet and as soon as I opened the lid and lifted the seat, I realized another issue. My old brown cotton pajama pants were baggy, but there was no hiding the tent that had formed in them. It wasn’t that I’d had any pleasant dreams, I mostly had nightmares and didn’t usually have a reason to have any sort of dream that would excite me. I wasn’t excited by your average sexual fantasy anyway, but...Recently, in the morning after having slept for a good nine or ten hours, something weird had been happening. I overslept because there wasn’t much else I wanted to do, but since I’d started discussing my past more in therapy, it had brought up something that triggered nightmares that were both horrible and...Ashamed, I took a few deep breaths and finished my business, tried to ignore the nagging problem, and left the bathroom.I ended up back in the living room and stood in the middle of it, the only light the nightstand’s lamp by the foldout couch. I glanced at the door and scratched my head.
I could leave. I could just step outside to get some fresh air and check the rain, and while I was at it, I could go on a little walk to stretch my legs.I moved toward the door but stopped in front of it. My sleeve drooped over my hand as I lifted it and pressed it against the wooden surface.The little bit of energy I’d gained fizzled out. No, I didn’t really want to. I didn’t care, to be honest. I might run into the neighbors or the mailman, and whenever that happened before, I just remained mostly silent. I had nothing to say to them, no stories about life to talk about other than, “So… still raining, huh?”To be fair, I preferred isolation anyway. So I returned to it. Thankfully by then, the problem in my pants had calmed down and I sat on the edge of the foldout bed to start up my game console.

“Proud of you, Dream,” my friend said. He moved his manual wheelchair up to a table across from me.We’ll call him Star, since he’s into astrology and magic and things like that.I grew shy and settled with watching him sip his latte. He had long, flowing brown hair and often wore many silver necklaces, beaded bracelets, and silver rings. All related to whatever occult things he’d picked up in his studies that he vibed with. His eyes were a lighter brown than mine, almost amber.Star adjusted his large, silver round glasses and looked back at me. “Really, I am. And you should be proud of yourself too. It’s really hard for you to get out these days.”I shook my head and blew the steam away from my hot chocolate. “I just don’t like to. You know, I’ve told you I’m not a fan of people.”“Right.” Star sighed but smiled anyway. “Maybe it’s something you have to get used to again? You’ve been isolating for so long.”“Really, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I said quietly. I shrank back in my chair and sipped the hot drink, my black sleeves protecting my hands from the burn of the paper cup. “I like being alone. It gives me time to write, which is my main source of income anyway.”Star raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh, and when’s the last time you wrote anything? It’s been a while since you’ve sent me something to read.”I grew warm and looked down at the table. “Well, I’ve thought about starting something new…”“Dream…” Star smiled sadly. “It’s the depression, isn’t it? It’s zapping your inspiration.”“Probably, but it’s not so bad. It’s comforting in a weird way.”Star’s eyebrows creased with concern. “Depression, comforting?”I nodded and took another sip of my hot chocolate. “Yeah. I mean, I’m still doing virtual therapy appointments weekly, and I’m mostly honest with my therapist about how I’m feeling, but there’s a strange comfort in being just… melancholic?” I groaned. “Gods, sorry. That’s a cringe artist thing, but it’s true. Like, I don’t want to die or anything…”“But you’ve still given up on life,” Star said. “You always wrote such fun stories. People love them. You can do it again.”I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if I could go back to writing what I once did. Before I’d started talking about my past in therapy a year ago, I had a lot of fun coming up with creative scenarios for erotica that didn’t involve sex.It was still titillating. People seemed to like it, and I made enough on it to move down to part time work. I’d managed to do pretty well for a while working full time, and I’d been able to save up. My apartment wasn’t the fanciest, of course. It was a little efficiency in a poorer area, but it allowed me to live comfortably without worrying about bills.But now, it was a matter of time before my savings would run out. I’d lost my job at the beginning of the year as my depression worsened. I just stopped waking up on time, and eventually, I started missing days. I’d lay in bed and stare at my phone as it rang, and the eventual voicemail would ping. My last paycheck arrived not long after that in the mail because I just couldn’t bring myself to go in.I needed my writing more than ever. And while I’d be okay for a bit because I didn’t spent much extra on frivolous things, my savings would run out eventually, and if I wanted to support myself, I’d have to start writing a lot more.“Hey, Dream?” Star asked. He pointed behind him. “Why don’t you go with me to the new metaphysics shop that just opened last month?”I looked through the glass behind him, and I stared at a bay window that had been painted purple. Golden stars danced around a store sign that read, The Crystal Shelf.“Sure.” I stood with my cup and grabbed Star’s as he wheeled out from behind the table. “I shouldn’t spend anymore money today, though.”As we made our way outside, Star waved a hand. “I got you. Might make you feel better to have a little magic in your life right now.”We crossed the wet street, thankful the rain had slowed to a very light drizzle. We finished our drinks before stepping inside, and I threw the cups away. When we crossed the threshold, a whimsical and musky incense welcomed us warmly into the store.“I’ll have to ask what this is,” Star said as he breathed in deeply. “This would be so nice to meditate with.”I browsed the shelves as Star went off on his own toward a table of crystals. A kind Black genderqueer person approached to ask if there was anything I needed, but I shook my head and quickly busied myself with the shelves full of card decks.Tarot cards, I’d heard of those. There were also ones called oracle cards, which seemed to have their own system unique to the author and artist. I’d seen Star use them before, but I’d never considered trying them myself.My fingers brushed across the faces of the boxes, some large and some small. I paused on a medium-sized box with a painted illustration on the front.I grabbed it and looked at the back. The painted images focused heavily on shadows and empty rooms, and some had figures in them that were abstract, a bit like Giorgio de Chirico’s Metaphysical art, except with a pastel flair. The pictures spoke to me just like the popular liminal space images did online, and the interesting figures reminded me of dreamlike characters.I realized the deck had some erotic elements to it, and I glanced around to make sure no one was behind me. No one close to me knew I wrote erotica, other than my therapist and Star, who liked reading that kind of stuff.Online, my author name was a pen name as well. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of it or thought it was wrong in any way, I just didn’t want people around me to look at me and know that I wrote that kind of stuff, if that makes sense. I worried they’d look at me differently, especially since I’m asexual, and most around me already struggled to understand that. It was just too tiring to repeatedly explain that asexuality was a spectrum.I looked at the cards again. The box was plastic wrapped so I couldn’t see the rest of the cards, but something about them really spoke to me. Something stirred in me, and I realized that maybe the cards were an answer. Maybe they could help me with my writer’s block.I tucked them under my arm and approached Star, who was browsing the books. “Hey, uh, I found something. It’s a little pricey though, so you can absolutely say no and it’s fine.”Star chuckled. “Give it here. Lemme see.” He turned the box over in his hands, glanced at the $30 price tag, and then handed them back. “No problem. I think they’ll be good for you. And with oracle cards especially, you can kind of just go with the flow while reading. They’re not like tarot, which have a pretty specific system.”“I thought they might help me write again. Might be fun to see what happens.” I smiled. At least I had something to look forward to, and my depression lifted for just a little bit that day.

As soon as I got home and said goodbye to Star, I ripped open the plastic and lifted the top off of the oracle card deck. I brought them to my nose to take in the fresh scent of paper, although they had a newly sliced wood smell that I loved even more.I flipped through the deck, ignoring the book for later. While not all of the cards were erotic, a decent amount were. Some of the figures resembled people, others were abstract and only resembled the idea of a person, or some were statues. The environments they resided in were heavily shadowed, just like the preview images on the box. The rooms were largely barren, and the very basic town squares were devoid of people, other than the occasional dreamlike human figures that were sometimes depicted as nude, or assumed to be.The theme, according to the box’s description, was to do with dreams. The cards were meant to be used before bed to inspire what you’d like to dream about, and they could be drawn at random or chosen to inspire a specific dream that the dreamer preferred.Dreams. I grew uncomfortable. My dreams were always so dark and strange, and they rarely inspired my writing because there wasn’t much to take away from them that would fit in with erotica.I sighed and set the cards beside my foldout bed on the nightstand. I wasn’t experienced with any of that new age stuff, it probably wouldn’t even work for me. Besides, what I really wanted to write about, what I’d started to realize about myself and my interests, wasn’t possible anyway.Well, it was, but I worried it would be too weird and I’d lose the royalties. I also hadn’t fully accepted it yet. I also couldn’t stop thinking about it, which was annoying.I realized I hadn’t used the bathroom since I drank the hot chocolate, and my bladder finally alerted me to its fullness. I sighed annoyingly as the burn started in my stomach, and a bulge grew in my black torn jeans. Just like any time before when I’d think too much about my… thing, it would become a problem.I made my way to the bathroom to do the usual. And, as had become frequent those days, I’d grown so aroused it was difficult.I just stood there, trying to will away the burn. I closed my eyes in an attempt to meditate it away, but when the thoughts returned, a pulse of arousal caused a jolt. “Can we not do this right now?” I said to my body, which didn’t listen.I looked down at myself, frustrated. It was too much, so I decided to just do what I rarely did and get it over with. I feathered my fingers over my sex, and I closed my eyes as I worked my hand to thoughts that made my head swim with desire.As I let the fantasies come unhindered, an old memory resurfaced that caused my breath to hitch. The time I’d been caught. The exaggerated rumors that spread that made everyone think I was a deviant, even though I’d been innocent.The time I’d been seen, accidentally, with my pants down.I bit my lip hard as the orgasm rocked me, and my legs trembled as I leaned forward to grab the back of the toilet. My head swam with desire and shame as the waves caused tears to form in the corners of my eyes.When I finally calmed down, I realized I had to do something. Even if I just wrote for myself for a bit to get it out of my system, I had to confront what was constantly nagging at me.I had an exhibitionism kink.

This is an early preview and does not necessarily reflect the final version.

I plugged my camera and microphone into my computer, and then clicked on the link for my virtual visit. It was five minutes until my therapy appointment, but I’d had less time than I thought.After checking in, a questionnaire popped up that I hadn’t completed in some time. A depression screening. My therapist knew I had it, she’d diagnosed me with major depression, but maybe it was a new check-in thing they had to start using. You can never be too careful.Over the past two weeks, how often have you been bothered by the following: Little interest or pleasure in doing things? Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless? Trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much? Feeling tired or having little energy? Poor appetite or overeating?Nearly every day to all.Feeling bad about yourself — like you are a failure or you’ve let yourself or family down?I sat back and ran my hand down my face. My chest felt heavy and that comforting sadness wrapped its blanket around me as I listened to the rain pouring outside. I looked at the light switch beside me, and I turned off the lamp over my head. The light was too bright right now.Nearly every day.Trouble concentrating on things, such as watching television or reading?More than half the days.Moving or speaking so slowly others have noticed — or the opposite, feeling fidgety or more restless than usual?No one else is here to notice. Unless you counted the shadows.Thoughts that you would be better off dead or hurting yourself?Dead? No. Hurt myself? Not really. I don’t know.I’d tried self-harm in the past because I wanted to see if it would do anything, but it wasn’t something I was into. I just wanted to not be here, if that makes sense. I didn’t want to die, although I’d had suicidal thoughts before. I just wanted to be somewhere else — somewhere quiet and away from therapy.Away from everyone. Away from bills and worrying about bringing in money and being afraid of losing people over writing something that I was deeply ashamed of but I couldn’t get it out of my head so I felt utterly trapped in a cycle of shamefulness and arousal and…Not at all.How difficult have these problems made it to live your life, including work, social activities, and taking care of yourself?Extremely difficult.I glanced at the clock, thankful it was the last question. A minute early.My therapist connected and we did the usual greeting and privacy checks over video.I told her I’d gone out with Star yesterday and it went okay. I bought a deck of oracle cards to help me gain some inspiration for writing. She knew I wrote erotica and was supportive of it.“So, how have you been doing since we last talked?” she asked.I remembered last evening. Standing over the toilet and the grip of shame, and the realization that I had to do something because this thing was eating me alive. I knew I had to talk about it, and she’d be someone who wouldn’t judge me. It’s not in her job description, anyway.“I…” I started. “So, I’m asexual and I don’t normally have sexual attraction to atypical things or people. I have fun writing erotica because it’s just… fun. And I’ve felt things from it before, I’m human. But…”She waited patiently before tilting her head. “But..?”I took a deep breath and considered backtracking. Just telling her I had no new ideas and I hadn’t even tried the cards yet. I would’ve used them last night, but I didn’t want to dream after everything. I’d tried my best to still my mind, hoping I could just will away the weird kink I’d always known was there, I’d just ignored it for so long.Yet, it still plagued me. And the inevitable happened this morning again since I’d given it more attention lately.Maybe I could talk about it. At least, with her.“I’m… ashamed of something. Of something I can’t ignore anymore. And I might know where it came from.”A sympathetic look crossed my therapist’s face. “Well, we can talk about it, if you’d like.”I nodded. “Yeah, maybe we can. You see, I’m…” I grew frustrated with myself. My heart hammered. She’d be the first person I’d ever told. “I… I have a thing for… being watched — being caught. You know, while exposed or... doing other things.” I quickly added, “Legally, of course. I would never be a creep about it or involve anyone unwilling.” I lowered my head and hid behind my shaggy black hair. It was finally out.To my surprise, she smiled. “That’s a really common thing, actually. Nothing to be ashamed of.”“Really?” I asked. I peered through my hair. “But it’s weird for me. I mean, I have things that I’m interested in, that I write erotica about, but nothing has just bothered me so much. It’s even getting into my nightmares. I’ve been waking up every day, well, affected by it, and it’s annoying.”She noted something down. Oh, gods. I forgot about that. It’ll be in my file. Thankfully, private.“Is it interfering with your life in a way that’s causing distress?” she asked. “Is it something you’re genuinely concerned about? Can you control the thoughts when they come on easily, or do you have difficulty making them go away?”“No, I can’t really control the thoughts, and yes, it’s becoming a problem,” I said, a little braver now. It seemed that once the truth was out, it got a lot easier. Ripping the bandage off. “I dreamed about it last night a little, about what happened in my past that probably triggered it. I even thought about writing about it, but I’m afraid people will think I’m weird, and I need the money from my stories.”The urge to cry welled up in my chest, crept up my throat, and finally, tears fell.“I don’t know what to do,” I continued. “It’s so silly to be so upset over something like this. I just want it to go away, I don’t want this. I don’t want the dreams anymore that twist something that was supposed to be horrible. I didn’t like what happened.”“Something specific that happened in your past, you mean?” She noted something down. “You’ve said before that your home life was a bit tumultuous when you were growing up, was it something related to that?”“No, not anything that happened at home, exactly.” I wiped my eyes with my black and gray striped shirt that hung over my hands. “My home life was difficult, my parents were neglectful and fought with each other a lot, but this thing probably originated from something that happened at school.”My therapist noted something down. “And what was your school life like? I don’t think you’ve talked about it that much.”I shook my head. “No, I haven’t. I was a quiet kid and I tried to keep to myself. I didn’t even really make friends, except for Star. I was the goth kid in my class, which got me bullied pretty badly sometimes. One of my main bullies was this girl who was pretty preppy, and she just hated me for some reason. Probably because of how I dressed and how isolated I made myself.”My therapist frowned as a look of sympathy crossed her face. “It’s a shame how common that is, the bullying. I know this might be hard to talk about, but what did she do to you?”I looked away from the camera as I remembered. I’d tried to understand it back when it happened, but there was no simple explanation. There wasn’t always a solid reason other than just becoming the easy target. I was the freak, the weirdo who was too quiet and depressed and shut most people out.“If she wasn’t calling me names that she thought were funny, she would pretend to be nice, like she was sorry. The first time she did that, I believed her. She told me to meet her after school in the parking lot by her car and we’d talk. So I did. And a couple of guys from the football team were waiting there with her.”My therapist nodded. “I’m guessing they weren’t there to talk.”I shook my head. “No. They weren’t.” I went home with bruises that afternoon. My parents thought I’d gotten in a fight and got angry with me. I didn’t correct them, I was too tired and just ended up going to bed early.After another expression of sympathy and the mutual agreement to get back to the original subject, my therapist redirected. “So you mentioned that your recent interest, we’ll say, came from something that happened in school?”“Yeah, around that same time actually. I really had to go pee one day. We were all called outside because there was a fire drill, but it ended up being an actual alarm because something happened in the kitchen. It was right before lunch, so I’d just been waiting for the bell to go off before heading to the bathroom.“We were stuck outside for a while when the fire department came. I told Star I would be right back, I was gonna sneak around the side of the building real quick. It would be fast and pretty discreet.”I paused as that familiar burn started between my legs, and I tried to will it away. Not now!“So, I managed to sneak around the side of the building and no one was there, like I thought. Everyone was out front. I tried to be quick and just get it over with, but as soon as I started, that girl that bullied me all the time came around the corner because I guess she was going to get something in her car. She looked like she was disgusted and said something like, ‘Ew, you’re effing gross.’ And then she laughed and made comments about my… Well, you can guess.”My therapist shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Dream. I understand you were in a difficult spot. When nature calls, nature calls, and that was very bad timing.”“Right,” I said. “But that wasn’t all of it. She told her friends and they told everyone else. They started spreading rumors that I probably got off on it or something. Star stood up for me and told the truth, but everyone was just so annoying about it. It followed me for the rest of the year.”“So you have some trauma around this thing,” my therapist said. “Did you feel the way you currently do now?”“About the whole… kink thing?” I said. “I’m not sure. I already thought so many things were wrong with me back then, my head was in some really dark places. I was figuring out I wasn’t a guy, but I didn’t feel like a girl either. And I didn’t know why I wasn’t sexually attracted to girls like Star was. I thought I might be gay, but that wasn’t it either. I wasn’t opposed to the idea of romance with someone, but it didn’t look like the kind of romance everyone else was getting into.“I… I liked Star. Like that, I think. Romantically. But he’s straight.”She nodded. “And then you figured out you were asexual?”“And kind of Panromantic, I think?” I said. “Demiromantic, more accurately. I don’t care what someone’s gender is, but I have to have a deep connection with someone before I can even begin to feel romantic feelings for them.”“Hmm.” My therapist noted that down and then typed something into her computer. She appeared to be researching something. “And you’re sure you weren’t confusing a close friendship for romance? You and Star had been close for some time, right?”I sighed. Maybe she wouldn’t understand, she wasn’t queer. It was such a complex conversation to have, and many who didn’t understand what it was like just didn’t get it.“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about that,” I said.“Okay, understood. But let’s get back to your concerns.” She ceased whatever she’d been doing. “I can see where shame would come into it, and I can imagine it’s been difficult keeping this all a secret. Intimate things like this are never easy to talk about, so thank you for trusting me.”I smiled. “Thank you for not judging me.”She shook her head. “I don’t judge anyone, and trust me, I’ve heard some wild things. But it sounds like you may have more of a fetish, if I understand right.”I furrowed my brow. “I’ve always sort of used kink and fetish interchangeably.”“There’s a difference between the two many don’t realize,” she continued. “A kink is something that someone’s into, and it can even be a part of their lifestyle, like in BDSM experiences, as you may know from your writing. A fetish, though, is something that’s connected to a very specific thing that isn’t always sexually related, like for some, specific body parts. Some people with fetishes can’t experience sexual satisfaction without it being present in some way.”And as an asexual person, that definitely complicated things. But it was also similar; my fetish didn’t start from something that is inherently sexual. And its roots weren’t in anything sexual but trauma of some kind.“So what can I do about it?” I asked. “Can it be cured?”My therapist noted something down. “Well, cure isn’t the word I’d use, but we can definitely work on ways to cope with it, so it might lessen the distress it causes. For now, though, would writing be a good outlet? A way to cope that might get it out of your system?”“Well, yes, but…” I didn’t want my reputation to be ruined because rumors might spread about me, just like they did in high school. You never know who’s got it out for you online, or how they’ll twist things. And I needed that income. “I don’t want to risk people getting the wrong idea about me by sharing my personal fantasies.”“I meant to write them for your eyes only,” my therapist said with a smile. “No need to share them. It would just be a coping tool for now until we work on something better that doesn’t involve engaging with it, if it’s still a problem after you’ve tried this.”I’m not sure why that slipped my mind. I’ve kept journals before, so how would this be different? I’d just be getting it out of my system instead of denying it and beating myself up about it, and then maybe it would lessen the problem.“I’ll try that then,” I said, a little more hopeful.She smiled. “Good. Let me know how that works for you.”We proceeded to do our usual end of appointment dialogue, planned for next week, and then ended the call.I turned my chair to face my foldout bed and looked at the box of oracle cards. Maybe I could influence my dreams away from my fetish if I journaled to get it out of my system beforehand. I could choose specific cards that would inspire a different kind of story, and that would be that.I slipped into the kitchenette and heated up a personal microwave pizza. I settled in to watch a horror series on GetFlix under the account Star paid for, and as the hours ticked by, the rain slowed to a drizzle only for the clouds to produce a distant thunder.

This is an early preview and does not necessarily reflect the final version.
This chapter has explicit content and is for readers 18+

It was night in a suburban area. I walked down the back road along the tree line, and then past some nice houses before a fork in the road greeted me. I continued toward more trees where I heard the gentle sound of water. When I walked through the trees, I came out onto a small sandy beach where a lake awaited. In the distance, the moon sparkled like a diamond, and giant red and purple jellyfish five times their usual size glistened in the water.A dreamscape. I was dreaming.I walked to the water’s edge and dipped my toes in. My shoes had disappeared at some point, but I remained dressed otherwise. I watched the beauty of everything until I was alerted to shuffling in the sand nearby.An effeminate man who looked around my age stood beside me. He had long blonde hair and appeared like the love child of Star and that girl who bullied me in high school.“You like it when you’re hurt, don’t you?”I looked back at the water. “I don’t know anyone who does.”“You’re weird,” he laughed. “I bet you can’t do it.”I furrowed my brow. “Do what?”“Don’t act dumb.” He crossed his arms and turned to me. “You want to be seen. You want to be caught. You want to get in trouble.”The burn started. “No, who would…”“You would,” he said. “So do it. Right here. In the open.” He smiled deviously. “I’ll even give you a little reward if you do.”“You’re misunderstanding,” I said. “I don’t want to have sex with anyone, I don’t really need—““Not sex,” the man said. He was shirtless and thin in the same leggings that bully wore; pink and white and too tight. They left little to the imagination. He was hard.Was he aroused at the idea of… watching me?I pulled the elastic of my black plaid pajama pants down under my now very stiff organ, and I tried to control my breathing as I stood at the edge of the lake. I watched the jellyfish begin to float above the water, and then back under again with a neon glow.I reached down and toyed with my sex, intensely aware of the fact that my visitor was watching. I glanced to the side to see him as I continued, and I realized I wouldn’t last much longer.“Everyone can see you,” he said.A pulse.“And you’re doing so well,” he cooed.That was it. Euphoria rocked my body, and I came so powerfully my knees nearly buckled. When I came back down and sank to the sand to catch my breath, my visitor stood before me.“I’m proud of you.” His voice was kind, just like Star’s. “You finally showed everyone who you really are.”Anxiety suddenly gripped me. Everyone? Everyone knows now? What will they think?“You did so well,” the visitor said.Darkness crept in at the corners of the dream world. Buzzing invaded my body as my apartment became half visible.

I opened my eyes as the last wave of bliss left me. Lifting my blanket, I saw the reason why. I hadn’t just had an orgasm in my dream.I entered the small bathroom and turned on the overhead light. I couldn’t look at my reflection in the mirror, so I just grabbed a cloth and washed up and changed my underwear. I used the toilet and crept back into bed. Looking at my phone, it was four in the morning.I sighed deeply as I stared at the ceiling. Journaling that afternoon hadn’t helped. It was just a short and basic entry about what my therapist and I discussed, but I hadn’t touched the cards or done anything else yet to try to curb the dreams. Maybe I was being lazy. Maybe I… didn’t really want it to stop.I rolled over and unlocked my phone and opened a search engine. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard as they wavered. What I was about to do was potentially the last thing that I should do to deal properly with things, but I had to know. My therapist had said it wasn’t uncommon, so maybe there were people I could talk to about it who had the same problem.A few searches turned up more information on the fetish, stuff I already knew. I came across a few sites that I avoided at all costs. I worried it would be difficult to find a safe space that wasn’t just full of general porn, something I wasn’t interested in watching.A message board link popped up on screen, and it seemed pretty direct. I tapped it.Yes, that was it. A discussion board about exhibitionism with firm rules in place to practice responsibly.I created a screen name that wouldn’t be traced back to my author name in any way, and I left my profile mostly blank, save for my age since it was an explicit site. I hesitated before mentioning I was an erotica writer, but that alone wouldn’t identify me.I ventured into the discussion boards and browsed a few topics. The place made it seem so normal, and everyone there was into it. Everyone was supportive and just having a good time indulging in fantasies and discussions.I closed the site and lay in the dark, just listening to the rain and distant thunder. Maybe I could share my fantasies in the form of short stories there. Most of the people lurking and interacting were likely allosexual, so it would be a bit awkward, but I was used to the comments I’d get on my erotica.Sometimes people begged for more action. Some asked if I could start writing penetration or other things that ended in atypical sex acts. But I liked it the way it was. Popular BDSM play and other things didn’t have to end in sex or penetration to be erotic or fulfilling.It’s the emotional release. The changes that someone can undergo while experiencing something that lets the dam free inside them. It can reveal something so deep within a person, maybe in someone who struggles to talk about or express their emotions outside of the bedroom. Kink play without sex can be healing. It’s all just so interesting to observe and deconstruct.And now, I’ve started to deconstruct my own kink, or fetish, rather. I’d found a place where I could be open about it without fear of judgment. To see so many others — in the thousands — normalizing it made the distress ease a bit.Maybe tomorrow, I’d introduce myself with a name created for anonymity. There was an option to have a personal blog on my profile as well, so I’d start there with my creative writing. The dream I’d just had would be good material to break my writer’s block, at the least.