When I was in my late teens, he visited me in my sleep, often. The very first time was the night I turned sixteen years of age. I've always thought that he was my birthday present from the universe, celebrating my emergence into womanhood. I felt like I had known him all my life. I became familiar with all his physical attributes and his presence in the air every time he came to visit at night.

You should know I live in a place where it is almost always warm, but typically hot. Hot and humid or hot and dry. His presence would only raise the temperature, even more, making me moist over my whole body. My simple cotton sleeping tunic would become soaked even before he might arrive. Sometimes the scent of Madre de Noche Jasmine would drift into the room.

It would start with me feeling all hot inside and starting to get the needy urge to touch myself. He would just look at me and stay in the dark. I could feel my nipples getting hard. I would reach for my breasts with my left hand and softly caress them in a circular motion. My right hand would seek the wetness between my legs. I would touch the opening of my pussy lips with my long fingers, bring my nectar to my clit, and rub them around and around the erect nipples. Doing all this over and over till I would reach the peak I sought for release.

Sleep would come over me. I would awaken feeling refreshed and happy as the sun rose in the east where my window is facing. The Bougainvillea would display itself on the walls opposite my room. I would listen to the maya and the bulbul birds singing out to greet the morning, as I stretched with pleasure to greet the dawn.

Some other nights I would dream of him. I could feel his cock inside my pussy fucking me hard while he would bite my neck as he gripped my breast tight in his hand. The first time this occurred was shocking to me, and I woke up with my panties soaking wet and feeling like I couldn't walk properly, with my feet and legs together. But I so grew to look forward to his thrusting shaft inside me.

These occurrences happened almost every week throughout the two years until I reached my eighteenth birthday. By then I had a boyfriend who was teaching me the actual acts of fulfilling my carnal needs.

My spectral delight didn't come to me every week. The visits were according to his own reckonings of his own needs, perhaps. He might appear to me for days in a row and then time would pass slowly as I waited, expectantly, and finally, his form reappeared in my room. Weeks later, I would feel him once again, testing my body with his. Using me as I needed to be used. Giving me the physical pleasures I yearned for while he was away.

Always before I had slept as a young person sleeps, with abandon and joy. Knowing I would always awaken to new sights and sounds, new scents and feelings. Now it began, the nights when sleep was vainly sought, when he did not come.

But, oh, when he was there for me, he would bring the odor of Sampaguita into my room. I would feel the urgent touch of his probing digits, testing my sensuous needs, filling them as only he could. I still remember the touch of his tongue encircling my breasts, descending to my growing clit. Finally testing and using my wet slit, bringing forth my cries of ecstasy and completion.

As the juices flowed from me, and my body wept with sweat, he would enter me once more. Once more filling me completely, forcing himself deep within me, giving me what lessons I yet needed to be taught, joining with me, using me until I collapsed in exhaustion. And then to awaken so happy, knowing he had come to me once again.

My eighteenth birthday arrived.

I've never dreamed of him again until a more recent time.

One night sleep still hated me as the hour reached midnight. The heat was oppressive as I closed my eyes tightly. I was trying very hard to fall asleep. Then silence enveloped me, as did the darkness which swallowed my whole being and sleep visited me at last.

Early morning finally arrived as the birds sang to awaken me during the dawn. A faint light shone through the red blossoms of the flame tree outside. I woke up disoriented with long lost familiar feelings of warmth beside me and feeling those butterfly kisses every few inches over my warm skin again. Wet lips, together with a hot breath, were kissing my skin.

With my brain still sleepy, my body responded to the touches and kisses. The heat, the veritable heat of a presence made me respond with all my body's needs. I came up to him, rising to meet him. Needing something again, giving myself freely once more. Being taken in a way, I had nearly forgotten until that moment. Moaning, grabbing the sheets of the bed to hold on in a tight grip. I reached out for something that only another being could fulfill.

I heard the cooing of doves on my windowsill. My eyes were closed, wanting to sleep and to stay asleep. I wanted to be one with him.

There was a smile on my lips as I called his name to ask him to kiss me some more. I reached out to touch and feel him in my hand only to become totally awake and find out I was all alone in my bed. I cried out, and the doves fluttered away.

He was visiting my dreams again.

When I no longer missed his presence, after such a very long time that he was gone.

My lover of the night was visiting my dreams again.

*****

Dearest Larry (Green Man),

Writing is one of your gift that I admired most. This is an honor, and for me one of my dreams come true, to write a story with you. Thank you so much for writing this story with me, Larry.