I've had sex dreams like most people, I think, since before I knew what sex was. At sleepovers, the other boys ripped on me hard the following mornings for calling out girls' names and moaning. They thought I was faking it for laughs, but I wasn't. As a college boy, I once woke on the train to Central Station with several strangers around, holding back laughs. They attested that while I was out, I was engaged in tongue-and-lip action with a ghost. This happened twice. The second time, an older woman was present and blushed so uncontrollably at what she and the other train passengers had seen of my unconscious mouth moves that their jesting turned from me to her.

Sometimes the women featured are from real life; my classmates, my teachers, my students, my coworkers, my exes, my wife, my wife's friends, my sister's friends, random women from daily life like cashiers and baristas, and so on. They either intensify my crushes, resolve them, or give closure. It was nice to get one last fuck with an ex and break up with her, in the dream, in a better way than it actually went down. Come to think of it, there's psychological utility to fucking real people in your dreams, or so it has proven so for me.

Sometimes the women featured are completely fabricated. These are my favorites. There was an imaginary, inexplicably German woman whose face and body I remember vividly over a decade later. That dream was so passionate, and I was so single at the time, that I was depressed for several weeks afterward that she wasn't real. She was so particularly attractive that I noticed even less-cited features, such as the contours of her forehead or the form of her wrist, as sexy. I recall doing internet image searches to find a woman who resembled my German because I wanted to see her again so badly. To be honest, I would've cranked one out to her if I did. I never did find a match.

The sex dream I had last night, which prompted me to write this, was equally vivid. I was in an apartment midday, in bed with a pale, blue-eyed, curly-haired brunette. In the context of the dream, she was supposedly one of my students. I licked her hard clit, I penetrated her in missionary, I kissed her mouth, and I felt the distinct grooves of her teeth against my tongue. She was so smug, and I loved it. I woke with much the same sorrowful feeling as I did with the German; damn! How nice would it be if that were real, if she were real?

I'm such a hypocrite, though, when it comes to my wife. I would pay an expensive monthly subscription to know what kind of sex dreams my wife has. She only ever told me one of hers early in our marriage, and I blew it with my jealous reaction. Very sweetly, years ago, she whispered to me over coffee how the night before she dreamed that she was camping. At night, deep in the woods, a famous singer from a popular band entered her tent and kissed her, and then... well. I did the mandatory smile and laugh at first, and so she divulged extra details, thinking I was taking it with mirth, but that mask fell off quickly. My indignation! My accusation!

She defended herself, "It's not real."

I countered, "Sex dreams aren't real, but the singer is a real person. If he were to kiss you in real life, you would fuck him. Famous, handsome, rich, oh yeah. I'm not stupid."

She objected, "No. I didn't... no. That's never going to happen."

My brows knitted up, "That's not the point. If it were to happen that this celebrity wanted you, you'd be on your knees sucking his cock."

She sighed and steepled her fingers, looking past me. "No."

I tore in, "What's your purpose in telling me this? Am I supposed to smile and giggle? Oh, nice, honey, you dream of other men giving it to you in the wilderness. That's awesome."

With a wave of her hand and a final sip of her coffee, "I won't tell you about that kind of dream again," and she hasn't.

How could I, or anybody, be upset at her for having a sex dream? If my feelings and logic I applied to her were applied to me, then I've "cheated" on her dozens of times. And being honest with myself, I would fuck the imaginary women from my dreams if they were real. I know this because in that most recent dream with the pale, blue-eyed, curly-haired brunette, she asked me as I devoured her breasts, "What about your wife?" and I didn't dignify it with a reply. And so, the dream woman smiled, and I proceeded, unaware I was in a dream.