“I feel like what we have is that serious, though. I don’t think of it as fornication, Bobby. I think of it as making love with the man I ... love.”There it was. I had dropped the L bomb. And it hadn’t been in the heat of passion, like last time. I couldn’t believe it. The fight or flight syndrome was yelling at me to run, this time, instead of hanging around.“Say something,” I said.“Can we make love in a dream tonight?” he asked.“Yes,” I said, feeling a relief that was so palpable it made me shake.We didn’t just go to bed. I had plans for some physical lovemaking before we went to sleep. I still didn’t understand how Bobby could shield his dreams (and he couldn’t explain it, beyond the wall analogy). He said he felt awake while he was dreaming, and could make whatever he wanted to happen take place, including keeping them inside his mind.My own dreams, on the other hand, came and went in a chaotic manner. I couldn’t intentionally have a dream. Nor could I control what happened in. And with that, the dam broke, he rushed back downwards, his mind clouded, in a red haze as his imaginations of the young woman's body became more and more clear. When he finally reached the pool, he was glad--- but in some corner of his mind, still afraid --- to see her there, actually bent over, showing off the cleft of her sex.He jumped off his horse and removed his armor, or as much of it as needed removing, and grabbed her from behind. Like a willow, she pliantly moved with him, and before he knew what was happening, he was on his knees in the water, grasping her from behind, as he entered into her. She was just as wet and damp inside as the pool she came out of was, and she pressed back against him. In a single motion, he was inside of her, and a moment later he finished. But since the dam of his discipline had broken, he had much lust to spend, and he stayed hard, picking up the pace as he moved inside of her. She moaned and whimpered, her little cries sounding like the noise.
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