Dreaming and Hands 1

I’m still pretty young, only turned 18 in this last year, and frankly am not that experienced with things of a sexual nature in regards to other people. I have however, taken a good amount of time to get to know myself.

I still remember the first time sex really began to interest me, and it was the result of a naughty dream. I had knowledge of sex of course before, but until that night it never really seemed like something that would apply to me.

It’s would be abut of an exaggeration to say that their was any true coherence in my dreaming, it was closer to call it a myriad of sensations.

I was being held tightly against someone’s chest, and could clearly feel the weight if their presence behind me, the hard planes of their body. Their lips brushed my neck and slid up to whisper in my ear, a husky sound speaking of vague possessive things.

Their hands traveled across my body slowly, teasing me as I squirmed in their grasp. Fingers sliding across my wrist, my collar bone, fluttering down my stomach… The palm of their hand brushing across my breasts, ghosting across the thin barrier of cloth that hid my pussy. There were noises coming from me, little shrieks and moans,  whimpers and cries that I had never thought I would make.

Their hands shifted from soft teasing touches into relentlessly groping and palming my body, kneading my breasts and rolling my nipples with a deft touch. It was so intense,  and as I writhed in the grips of my dreaming mind, any other thought that didn’t focus on the pleasure I was feeling was brushed away.

What I was feeling didn’t end in that dream, as I found myself waking up from the dream, but not free of it. The pleasure still burned in me, and I could still feel the echoes of my dreams hand moving over me as I twisted and untangled myself from the mess of sheets.

Still shy, I stayed beneath the shelter of my covers, even as I stripped myself free of my garments in an attempt to feel even more pleasure. My hands moved along the length of my body and played with my breasts, pinching, kneading, flicking, and groping myself. I had only enough presence of mind to stifle my cries into soft whimpers so as not to disturb the quiet of the night and attract the attention of my family.

Finding that my breast alone could not provide me with enough of what I sought, my fingers delved into my pussy, rubbing at its lip and reaching inside. The feeling of pushing at my inner walls made me shake in pleasure, and I couldn’t help but turn red at the wet noises my fingers drew out.

I continued like this until my body trembled and my limbs fell slack with exhaustion. The feeling of hands that had roamed over my skin and my own efforts lingered in my mind as the haze of feeling began to dissipate and the ability to think returned to me. Even then little aftershocks of pleasure would course through me every now and then.

This is what opened me up to exploring myself, and I can still remember the intensity if the need I felt now. Does anyone else have any experiences like this? Any thoughts they would like to share?