A short story inspired by my recent interest in the importance of getting a good night’s sleep. This is totally fictitious, just in case it wasn’t obvious enough but if you’re interested in this topic, I highly recommend checking out Why We Sleep by Matthew Walker.
REM: Rapid Eye Masturbation
Darkness has laid its comforting blanket over this place again, just as it always does. Predictable and necessary though it may be, sleep is my ultimate haven; a chance to rest and allow the memories I’ve generated to come together into some semblance of comprehension. Then again, it’s not comprehension I seek. Rather, I simply want to unravel.
I let myself fall into the fantastical depths of my duvet, treading the waters that govern the slow and steady trigger of melatonin. I let my body go limp as I drown in my pillow, hands slipping into the crevice between that and the sheet, lips pressed against the soft material. I’m falling fast, yet I’m still acutely aware of the gradual descent into slumber. I waver in and out of light and deep sleep states, fragmented waves sharper than the ocean, oscillating on the sleep monitor in my mind.
I’m a sleep scientist. I know just how crucial sleep is when it comes to our everyday ability to function. Even so, there’s one aspect that even the experts haven’t quite got to grips with; Rapid Eye Masturbation.
Now, I know what you’re thinking—doesn’t REM stand for ‘Rapid Eye Movement’? Yes, it does, and I’m not debating that point. But what the researchers at my sleep lab haven’t tested for yet is the rare occurrence of automatic masturbatory behaviour in select members of the human population. To be sure, this is an extremely rare scenario; we’re talking one in fifty million here. Rapid Eye Masturbation happens when a miniscule rip in the dream-reality continuum prises itself open, through sheer willpower. The condition lies beneath the surface of standard REM sleep, barely noticeable by scientists, because they’re not looking for it.
I’ve came to the realisation that if nobody else was going to investigate this phenomenon, then I should do it. Alone. The funding our institute receives from the government and other invested parties doesn’t apply to these so-called ‘far-reaching theories’. According to them, I’m way off the map by proposing the concept of Rapid Eye Masturbation. Maybe it’s just too sexually charged for them, or maybe they think this would pose an ethical issue among potential participants? Whatever their thinking, I do get it. I’m not welcome to expand on the theory, so I don’t.
But give up on delving into a new discovery? Not a chance!
I’ve largely kept this research under wraps, working long into the night in the comfort of my own bedroom to try and shed some light on things. More often than not, the constant thinking and writing wears me out, These conditions are desirable, however, as I decided some time ago to put myself forward as the test subject. I prefer a more…practical approach. Plus, that way there’s no ethical issues to grapple with. And yes, I am one of those rare cases, to the extent that I wake up with seriously sticky fingers at least three times a week. At the end of the day, that’s how I discovered this whole thing, and even with the Reddit forum I set up to bring ‘sufferers’ together, there’s nowhere near enough evidence to write a fully considered report.
For me, I’ve been experiencing Rapid Eye Masturbation for more than ten years now. It just started, for reasons I hope to uncover, while I was studying at medical school. Every time it happens to me, there’s never a sense that I’ve been touching myself, but that feeling of elation—that post-orgasmic pounding in my chest as I breathe in the dewy morning air seeping in through my window—says very much otherwise. I’m a hardcore scientist. I don’t have a long-term partner, or believe in the presence of horny spirits for that matter, The way I see it right now, the dating scene isn’t worth bothering with. And when there’s this to think about? Hah! Trust me, when I tell them about my research, albeit tentatively, guys just think I want to do it all . the . fucking . time.
Then, after we’d done it, came the criticism.
“You’re a sleep researcher, for Christ’s sake….you shouldn’t be obsessing over masturbation.”
“What merit is there in conducting research that isn’t going to earn you the big bucks, or get you recognition in the field? As a woman, don’t you want to earn the respect of the men who pay your wages?”
“Who’s going to give a flying toss about some rampant, libido-fuelled debauchery anyway?”
It took me a fair while to shrug these ‘concerns’ off, to dismiss them as nothing more than mere words. But I did it, and eventually, the comments no longer affected me. I could move on.
So, when I tell you that last night, my research took me to new heights, I mean that both in terms of research progress and having the best orgasm of my entire life. I’d sunk down into that inviting pillow, as I usually do, but instead of drifting off through the cycles into a deep sleep, I remember the exact moment I hit the first REM phase. Naturally, I shouldn’t have been able to do this. It’s not physically possible to be awake and experience REM sleep simultaneously. But even knowing that, there’s no denying I was there, observing myself from above. I felt a heavy pulse coursing through my veins. Eyes closed, my eyeballs rushed from side to side, indicating that I had, indeed, risen from light sleep and transitioned into REM mode. Yet I saw everything. I lost track of time completely, existing in some frozen moment. The air smelled stagnant around me, the duvet beneath my arms held no sensation whatsoever. I was captivated by the utter lack of, well, anything really.
Then, came the start of the provocation. My cunt twitched, like I’d flicked some hidden automatic trigger switch, only it was clear I hadn’t done anything at all. As ‘I’ hovered abysmally in the air—from that second downward-looking station, I could tell that my flesh and blood hands were still firmly embedded in the soft material, leaving a light indentation in their wake. I felt that electrifying twitch again, but this time it hit me even harder. Looking down, I noticed that I was already wet—filthy wet in fact. That result had descended upon me like an unsuspecting washing machine leak. Thin lines of what I can only describe as precum, trickled out from inside me, lubricating my cunt until I could have sworn it glistened in the darkness.
I knew precisely what was about to happen. Though this was the first time seeing the Rapid Eye Masturbation cycle occurring with my own eyes, the experience was like a program, with instructions that had been buried deep in my memory for those ten long years. I could feel the twitch making its way elsewhere. It crept along both arms at once, channelling itself through my veins, crawling beneath the surface of my skin. I reacted with a jolt. A fiery heat rose in the pit of my stomach and I spread my legs open wide as they could go, seeming to be forced by an invisible, and grossly oversized, vaginal speculum. No matter how I resisted, nothing could keep my legs together.
I assume that was what the ‘program’ wanted.
Little by little, my hands regained their motor control, accompanied by a sharp, pin-like sensation. Not pins and needles, though. It was completely unlike any pain or pleasure I’d ever felt before. It was truly gratifying. I thrust a hand into that wet orifice, smothering juices over the inner and outer labia, coating them lustrously. The pubic hair adorning the outside was so slippery and damp that it clung tightly to my skin. As I brushed solitary finger over my engorged, throbbing clit, my nostrils dilated. The all-too-pleasing sensation caused an acute gasp to escape my lips. I arched my back away from the bed, ecstatic, and ran my fingers, one at a time in slow succession along my achingly hot and dripping wet cunt. Now the air smelled nauseatingly sweet, just like honey, but the liquid itself slipped right through the cracks, further saturating the sheet below.
I guided my hand upwards, slid it underneath my lightweight camisole and started to play with my breasts, which felt so full and alive. I massaged the left breast with my free hand and then pushed them together hard, running my palms over the taut, erect nipples. I pinched at them, and the pulse within pounded under my fingertips. The room had grown so warm I could feel the sweat practically evaporating off me. It smelled unmistakably like sex. That raw, comforting feeling of just…fucking someone. But I was fucking myself. This was the way I wanted it, not the ‘program’—whatever that really was, and certainly not how Clint wanted it…oh god, don’t remind me—now that’s an experience I’d rather forget.
Desperate to climax, and still very much in this peculiar state of REM sleep, my mind convinced my body to get on all fours and bend over to face the wall. With my butt raised in the air, I let my breasts plop and slush against the pillow. Then, I relocated my clit again, and stimulated it, rocking backwards and forwards. A decent amount of drool made its way into the corners of my mouth. I was thirsty, so thirsty I swore I could drink the liquidised form of that entire personal encounter. I imagined the dick that would penetrate me from behind—something thick and meaty. Truthfully, I didn’t really care what it looked like. So long as it could satisfy this pussy like there was no tomorrow.
Far from just being a lacklustre wank fantasy, a thick, eight-inch actually materialised behind me, totally disembodied. It’s a little bizarre that it’s not attached to anything at all, but fuck it, this wasn’t going to go to waste. It entered me and I felt myself tighten around it, the natural lube between us creating a seamlessly smooth motion. I pushed back longingly onto that throbbing dick, relishing in the feel of its veins as they pumped and bulged inside me. I was completely overcome with desire. I stuck my fingers into my mouth in an attempt to muffle the noises I was making—all those curdling whimpers and intense moans. It felt involuntary. I was in control and yet it was all just a dream, wasn’t it?
I was so enraptured by things that I gushed harder than I had expected to, splashing right up along the shaft of that dick and looping over to coat my back, the small droplets helplessly resting there. Exhausted, I fell flat on my belly. Post-coital juices oozed from my cunt—and cue daylight.
As I lay there, I wondered: was there really no way I could make this my main focus?
A smirk gathers on my face. “Fuck it.”
Lustful Lines 