You close your notebook. After that day at the theater, you couldn't get Matthew out of your head, and you've been trying your best to lucid dream ever since. It's been two weeks and nothing’s worked, so you're on your way to just giving up. This is your last night, and after this you might need to resort to stalking his social media feed like a normal person.

You lay in bed with the ambience exactly how you like it. Perfect temperature, perfect sheets, perfect pajamas. Your mnemonic device plays through your head. The mantra you're almost sick of repeating—aside from the dopamine release of saying his name. 

I will lucid dream about Matthew Patel tonight. I will lucid dream about Matthew Patel tonight.  I will lucid dream about Matthew Patel tonight.  I will kiss Matthew Patel in my lucid dream tonight. I will lucid dream about Matthew Patel tonight. 

As your eyes slowly close and your mind wanders away from your mantra, you fall asleep. 

When your eyes open, you're in a black void. There is nothing under you, nothing in front of you, nothing above you. You walk forward, aimless, confused. You've never seen this place before, and you wonder where your family and friends are if you're here. Wherever here is…

But something suddenly clicks in you. Reality check. Right. So you push your finger into your palm and it… doesn't work? Your finger jabs your palm. Things look normal.

Where's your phone? You scramble in your pockets and pull it out. Normal. Text legible. Wallpaper stays the same even as you look away and look back.

That's weird. This was supposed to be a dream. You'd just fallen asleep and— And it's really weird that you remember all of that so well. Normally, you're just plunked mid-action like a new goldfish in a tank. But today is different. Strange.

Still, if this is a lucid dream, then you're going to work with it. There's a door behind you. And beyond that door is Matthew Patel. His beautiful brown skin. His captivating eyes. That incredible hair that’s so shiny and silky. Such a cute, slim body. Adorable voice that's so deep and relaxing. And he would be waiting for you in his apartment— no, his penthouse— no! His cool gothy mansion with bats and dark colored walls and tall ceilings draped with spider webs. Yeah. That's the one. And he might say, “hello my ever-blooming moonflower” or something equally as dramatic. You clench your sweating fists and turn around. 

An unassuming white door. In the middle of the black void. Just waiting for you to enter it. You hurry before that technique wears off.

Tearing it open, you're indeed in someone's home. A living room; not too small but not huge. Certainly not a gothy mansion. Ah, well, as long as Matthew Patel is here, it didn't matter the setting too much.

The living room was fairly clean with a dish on the end table, a shirt draped over the couch, and some piles of mail on the coffee table. As you wander past the kitchen you see a few dishes in the sink, and smell fenugreek and cardamom. The plain off-white walls lead you toward a sliver of light from beyond an ajar door.

“Oh, come on!”

Your heart skips a beat. Even muffled behind walls, you recognize that voice. The beautiful, deep rumble of Matthew Patel's dynamic voice.

Oh my god. Oh my—!! Okay, don't get too excited. That'll wake you up. You look at your hands again. Oddly normal, but okay. Still lucid dreaming or whatever this is. You try to maintain your composure as you push open the door.

Inside, your senses are hit with body wash and cologne, masking a gentle smell of some kind of Indian food, the remnants of which are on a desk right in front of the door. Your eyes scan around for a moment, catching glimpses of punk rock posters, a couple of playbills on the floor, a bed of messy sheets. And sitting right in the middle of the dark mess of blankets, glaring down at a thick script in his hands, is Matthew Patel. 

He's sitting with one leg curled under him, the other sticking up like a kickstand to hold him steady as he hunches over to read the script. His hair is a mess, still over his right eye but frazzled and unkempt. He's in a grey AC/DC tank top and boxers with skulls on them. He takes a finger with chipped black polish and nibbles at the side of the rosy brown tip. You lick your lips, wondering how that finger tastes.

“Just learn the goddamn lines,” he mutters to himself. “You seem stressed,” you say. 

He jumps and his eye shoots up to yours. The other is barely visible beyond the ragged veil of his bangs.

“Uhh,” he says, mouth hung open in shock, staring at you as though his brain struggles to comprehend anything outside of lines of text on a script. “Y-yeah, a little bit. Just trying to make sure I don't forget my lines.” “Well, I can't help you with that,” you say, trying to keep your courage. This is your lucid dream. And you will do whatever you want in it. “But I'm sure I can help you in other ways.”

Somehow, his jaw drops even more and he stares at you like you're a divine vision.

“Are you serious?” he asks, voice breathy. “Am I dreaming?” “You're so cute.”

You take the hem of your shirt and lift it up, revealing your breasts to him. In that moment, when his eyes meet your breasts, a tent pitches high in his boxers.

“H-holy fuck,” he murmurs. “I want to suck you off, Matthew,” you say. “You want…” His brain visibly stops working for a couple of moments before he blurts out, “Who are you?”

You tell him your name and he floats it along his tongue with such reverence, getting a teasing taste of your flavor. He pulls himself to the end of the bed, kicking his legs over the side. You stare in glee as he slides his boxers down.

First past that sexy, rich tangle of dark pubes, then down along some of his beautiful shaft. His balls peek out on either side—such a pleasing color, taut, ready to fill up your palms and mouth. Then his boxers lower down the shaft, past the foreskin that just barely kisses the head. His cock pops out with a cute little bounce. The head is a similar rosy brown to his fingertips and palms, and a little wet spot rises up from the head. A delicious treat of precum.

You practically throw yourself at his feet, ripping your shirt off in desperation. One hand cups his balls and the other grips his cock. His balls splay along your palms, so soft and warm. The tender handjob glides his foreskin up and down, and every pass along the head has his fingers digging into his sheets and his bare toes clenching. You smirk at him. 

“Can barely handle my handjob, gorgeous?” “Gorgeous?” he asks, breath heaving. “Me? Have you seen yourself? You're like some kind of sex goddess right now. Holy shit, I must be dreaming.” “This is what you dream about? Pervert.”

You open wide and slip him into your throat. The rumbling moan that rolls up from his chest has your mind hot and muddled. You can hardly think straight and you fear losing your lucidity— please, please let the dream keep going!

You keep yourself grounded. Matthew Patel's cock is in your throat. You're bobbing up and down and his beautiful cock is plunging into your eager throat. He grabs the back of your head and gently guides you. His soft moans get louder as his cock slides along your tongue, then as deep as it can go.

“Oh, fuck,” he murmurs. “This is the best dream ever. Oh, my god.”

When your hand joins in, slick from your drool, gently twisting around his thick shaft, he tosses his head back and moans aloud.

“Oh, fuuuuck, you're unreal right now.”

His pleasured noises border on utter shock that this is even happening. When he looks at you, he stares in awe, enthralled by your lips wrapped around his cock. He keeps pushing you down, rougher and rougher the longer this goes. Your groin is so hot and your cunt aches for him. You want to finish him with a blowjob, at least once. But you have a backup plan. 

You pull his cock out of your mouth. His gentle flavor coats your tongue and you lick your lips to keep tasting him. 

“Wh-why'd we stop?” he quivers, like stopping such intense pleasure just damned his very soul. “I just wanted to know, um…” Even as powerful as you feel in this lucid dream, your next request hesitates to come out. “If it's not too weird, uh… Your powers? Those arms? Could you… finger me? With one of those, I mean.” That shock returns in full force to his face, but it's so quickly dashed by exhilaration. “Oh, you're a freak freak. I see.”

He presses his palms together and two Divine Arms sprout from his back. Bright seafoamish white, long and muscular, with such thick fingers. Matthew looks down at you, a huge smirk upon his face, accentuating his eyes smudged in eyeliner. He hardly needs to move in order for one of the Arms to curl around you.

It’s warmer than expected, as though Matthew himself reaches down for you. Its hand slips beyond the hem of your pants. You spread your legs to allow its searching, tingly fingers to find your cunt. You place a kiss on the head of Matthew's cock as the warm fingers rub your clit.

“You're so wet for me,” he says. “You like that thick brown cock, angel?” “Oh fuck, Matthew. I love it.”

Just as you roll your tongue along the head and dip it into his tight foreskin, a finger slips inside of you. You cut your moan off by shoving his cock into your throat again, riding out the waves of pleasure rushing through you, fingertips digging into the flesh of his thighs, his body hair tickling your knuckles. That warm finger spreads your walls. You can barely move a single blissed out muscle as that finger drives deeper inside of you.

Matthew sees your stunned mind and takes matters into his own hands. They grasp either side of your head and he rocks his hips. His cock moves inside of your mouth, teasing at the back of your throat. That finger is slick with your arousal, the sounds of which permeate the room. Matthew grunts down his own noises as though not wanting to mask yours. But the longer he fucks your face, the rougher he gets, and the harder it is for him to be quiet.

“Oh my god,” he says with a shaking voice. “You're incredible. Fuck, there's no way you're real. Or you're a sex goddess or—or something! Ohh, baby, that feels so fucking good!”

You try to keep up with him but his cock cuts you off, drilling deep down your throat. That finger inside you moves faster, leaving you in such ecstasy that Matthew’s cock pushes past your limits without making you gag. His pubes tickle the tip of your nose; then a little deeper, a little more, until your nose presses into his lower stomach.

“Holy shit, angel,” he moans. “You’re taking me so fucking deep right now. Oh, yes!”

Drool coats your chin and your eyes roll back. Your clit feels so warm, your pussy clenches around the finger of his Divine Arms, and you can’t hold back anymore. You paw at your clit—so plump and sensitive.

Oh god, oh fuck— You’re sure you’re gonna wake up any second with how ramped up your mind is. Running at mach speed with pleasure. Matthew fucking Patel is reaming your throat. Matthew FUCKING PATEL is reaming your throat. You can’t even believe it. And judging by his erratic motions, the way he’s hunched over you, dirty words pouring from his mouth like holy devotions—as though without them you would rip out his very soul—he can’t believe it, either.

“Oh, god. There’s no way this is real, but it feels so good. Too fucking good! Shit, you’re gonna make me cum. Please cum with me. I want you to cum from sucking me off so bad, angel!”

The moment those words leave his gorgeous lips, your orgasm washes over you. Like getting so high you forget who and where you are. You clench around that finger, feeling its thickness resting inside of you. You’re drawn to his cum as it gushes down your throat. It floods across your tongue.

You’re drowned by that gentle flavor—a little briny, so smooth, a load so big that you struggle to keep it all in your mouth as he continues thrusting. His cum coats your mouth, slipping him down into your raw throat. His lungs heave; a layer of sweat sheens his beautiful skin.

“Holy fuck,” he pants, licking his lips.

His motions slow to a stop as he catches his breath, now on his feet though you don’t remember exactly when that happened. He looks down at you, his cock still filling your mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, veneration dripping from his tone and eyes, his voice quivering. “I don’t wanna forget about this when I wake up. You look incredible with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Oh, right. This is a dream. You totally forgot about that. His Divine Arms fade away, leaving your hot pussy empty and begging for more. You can’t just let it end like this. As he slides himself out, you move in closer with a disgruntled grunt.

It doesn’t matter that his cock is going soft. Doesn’t matter that he chuckles at you— Actually, that part is pretty hot. But you are not letting this dick go so easily. He sits on his bed, watching you with a haughty, self-satisfied smile. You try to commit that look to memory: you on your knees, that grin, his cock inside of your mouth, how Matthew knows you’re addicted to him.

His hands cup your face, warm rosy palms cradling you. “Tell me you’ll visit me again, whoever you are. If you’re like my literal dream girl or an angel. I don’t even care—I’ll convert to whatever religion you tell me to if I can just pray you into existence. Please don’t let this be it for us.”

You moan against his skin and give one last big push of his now soft cock into your throat. Then you finally pull him out, letting his flaccid cock come to rest against his boxers. The foreskin wraps around the head, leaving just the pinkish tip peeking out. Yet another sight you’d prefer to commit to memory and not lose once you wake up. You lick and kiss his cock and balls, relishing in the way he feels upon your lips, the soft squish of him, ensuring he basks in your lust.

The way he speaks to you. Theatrical and grand and so, so hot. Like he truly believes he’s talking to a sex goddess or an angel. Well, if that’s the role he wants for you… You place one last kiss on his shaft and roll your tongue along his foreskin before crawling up him. Your thighs straddle his hips.

“I’ll be back for you, Matthew,” you say. “And you don’t even have to do anything but be your usual, beautiful self.”

A little murmur slips past his lips before he kisses you. His tongue hurries into your mouth, running along yours, so desperate that he’s lost in you. You return the kiss, leaning into him, lowering until he’s laying on the bed and you’re atop him. He grabs hold of your breasts, kneading desperately.

But just as your hips grind against his, from beyond your closed eyes a door appears. You don’t have a chance to react before it opens on its own and blasts you in its bright totality.