Dream a Little Dream
A Fictional Story by OopsyDaisyNaked.
He had tried, with little success, to put this into practice in real life. He would wear a way-too-big bathing suit to the pool and dive in, or lock himself out of hotel rooms with just a towel for cover.
Alas, in real life, people were much too kind and efficient to make these situations as embarrassing as he would like.
So why not dreams?
It had occurred to Roger that, while he daydreamed about his fetish all the time, he had never had an actual dream in which he was naked in public.
The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he got. He just knew that if he could have one good, humiliating dream, it would sate some of his compulsion to be naked in public–a compulsion that he knew could lead to trouble if he didn’t keep it under control.
He was researching dreams online when an ad popped up. His first thought was, That doesn’t happen anymore, but he put that thought aside and started reading.
“Your dreams don’t have to be random. Come see Dr. Lorraine Kincaid and have the dream of your dreams!”
There was more, but Roger was hooked. He made an appointment.
Her office was downtown. If Roger had been older, he would have recognized the building as something straight out of the late ’50s or early ’60s.
It was eight stories tall, with a large staircase on one side and a rickety elevator on the other–one of those elevators with a gate you had to close before it would spark to life.
He chose the stairs and walked up to the fourth floor. The hallway was lined with nine fluorescent lights. Four worked, four didn’t, and the fifth was blinking on and off like the Supreme Court about to make another poor decision.
The doors all had frosted-glass windows, with the name of the person or company stenciled on the glass.
He found Dr. Kincaid’s door about halfway down the hall, with a long wooden bench directly across from it.
Roger sat on the bench, wondering whether to knock or just walk in, when he heard a voice say, “Come in, Roger.”
He opened the door, and there was Dr. Kincaid. She was petite, with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore glasses that helped accentuate her beautiful green eyes–eyes that matched her green sweater, which showed off her cleavage. Over this, she wore a white doctor’s coat that struck Roger as more of a prop than a necessity.
“How did you know I was out there?” he asked.
“Maybe I dreamt it,” she said with a smile.
Roger coughed out a nervous chuckle.
“So, how can I help you, Roger?”
“Well, I want some control over my dreams.”
“Right,” she said. “Like they’re scripted?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
“I can’t do that per se, but I can help you focus your mind before you go to sleep so that the theme or premise you’re imagining will appear in your dream. What actually unfolds, obviously, can’t be known until it happens.
“Now, what kind of dreams do you have in mind?”
“Umm, well, ugh…”
“Now, don’t be shy. I’ve heard them all. Rock star singing to a sold-out arena? Scoring the winning touchdown? Hitting the winning home run? Leading your men into battle? Sex with a supermodel? Female? Male?”
“Actually…” Then he laid it all out.
She threw her head back and laughed.
“Well, I have to admit, that is a new one!”
“So, can you help me?”
“Oh, you bet I can. I would almost do this one for free!”
“Oh, right,” he said. “I haven’t even asked you about money.”
She smiled and said, “My usual fee is $1,000, but I’ll tell you what: If you promise to come back and tell me all about it–and I mean every detail–I’ll only charge you $500.”
“Wow,” he said. “That is a lot of money, especially for something that might not work.”
“Oh, it will work,” she said.
“Yeah, but…”
“Look, you don’t have to pay me yet. Go home, dream, and then pay me either $1,000 or $500. Your choice.”
“Okay,” Roger said. “What do we need to do?”
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s done.”
Roger looked at her skeptically.
“Oh, fine,” she sighed. She placed her palm against his forehead and slapped it. “Feel better?”
He started to protest, but she cut him off, took him by the arm, and ushered him out of her office.
“Look, if you don’t dream, you don’t owe me anything, okay?”
Later that night, Roger sat at his kitchen table with a beer in his hand. Reflecting on his appointment, he decided that Dr. Kincaid was a major-league quack. Still, he couldn’t figure out her game. The best he could come up with was that somehow, going to see her, talking about a certain kind of dream, and spending the better part of the day thinking about it might truly induce the kind of dream he was after. Still, he couldn’t fathom a dream so satisfying that it would be worth parting with $500, let alone $1,000.
He got into bed and started reading CFNM stories on Literotica. He was rereading one of his favorites. He was at the part where three waitresses were plotting to relieve some hunk of his very tight, very revealing bicycle shorts in front of everyone at the bar when Roger’s eyelids grew heavy…
The sun was so bright that it hurt his eyes. He put a hand to his forehead to see better.
He was at a large pool. He looked around. Okay, he was at a hotel, and this was obviously the hotel pool. It was huge.
He was wearing a baggy blue swimsuit, with flip-flops on his feet and a towel draped over his shoulder.
He couldn’t help but notice that he was the only male among about twenty women, each more beautiful than the last. Every time he made eye contact with one of them, he was rewarded with a smile. It didn’t take long for the smiles to feel conspiratorial–or for Roger to grow more and more uncomfortable.
He kicked off his flip-flops and draped his towel over a chair.
He didn’t like the feeling of being on display, so he decided to get into the pool.
As he was at the deep end, he dove right in.
Immediately, something felt off. Quite literally “off,” as in swimsuit off.
He tried not to panic and failed. He tried not to show his panic and failed again. He looked around wildly, trying to spot his wayward trunks, and cursed the fact that his suit was blue in a pool painted the same shade.
It hardly mattered. The suit might as well have been neon orange, since it wasn’t in the pool at all. A beautiful, bikini-clad, long-legged brunette with a tattoo of a wolf on her right forearm was twirling it.
“Hey, doll,” she said. “Are you looking for these?”
“Um, yes,” he answered. “Could you toss them here?”
“Gosh, no, baby. What if you missed them and they got all wet?” she said, laughing at her own joke.
A few more ladies laughed and looked at him with hungry eyes.
“You’d better come get them–unless, of course, you don’t want them. In that case, I can just toss them over this fence.”
With that, she pointed to a chain-link fence about eight feet high that he hadn’t noticed until now.
“No, no, I’ll come get them.”
He planned to get out and quickly grab his towel, which was only a few feet away.
As he climbed awkwardly out of the pool, trying desperately to hide, well, everything, a lovely redhead sat down in his chair, blocking him from his towel. She did, however, flash him a lovely smile.
Many of the other women who witnessed this couldn’t help but laugh.
With his plan foiled, Roger covered his junk and walked awkwardly toward the brunette, who was smiling and holding his suit in her outstretched hand.
All the other women–save one who seemed engrossed in her brochure about Scandinavian cruises, though she was smiling nonetheless–were now aware of what was going on and calling out things like, “Don’t give it to him! Toss it back in the pool! Throw it over the fence!”
Just as Roger stretched out one hand to meet hers, she flung the suit back over her head.
He watched as it arced toward the fence. It looked as though it would clear it easily, but no — it ended up draped across the top.
The suit was just out of reach, but Roger figured that if he jumped, he might be able to grab it.
To do this, of course, he could no longer cover himself. He turned away from the ladies, giving them a wonderful view of his naked ass.
Before he leaped, he looked down at his now-exposed penis and was shocked by how small it looked. His penis wasn’t this small, was it?
No, it wasn’t–except that it was!
All the more reason to grab the suit. He leaped up and caught hold of it. He had a firm grip, which was unfortunate, because that suit wasn’t going anywhere.
He held on, suspended in midair. His body turned so that now the front of him was totally exposed to all the ladies.
As they pointed and howled with laughter, the suit finally gave way. He fell butt-first into a puddle of mud, which splattered across his chest and face, causing everyone to laugh even harder.
And then he woke up.
He sat up in bed and pumped his fist as he yelled, “Yes, yes, yes!”
What a humiliating dream! It was perfect, just perfect!
Heck, man, he’d pay good money to have a dream like…
Uh-oh. Crap. Well, now what?
It was a great dream, maybe even worth $1,000, but he didn’t have $1,000. And he couldn’t see himself recounting the dream to Dr. Kincaid. That would be–wait for it–too humiliating.
Then it occurred to him: He didn’t have to do either. How would she ever know if he had had a dream?
Right? Right.
He wondered if he’d have more. Maybe tonight. Maybe every night.
That was not the case.
He was still living off the high of that dream a couple of weeks later, but he really wanted–needed–another humiliation dream.
And then the strangest thing happened.
He had to fly to another city for business, just an overnight trip.
He had forgotten his toothpaste and ducked into a CVS to buy some. As he stood there, trying to decide between Crest and Colgate, a pretty redhead rounded the corner and headed his way. He looked at her and then back at the toothpaste. She looked familiar, which struck him as odd, since he didn’t know anyone in this town.
Then he thought, Wait a minute, and turned to look at her again.
She was staring at him as if she, too, were trying to place him. Then her eyes got really big, and she let out a little laugh.
“Oh, my God.”
She put a hand to her mouth and laughed a little louder as she walked right out of the store.
Yes, he was sure of it. She was the redhead from his dream–the one who had sat in his chair so he couldn’t grab his towel.
He was more than a little freaked out. This made no sense! He told himself that she just looked like the woman in his dream. That was certainly plausible and, really, the only thing that made sense. But what about her reaction to him? She seemed to recognize him as well. And it was not a normal reaction to break into laughter when you recognized someone–unless you recognized them from a particularly hilarious, compromising position. But it was a dream! How could she recognize him from a dream he had had?
Now he wished he’d followed her out of the store so he could ask her.
He didn’t dream, erotically or otherwise, that night, and he was actually relieved.
When he went to check out the next morning, strange thing number two happened.
He noticed the tattoo first. It was a wolf.
Before he even looked up, he knew what he would see, and he was right: the brunette from the pool.
“And how was your stay with us? Everything good, I hope.”
She was looking at her computer screen as she said this, but when she directed her gaze at Roger, her smile went from generic customer service to mischief and delight.
“Oh, it’s you,” she laughed. “The man of my dreams.”
Again, Roger was stunned.
“No,” he stuttered. “It was my dream.”
“Oh, really?” she countered. “In your dream, were you running around a swimming pool butt naked, with, quite frankly, the tiniest little penis I have ever seen–dream or otherwise?”
At this, a woman in line behind Roger let out a little snort of laughter.
“Yes–well, no. Well, yes, but that’s not true, that part about…” Here, Roger’s voice just trailed off.
He was so confused and embarrassed, and now he had the nagging feeling that the snorting woman behind him also looked familiar.
He made a hasty retreat, with the laughter of the two women echoing throughout the hotel lobby.
For the whole flight home, Roger was a nervous wreck. What if someone else recognized him? What if, God forbid, he ended up sitting next to someone on the plane who had also been at that pool–or dreamt about that pool? He kept telling himself that it wasn’t real, that nothing had actually happened.
So why did he feel so embarrassed?
And, by the fucking way, his penis was not that small!
He wished now that he’d dropped trou at CVS and in the hotel lobby to make his case. Well, sort of. Well, crap, whatever.
That night, Roger was so exhausted that he immediately fell into a deep sleep and started dreaming…
He found himself standing at a bus stop. Once again, the day seemed unusually bright.
He looked to his right and saw his apartment building a couple of blocks away.
Two cute young women were waiting as well: one with black hair, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and the other a blonde in a halter top and a short skirt.
He was admiring their legs when the bus rolled up.
God, how long had it been since he’d been on a bus?
He let the two women board first, enjoying the view, and saw that they took the last two available seats up front. As he walked toward the back, he couldn’t help but notice that everyone was staring down at their phones, with two exceptions. One was a young man holding a shopping bag close to his chest, looking straight down, with one leg bouncing nervously. The other was a woman reading a book on mythology, which she held right up to her face.
He continued toward the back and found a pole to lean against. As the bus lumbered forward, he discovered that if he balanced himself just right, with his back braced against the pole, the ride was actually pretty comfortable, albeit a little bumpy.
At one point, there was quite a large bump. He was amused to see everyone in front of him rise about six inches and then plop back down into their seats.
He slammed hard against the pole and then pitched forward. He should have fallen to the floor, or at the very least stumbled, but he did not. His clothes had prevented him from doing so.
It took him a second to realize what had happened. When he did, he screamed, “What the hell?”
All eyes turned in his direction. It took his fellow passengers a minute to process what they were seeing, but yes, somehow the pole now ran down through his shirt, through his underwear, and through one pant leg, all the way to the floor.
Initially, there were gasps, then some tittering, and then outright laughter as he struggled in vain to pull himself free.
The young man with the shopping bag looked him up and down.
“I like those shoes,” he said. “And that belt, too.”
Suddenly, the young man was holding the shoes and belt and placing them in his bag.
“Hey, c’mon, man. I’m going to need those shoes.”
“Nah, I don’t think you are. And what are you going to do about it, anyway?”
He shadowboxed around Roger.
“Look,” Roger said, “I’ll give you some money. Just please give me back my…” Then Roger shut up as he realized his mistake.
The young man smiled and, after a feint to the right, then the left, and then the right again, managed to extricate Roger’s wallet from his back pocket.
“No!” Roger shouted, but the young man was already walking toward the front of the bus to make his not-so-quick getaway at the next stop.
“Somebody stop him!” Roger pleaded, but everyone seemed to be enjoying his predicament.
It was then that a redhead (yep, a different redhead) in the back row spoke up.
“You’re not helpless, you know. You could go after him.”
Roger was about to beg to differ when he realized that she was right. His clothes weren’t going anywhere, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.
He made a quick calculation and decided that it was more important to get his wallet back than to protect his modesty.
So, just like that, he wriggled out of his shirt, pulled down his pants and underwear, and stepped out of them. Roars of laughter erupted from the other passengers. Just then, the bus came to a stop, and the doors opened. The thief leaped out of the front doors and, without really giving it any thought, Roger jumped out of the back doors.
The thief started to run, looking back at the naked Roger and laughing. And he wasn’t the only one. Roger made for a ridiculous sight, running buck naked after the young man with the bag. But it was no use. The young man was much too fast and disappeared around the corner, leaving Roger in the street, doubled over and panting heavily.
Assessing his situation, Roger realized that he was standing in the middle of downtown, completely naked. And yes, once again, he couldn’t help but notice that his penis was smaller than usual. While everyone around him had nothing to compare it to, they certainly noticed how small it was.
And then Roger woke up.
A few days ago, this dream would have elated Roger. This was just the kind of dream he had been hoping for, maybe even better than the one at the swimming pool. But because of the two encounters with the women out of town, Roger now worried that someone might somehow recognize him from this dream.
He wasn’t even sure what he was worried about. Did he know any of these people? Did they know him? Like those other two women, were there now people out there who had seen him naked in a dream of their own?
His mind raced back over the dream as he tried to picture all the faces that had passed before him. Did he recognize any of them? He didn’t think so, which meant none of them probably knew him. But what if he ran into one of them tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that? Would they recognize him as the naked guy from their dream? He took some small comfort in the fact that he never rode the bus and that the place where he’d gotten off was nowhere he normally hung out; it was simply along his route to work.
It was only later that he thought about the redhead and realized that she did, in fact, look familiar. He couldn’t place her, but he had the uneasy feeling that their paths had crossed–and might well cross again.
Roger got up, showered, and got ready for work. He had put the dream behind him when he stepped out of his apartment building and started the short walk to work. He had gone only a block or two when he made eye contact with a woman who snickered as she walked past him.
Then, coming toward him, was the young thief. He looked at Roger, and his eyes grew wide with panic. He looked as though he were about to bolt, and Roger was ready to give chase.
But then it dawned on him: Give chase for what? He had his shoes, his belt, and his wallet.
The young man also seemed to realize that there was no reason to run. Instead, he walked right past Roger and smugly said, “See you around, little dick.”
Now it was Roger’s turn to panic. What in the hell was going on? What was the deal with these dreams, and why the hell was his penis so small in them? He put a hand in his pocket and surreptitiously copped a feel. Yep, his penis was normal-sized! WTF?
He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the bus pulling up to the corner. About ten people got off, and sure enough, when three or four of them noticed him, their eyes grew wide, and they started laughing.
Roger trotted across the street and speed-walked until he reached the Starbucks on the first floor of the office building where he worked. He went in and placed his order with Megan, one of the cute baristas he regularly flirted with. Then he went over to the corner and stood waiting for his drink. He was looking at his phone when he heard hushed whispers and giggling coming from behind the counter. He paid it no mind.
When his name was called, he couldn’t help but notice that a little laughter accompanied it. Curious, he scanned the baristas, and there she was: the redhead from the bus. She had her arm around Megan and was staring right at him as she whispered something into Megan’s ear, cracking her up.
He quickly grabbed his drink and headed upstairs to work.
On the elevator, two women Roger didn’t know laughed and said, “Nice cup,” as they exited on the fifth floor. Roger’s first thought was, Oh my God, were those two on the bus? Then he looked at his coffee cup and saw that the girls had drawn a small penis under his name.
He carefully covered the drawing as he strode over to his desk and sat down. The first thing he did was grab a Sharpie and scratch out the penis drawing.
Now he was really freaking out. He thought about the two dreams and everything that had happened. At some point, it dawned on him that things could get so much worse. What if he had a dream about work? What if everyone in the office then saw him naked with a very small penis? Sure, none of it would actually be true, but how exactly would you prove that? Have a real-life wardrobe malfunction just so you could say, “See? My penis is normal-sized!”
He needed to visit Dr. Kincaid to determine what was going on. That, of course, would mean confessing that he’d had not one but two dreams.
Would that mean he owed her $2,000? $1,000? He shuddered at the thought.
When he got to her office, the door was locked, and she was obviously nowhere to be seen. He was surprised to discover that the door was not as fancy as he remembered it.
Instead of Dr. Lorraine Kincaid stenciled on the door, it now appeared that her name had been applied with stick-on letters. Not only that, but a few were missing or had curled in on themselves. It now read, “D. Lor a ne Kin a d.”
There was also a Post-it note on the door that simply said, “Roger, just put the money through the mail slot.”
So she knew! How?
The note irritated him. How much money? Not that he’d brought any with him.
Well, okay, he thought. I guess I owe her something, but I need some guarantees first.
He needed to know that these dreams would stop being so — what, exactly?–so communal.
The two dreams so far had been separated by many days, so Roger was confident that he could come back tomorrow and see Dr. Kincaid without too much risk of another dream in the meantime.
He also decided that since he’d have to describe the dreams to get her help but had asked for only one, he would pay her $500. Or not. The fact that other people were having the same dream was certainly not part of their original bargain.
That night, Roger did, in fact, dream–and this dream took place at work.
The End.
*The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story has been previously published on other free websites and is now in the public domain, so that we can republish it here.