Imaginary Friend

He woke to the hands again.

Those soft and tender hands smoothing down his flank and cupping his hips gently, full of hidden sweetness and and aching passion hidden behind trembling digits.

Knowing it was useless, he opened his eyes and glanced down to where he felt those fluttering palms against his thighs, still moving lower at the moment. The feeble light of the lamps lining the street outside his window illuminated the sparse furnishings of his bedroom.

But not even the brightest light would show him the owner of those hands.

Once again, he felt the hands, but he couldn't see the hands.

It was like being five years old again and playing with his imaginary friend, except at 25, he felt like he was far past the appropriate limit for having one.

As soon as it seemed his wakefulness had been noticed, those hands stroking over his knobby knees halted and began moving up towards his groin.

A soft wordless cry parted his lips as one warm solid palm cupped his testicles and another softly gripped his flaccid cock, stroking and one thumb circling around the sensitive head. It felt so familiar, so good, and his nerves all fired like they were trained, making his dick twitch and thicken, already growing hard from the feather-light touch.

Those hands always had him hard as a rock in mere moments. Like...his body knew exactly how to react and did so with gusto, bringing him to gasping and writhing even from just a simple warm hand on his cock and balls. A simple graze of those unseen knuckles had him to full mast.

“Please stop...” He whimpered, his hips straining upward in acceptance even as he cried denial. “Please don't...not tonight...” A pulse of heat washed through his stomach, making him tense his muscles and he softly moaned against his will.

The hands never listened, never stopped, never answered in any way.

The palm cradling his balls moved away, for just a moment, then returned to grip his rapidly aching cock with the other hand. It felt wet, like it had been licked or something slick had been applied to the otherwise dry skin. That new wetness made jerking him off so much easier. And so much better.

His hands arched above his head and grabbed onto the wooden bars of the headboard helplessly, fingernails digging into the dark wood. He didn't know what would happen if he reached down and tried to push those hands away. He'd never tried to, he was too afraid of feeling those hands. Yes, he already felt those hands, already knew they were on his skin, but he'd never actually felt them with his own hands. Never actually grabbed onto them and held them with his own nervous fingers.

It would make this so much scarier.

This sexual caress was at least something he could...pretend was all a dream. Once he grabbed hold of that ghostly hand, it would all be over. It would all be real and frightening and strange, and he'd be crazy.

The slick hand that was wrapped around his cock sped up, growing slicker as he began to leak precum and grew even harder. His breath quickened and he started thrusting into that hot palm, chasing after his own release. After he came, the hands always left and he often found himself helping to rush it along. The faster he came, the faster it'd be over.

Then he could go back to sleep.

After one last loving squeeze, the hand left his cock still throbbing, and curved along his hip as did the other one. He lay dazed for a moment, then felt those hands asking silently for him to turn over. There was no point in fighting or arguing. What had to be done, had to be done. The hands wouldn't leave until they'd had their way with him.

On his stomach, he buried his face in his pillow, to keep his voice somewhat muffled. It was so embarrassing to hear his voice so breathless when he had no lover's cries to join his own.

The hands stroked from his hips to over his bare buttocks, fondling him possessively. The heat of those soft palms had him shaking, and pushing his trembling hips down to the mattress to shove in the bunched sheets.

One careful finger swirled around his anus, tickling the puckered ring of skin and making him gasp brokenly. Sometimes the hands just jerked him off, sometimes they fingered him, and sometimes, they did both at once.

But he always came. Always felt a mind-shattering orgasm.

Something slick made that finger easily slip inside him and he choked back a throaty moan, grabbing at the sheets in desperation. His stomach and thigh muscles were clenching, striving for anything to hold him down, because he felt like he was going to buck off the bed.

That finger shallowly thrust into him, curling and caressing the inside ring of his hole, making all the nerves in his rear go crazy. “Aaah...Nggghhh...Please...don't...” The begging wasn't for the invisible lover to stop anymore.

Now, it was for them not to stop.

Another finger joined the first and his hips arched back on their own, his ass greedily asking for more as he cried out and fucked his bed.

The second hand which had been for the moment unused, now came back into play and reached between his whorishly spread thighs, gripping his erection and resuming stroking him.

Those two fingers thrust inside of him, crooking to the side every so often and teasing his prostate mercilessly, sending fire shooting all along his untouched body.

His toes curled in surprised shock when those fingers pushed deeper, all the way to the thick knuckles and then twisted in time with the other hand's jerking. “Ohhh...gahhh...” It all felt so good, and overwhelming, and he didn't want it to end anymore, but that's usually when it did.

A white hot orgasm tore through him, making him buck suddenly as he shot his seed onto the sheets in thick hot spurts. One hand milked his cock, and the other pressed his prostate, trying it seemed to push out all the leftover fluid in his body, and it felt so good, that it bordered on pain. Then those fingers were pulling out of him, and that fist was leaving his cock. They floated away from his body with a few last light caresses, and he was left alone.

He curled onto his side, eyes already hot as the throb of pleasure dimmed into depressed longing and the knowledge that these midnight encounters would continue as they had been, and there was no way he could stop it.

Locking the door hadn't helped, wearing layers didn't help, for christ's sake, moving didn't even help. Somehow, despite a locked door, or multi levels of clothing, or even being in a new place didn't matter. He'd always been awoken, already naked, and his door still locked from the inside when morning came. It was torture being subjected to those invisible hands.

What really killed him each and every time though, was the mere fact that no matter how much he'd pleaded, how much he'd begged, that...the...his...

Whoever those hands belonged to, didn't ever...stay.

After such tender and fulfilling lovemaking, he was always left alone. Always abandoned to endure the almost too intense aftershocks of his orgasm by himself, spent on his tiny bed and slowly getting colder.

He didn't think he could keep this up.

Every night after, he became a little more depressed. Sleep came just a little harder. And his days became just a little too difficult to get through.

There was always a distorted mix of anticipation and dread with each oncoming night. Not that it happened every night, but it happened more than half the nights of a week.

A car drove by on the road outside, but he felt so suddenly alone and couldn't help the flow of tears down his cheeks as he began to cry himself to sleep. He'd lost count of how many nights had ended this way.

He didn't want it anymore. He didn't want this phantom lover, who'd touched him better and with more feeling than any other ever had.

It was too painful.

It made him so heartbreakingly lonely.



TO BE CONTINUED


AN: I have many more actual M/M stories on my Author's page, so if you like this, maybe go check out my other stuff? Or leave me a review? Thank you!