3 comments/ 14788 views/ 1 favorites Night Games By: drscar Each night it was another chance to play the game. It was the only way to save her sanity -- and her marriage. Inexperienced on the wedding night, she had never had the opportunity to make a basis for comparison, but she felt that in the broader range of human relationships, hers with her husband was less than ideal. Feelings of resentment had crept in not long after they were married. Now, approaching their third year of marital... what would you call it? Bliss? Certainly not. Togetherness? Perhaps that was the best word for it. Even 'partnership' was a term that needed qualification, and she had run out of the energy to analyze her situation any longer. So, as they approached their third year together as man and wife, she had recently come across a possible solution to their problem, although she wasn't sure how long she could continue to play the game without being caught -- or losing interest. She looked back with grim realization that waiting for marriage perhaps had not been the best possible tack for her. Through her teens, she had envisioned the right moment, the right guy, heavenly bliss of otherworldly quality where emotions transcend the flesh -- and even in her fantasies she had included candles somewhere. The wedding night ripped from her those fantasies and expectations with a harsh reality that still, after all this time, she felt difficult to come to terms with. It wasn't that he was vicious -- oh no, far from it. In fact he was the most gentle, the most kind and patient man during the first pains of penetration. He had entered her and she had gasped, attempting to accommodate the intrusion within her body. An unwelcome feeling, to be sure. Her back arched and she held her breath, waiting for the unexpected waves of pain to decay into discomfort, and then blend into slow ripples of pleasure, just as her sister had coached her. Inside her body, she felt him pulse and flex, even though he did not move back and forth. Intuitively, she knew that his body was responding to hers as it adjusted to his presence. His eyes closed momentarily, his breath caught in his throat but for a brief second, and then he opened his eyes again. With a small, wistful smile, and a look that resembled pity, he began to withdraw. "No," she said, misunderstanding. "It will be okay. I just need time to adjust, to get used to it." Her eyes were open wide, she was afraid he might be thinking that he had hurt her too much and was withdrawing to relieve her discomfort. "No, darling," he had said. "I... I'm finished." Realization dawned on her slowly, mixed with acute disbelief. What? Finished? But she hadn't had a chance... didn't get used... where was the ripples of pleasure? Where was excitement of feeling him move inside of her? Where was the orgasm? "The first time is always the worst," her sister had said. Those words echoed in her mind for the first time since they had entered the hotel room for their wedding night together. All at once the words took on new meaning, as she had originally thought they represented the pain of entry for the first time, the discomfort of having muscles and tissues touched as they've never been touched before, even the confusion of emotions as she took inside her body that which she had denied entrance all her life. But this, this was something different. It was a different kind of "first time" than she had ever imagined. It was now that she realized that the fantasies she had been so bold to take command of her expectations had fixed solely on her experience, and never imagined what his would be like. She had been completely in the dark what he would do, what he would be experiencing himself. He had sat up on the edge of the bed. He looked nervous and couldn't make eye contact. "I'm sorry," he said. "We've waited so long, and you felt so good. I wanted to be inside you for so long... I couldn't stop the..." He never finished his sentence. He got up to go into the bathroom, and she heard the water turn on. Her mind was reeling, too stunned to say anything as he left the room. Too many questions were going through her mind. All of a sudden the experience felt anti-climactic. She nearly smiled at the play on words, but she wasn't in a laughing mood. She had built this night in her mind to be the reward for her waiting, and now she felt cheated of that reward. She grabbed some tissues by the bed and began to check for blood. There was some, but not nearly as much as she had expected. For some strange reason a thought entered and left her head so quickly that she almost doubted that she even had it, and instantly regretted that she had: yet another expectation down the drain. She grew angry instantly. I waited my whole life for this!?! her mind screamed. After all the teasing, the intimate kissing, the promise of something greater, she was ready to demand him to come back into the room and fix the fantasy that was now shattered, broken. She got off the bed and went to the bathroom door and raised her fist to bang on the door. She lowered it as she heard him sob and sniffle over the sound of the running water. She softened a little. He was a good man, and her sister was surely right. Things were bound to get better. But they didn't get better. In fact as their marriage moved through the honeymoon and into the day to day routine, she found that her beloved husband could not get used to her body as quickly as hers had gotten used to his. She began to doubt herself: was she doing something wrong? Was this what every woman experienced? Is this what sex was supposed to be all about? Should she have an orgasm like he did as soon as he entered her? Eventually the pain of entry was no longer an issue, but the discomfort was not one of physical penetration, but rather unfulfilled sexual frustration. He was an attentive husband in every way, including foreplay, and she responded to his touches and caresses quickly. Her body responded so quickly in fact that her aggressiveness increased along with her libido. She wanted to feel him inside her more often now, as the brief sensation of him inside her continually whetted her appetite though never sated it. Not long after they were married, she felt him enter her, and she adjusted her hips to feel his hardness reach all of her insides. As she shifted her weight to get more comfortable, she saw what had become an all-too-familiar sign of his closure. His inhaled a quiet but long breath, and closed his eyes. She knew, as well as felt, his impending explosion within her body. She was torn between the exquisite feelings of his head expanding and pulsing inside her, sending her nerves into high gear, and the daunting realization that it was, once again, over far too soon. "No!" she yelled at him. She put her hands on his hips. "No, don't you come, dammit!" Her hands began forcing his hips against her, trying to continue the motion of intercourse. Her body had gone on to a level it seemed that there was a need that she had never experienced before. With every pull of his body into hers, she repeated, "No... no.... no...." She opened her eyes without realizing she had closed them. She had been desperate for release, not just willing him to pleasure her but taking matters into her own hands. Literally. She saw something in his face that he had not seen before. Fear, for one thing, and humiliation. His erection had subsided quicker than ever before, and slid outside her body with an undignified fall. He got up and went into the bathroom and took a shower. She was caught between conflicting emotions once again. In all her life she had never felt the desperate need for release such as she did at this very moment. Likewise, she felt alarmed at her reaction to that need, and sorrow for her expression of it. Here eyes began to tear as her hands found their way between her legs. For the first time in her life, she masturbated, trying to find the elusive orgasm that she had never had, and now she doubted that she ever would with her husband. Tears strolled down her cheeks as she imagined her husband pulsing and throbbing inside her. She imagined his impending orgasm as she neared her own. She realized at that moment that she truly loved the feel of his orgasm as it pushed and stretched her body from the inside, and in the middle of his orgasm in her fantasy, she had her own. Her body shook, both hands trapped between her legs, her nipples hard and strained atop her breasts. For the first time in her life, the sexual tension had temporarily been waned. He got out of the shower and saw her there, crying. He never knew that she masturbated, and they never discussed what she did. Masturbation became her lifeline to a healthy marriage. She tried to grow accustomed to feeling his presence in her bed if not her body, and tried to pretend that she could live with her situation. But inside, the resentment grew. She began to look back to their courtship, and realized that although she had said she wanted to wait until marriage to have sex, it was always he who enforced it. He never pressured her, and she thought it was because he respected her. Now, though, she began to have her doubts about that too. Perhaps he had waited because he was afraid she would leave him if she knew about his performance problem. She felt disgusted at these thoughts, but try as she might she could not push them away. At the prompting of her sister, she ventured forth into an adult bookstore and bought a 'marital aid.' The mental conversation she had was lengthy and even heated, but ultimately her sister was right. If she didn't have an outlet for her frustration with her husband, their marriage might not survive. They had already begun fighting about other things, little things that truly had no consequence in the world or even their marriage. Both of them knew what the problem was, but both refused to mention it. If he knew she had bought the latex phallus he would have been crushed. He was a good man, and he didn't deserve the added humiliation of being supplemented with a tool. She could hear her sister's voice once again: it's either that or another man, and that's a road you don't want to take. She hid it in the bathroom among her other feminine things, those things that most men -- including her husband -- would rather pretend for some reason don't exist. She felt confident that he would have no reason nor inclination to snoop around that part of the bathroom cabinet, and she was right. It worked. The very first night she had it, she was dying to use it. There was no opportunity, though, and she sat through dinner thinking about it. It wasn't big, about the same size as her husband, actually, but the idea of controlling her sexual fever had brought her to a new level of excitement. Her husband was discussing some news he had received about a mutual friend, but her mind was romping playfully through yet another fantasy about her toy. During dinner everything took on a phallic image. The knife she used to cut her food, the salt and pepper shakers, even the wine glass with it's flared top. She couldn't push the images out of her mind, nor did she want to. She was being purposefully wanton and she was loving it, because tonight she was going to feel what she'd been longing to feel. She needed her husband, however. No rubber tool could turn her on like he could. As they settled on the couch, she began playing with his chest, and he began to touch hers in turn. His hand slipped underneath layer of her blouse to feel the hardened nipples -- he didn't comment -- underneath the soft cotton bra. Her breath deepened at his touch, but her mind was racing with the possibilities. Her legs began to feel that familiar ache. Dampness was both an accurate and incomplete way to express the feelings she was experiencing. He watched her as she responded quickly, as she always did, to his touch. There was something about his hands on her body that could always electrify her senses. She reached around her back and undid the bra clasp through the thin blouse material. The cups fell away from her breasts a little, and he gently squeezed her nipple inbetween his thumb and forefinger. She opened her eyes and glanced down at his hand on her chest, and watched his hands do their work. She loved watching how her body responded to him, how the breasts pulled taut and raised in slight chill bumps. Her hips began moving instinctively from side to side and back and forth, her thigh muscles flexing and squeezing to enhance the sensations of pleasure. In between her legs her lips filled with blood and distended, and the slight rubbing motion of her panties caused enough friction to begin to propel her higher. Her mind, though, was thinking of entirely new thoughts. She wished she could go run into the bathroom and take out the dildo and ram it up inside her while he caressed her. He lowered his head to her chest, and she moaned. She began running one hand through his hair, pressing his lips harder against her breast. He took her nipple between his tongue and teeth, and sucked. It was an electrifying jolt. Between her legs a direct connection was made and she felt a nearly overwhelming urge to play with herself. In her mind she thought about what the dildo might feel like, and whether she could enter it into her body slowly to savor the feeling of being intruded, or whether she would not have the patience and simply thrust it inside her in a desperate attempt to satisfy herself. She found the idea of fantasizing about the alternatives pleasing, and basked in the attention of her husband and the excitement of her fantasy. Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. She pushed him up and began fumbling with his belt and button. It wasn't the contents that she was after, however. Instead, this was a means to an end. She knew she had to finish here before she could run to the bathroom and finish herself off. The faster she did this, the quicker she could get to the bathroom. Her mind was acutely focused. There was a pressing urge between her legs, and she needed to fill it. He was free. She raised her skirt and moved her panties aside. "Come on," she hissed through her teeth. "Come on!" He was surprised at her aggressiveness, but it was a good thing. Given their problems with their sex life, the fact that she still wanted him was a good sign. He felt safe for the first time with her in a long time. In the case of their sexual relations, probably for the first time ever. She sank down on him, and he could feel her wetness consume him. Her body was like a glove, and he could feel wetness running down between the point of contact to the space between his balls and his thighs. He took her one exposed nipple in her mouth again, excited by the desperation of the image: skirt hiked up, panties pressed aside, one breast emerged from a slightly askew blouse and bra. "Oh," she murmured, her head tilted back. She kept one hand on the base of his shaft, holding him there. He had no idea that she was imagining she was holding the dildo by the base. His breath was hot on her nipple. Slick with saliva, the wind of his exhalation caused her breast to react, and then her internal muscles to contract. He inhaled, and she knew he was done. He came quietly, as always, and she wondered why men didn't make any noise at all. For her part, she wanted to scream out loud when she came, but only kept quiet so as not to hurt his feelings. His head expanded slightly inside her, flexed and contracted as he released his come inside her. She smiled. He opened her eyes and took in her smile and misconstrued it. To him, she was satisfied. To her, she was just getting started. Sweetly, she rose off him entirely, and touched his face. She kissed him briefly on the lips and told him she needed to go clean up in the bathroom. He nodded and smiled back at her. She tried not to look too eager to get into the bathroom, but once there she moved as if possessed. Lock the door. Turn on the water. Reach under the cabinet for the latex lover. She stared at it and marveled at it. It was hard for her. For her. And it would remain that way until she was finished. She stood there at the vanity, and realized that there would be no slow entry into her body this night. She hiked up the skirt and leaned over the sink. With one hand she held the dildo, the other she lowered her panties. Reaching behind her she ran the head up and down her slit, lubricating it a little. Her patience was at an end, however, as it rested at the entrance to her hole. She pressed her palm flat on the end of the dildo and drove it home. She could not repress a moan of satisfaction, and only hoped that the running water could mask the sound from her husband. She withdrew the fake cock just far enough so that she could drive it home again with a forceful motion. She wanted to moan again, but this time she managed to suppress it. She was close. Hours of fantasizing about this moment had prepared her well. Her husband's member had been the opening act -- this was the real show. She placed her free hand in front of her and rested her index and middle finger on either side of her clit, and pressed her hips against the edge of the counter. She ran the length of the dildo in and out of her, pressing her hips alternately against the fingers and counter, and the dildo itself. From inside her, she felt the swell of the orgasm coming, by now familiar from her solitary masturbation sessions. This would be, however, the first time she came with something inside of her. Her fingers slid around her clitoris clumsily as she pounded away at the dildo rising higher and higher. Her legs shuddered, her inner cavern squeezed the dildo extremely hard. For a moment she briefly wondered if she might actually destroy the tool with her body the first time she used it. It was a fleeting thought as the orgasm ravaged her completely. She lifted her head to gasp at the air, the sweet air that comes after the hot, constrained, carbon dioxide filled exhaust that surrounds her breathing after an orgasm. She had closed her eyes, apparently, because when she opened them she found herself staring at her image in the full mirror that was over the vanity. There she was, frozen as she had been when she came. Her mouth was open, her hair slightly disheveled, one breast hanging out of her blouse, one arm jammed between her bare, wet legs, and the other reaching behind her. That hand was out of sight, but perhaps that was worse because she knew what was there without actually seeing it. She straightened up and removed her hands from her body, placing them at her side. The magic of the orgasm had left her in an instant. The thick base of the dildo slightly emerged from between her legs, only partially concealed from her wet, matted hair. She began to cry, the realization of her misplaced priorities suddenly upon her and unforgiving. Had she really fantasized about a piece of plastic over her husband, and had she really used her husband to get to it? She looked into the mirror at the beige latex object nestled between her legs with disgust. She wanted it out of her body, but she didn't want to touch it with her hands. She reached between her legs and grabbed the end, and began to slowly withdraw the intruder. Conflicting emotions filled her immediately as pleasure mixed with guilt. Her body did not want to let the dildo go, it had craved it for so long that now that it had a taste, it wanted more. She almost reflexively began to push it back in, and even had the briefest of curiousness about possible multiple orgasms. She forcibly dismissed those ideas from her head, ideas that caused her increasing amounts of anguish. She felt conflicted between the feelings of guilt about her pleasure of this object over her loving and devoted husband, and resolved not to use it again. Night Games That night, as they lay together in bed, he on his back and she on her side, she watched him sleep. His breathing was regular, and he seemed so peaceful in his ignorance to her internal struggle. She had not had these feelings or thoughts before, and she regretted not being able to sort them out before they were married. She wanted to love him, to adore him, and to be faithful to him. She had had no idea that there was so much complexity in human sexual relationships. She had honestly thought that by keeping herself to one man, she was saving herself this confusion. She thought these things as she watched his chest rise and fall in a constant, smooth rhythm. He was fast asleep and she knew he would not wake up when this far gone. Wasn't it supposed to be easier? Wasn't it supposed to be that once you got married you wouldn't have to worry about these confusing feelings again? She tried to contemplate her priorities, but they didn't seem so clear nowadays. Would she have married him if she had known then what she knew now? It wasn't a fair question to herself and she knew it, but she couldn't dismiss it. Sex wasn't important, and it shouldn't be something that defined a relationship. But then again, if it wasn't so important, why had she bothered to wait at all? The truth was that it was important, both then and now. The difference is that now she had to deal with this realization and its consequences. She looked at him lovingly, since she did love him, after all. He was a kind, gentle, good man. He had a heart of gold, and a sweet considerate nature. She loved him and was in love with him, and could never imagine life without him. The light from the summer moon shone in through the window and fell across his body. It was too warm with the two of them in bed to wear covers, so she could see his young form resting comfortably without the constrains of clothing. She looked down at the member between his legs that was sleeping just as peacefully as the rest of him. She couldn't help but smile as she seemed to identify it with the majority of their marital problems. She reached out with her fingertips and touched the soft skin of his flaccid shaft, and marveled at its texture. Even soft it had a unique character to it, different than the rest of his body. The makers of the dildo had come close, but there was no possible way to mimic exactly the nature of the texture of a man's penis. How strange these thoughts are that come in the middle of the night, she thought to herself. With a bizarre sense of curiosity she touched it some more, feeling the sensation of her fingertips along its curved form. She watched as her hand seemed like someone else's hand, in a strange sense of detachment from her own situation. His penis rolled from the side onto the flat of his stomach in the beginnings of waking up. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at her husband's face. He was in a very deep sleep. She slid down beside his hips, to the point where she could see the shape of his member very clearly. Her fingertips ran from the crown down the underside to his balls, which just seemed there. How strange, she mused. They seemed like an odd combination of materials for the human body, but then again who knows how odd her husband -- or any man for that matter -- might think her particular anatomy. She felt the coolness of his balls as she placed her fingertips underneath it and lifted them slightly. She remembered something from a long time ago, sex education perhaps, that the man's sperm needed to be cooler than the rest of his body, which was why the sac was located outside his body. She nearly did a double take as she tried to shake those clinical thoughts out of her head. She was tired, of course, but more than that she was curious. She had never thought to come this close to her husband's erection to view it. From this close, she could smell that he had a particular scent that was more pronounced than the rest of him. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, actually, more comfortable than anything else. She moved closer. She ran her fingers over the shaft of his cock now, and the term echoed inside her head. A crass term, a caustic term, and yet one that suddenly seemed remotely exciting. He was fully extended in length, and the veins had emerged from under the skin to give it form and character. Surprisingly, she found herself becoming aroused. She almost chided herself for her instinctive reaction, but deliberately told herself that he was her husband, and her motives and priorities were correct. She held him between her fingers gently, she did not want to wake him. She was mostly convinced that that wasn't a necessary concern, but she didn't want to take any chances. She raised herself on her elbows and looked closer at the head. It was flush and full of blood, and had begun to twitch with his pulse. She had heard that men enjoyed having it taken in a woman's mouth, but she had never thought to try it herself. Curiosity overwhelmed her, and she lowered her head to his. She placed the tip against her cheek and felt its softness, which surprised her. More importantly, she was surprised that she had never taken the time to examine her husband more carefully. She pressed the head against her cheeks, under her chin, and finally grazed the tip against her lips. She pulled back and looked at it. In the moonlight it looked different than it had before. She couldn't place the difference, but it was there. She glanced at her husband's sleeping form, and other than a slight quickening of the pulse, there was no change. He was still asleep. She looked back at the penis she held in her hand, and slid her other hand between his legs to cup his balls. Mostly she did so for balance, but soon found that she had more control over his body this way. She licked her lips without thinking about it, and pressed the tip against them once more. She slid the head between her lips and felt the odd shape did not fit her position very well at his side. She moved her body between his legs and tried again. This time the head seemed to fit better between her jaws, and she tried very carefully not to bite him. From this position, she could see him sleeping, and watched his face. She ran her tongue along the underside of his crown, feeling the divots and curves, the architecture of the crown, and the smoothness of the head against the roof of her mouth. The sensation triggered something inside of her, a memory from long ago that excited her even more. Was this what an oral fixation felt like? She did not know, but she did know that she was extremely wet. Her position no longer afforded her the luxury of cupping his balls with one hand, so she placed it between her legs instead. She had wanted to masturbate in his presence for a long time now, and in a sense this was a fulfillment of that fantasy -- to a degree. With one hand between her legs, she lazily stroked her own flesh, teasing it and enticing her clitoris to emerge from its protective hood. With her other hand and her mouth, she did some exploring. She released his head with her lips, and pulled the shaft to the side so she could run her tongue down its length. The skin changed texture from the top to bottom, something she had never noticed before. She licked at his balls a little, placing them inside her mouth and running her tongue around his sac. He moaned, and she nearly started. Surprisingly, he was still asleep, but she could see from his eyes that he was dreaming heavily. She couldn't help but wonder what those dreams were. She wondered briefly if he would come in her mouth, and she wasn't sure if she was that curious at this point in time. Still, she found that she truly enjoyed the sensation of his penis in her mouth -- cock, she reminded herself -- and thought that perhaps tat sometime she might feel more adventurous. Right now, however, she was excited. Her fingers had slipped easily in and out of her body, and by this point her hips had been pressing into her wrist, trapping it between the bed and her insistence. She wanted him, and wanted him badly. Even despite the travesty of the earlier episode in the bathroom, she momentarily thought about relieving herself that way, but she wasn't sure she could handle the guilt associated with that so soon. Besides, with the taste of her husband in her mouth, she knew it was him that she wanted. She began to wonder if she could place him inside her without waking him up. How could she do it? What would he do if he woke up? She was intrigued by the prospect of a mental game that she might be able to fuck her husband in his sleep without awakening him. Could she do it? It would take time, it would take patience, but she thought that she might just be able to do it. He was hard and ready. He was throbbing in her hand, and she knew he would slide into her extremely easily. She slowly began to move up on the bed, climbing over him. As she crawled on her hands and feet, awkwardly maneuvering her body over his own without waking him, she mentally pictured herself and giggled. She placed one knee on either side of him, and knelt above him. His penis had lifted above his torso with the insistent twitch of arousal. She took him in her hand, and slowly lowered her body to meet the tip of his cockhead. It touched her gently, dead center. All she had to do was swallow him, but if she simply dropped her weight he would surely awaken. It was a slow process, excruciatingly slow. She felt her lips spread apart as the cockhead entered her. Her eyes never left his face, watching the alternately pained and pleased expressions which flashed across it. She could feel the very portions of his cock that she had felt with her tongue and mouth slide inside of her as they passed through her vaginal lips. The tempo itself was bringing her towards that plateau of ecstasy. She was incredibly patient. She watched the clock tick by as she lowered herself. By the fifth minute she had only put half of him inside of her, and her legs were starting to quiver. By the tenth minute she had stopped three times because he had stirred beneath her. At the thirteenth minute her legs gave out, and she collapsed on the final inch, and he was nested inside her to the root. She held still, convinced he would awaken, yet miraculously he did not. She knew he was a deep sleeper, but this was amazing. She felt him pulsate inside of her, and she realized that he had not yet come. This was officially the longest they had ever made love, although it was not even a complete stroke. He was there, inside her. Alive and vital with arousal. She began rotating her hips gently, trying to feel the weight of him on all sides of her canal. She placed her hands gently on his chest, first for balance, second to detect any changes in his sleep. Slowly she began to raise herself off of him, but there was no possible way to sustain the time it took to take him in. She only raised up a mere fraction of an inch, but the sensation was liberating. She dropped down again, and still he did not awaken. He moaned, but he was still within a deep sleep. He was twitching inside her now, and she was convinced that he was prepared to come, but he did not. She began to rock back and forth slightly, believing that she could feel the motion without necessarily having to raise and lower her body. It hit her without warning. Before it had been like a locomotive coming into a train station: she could hear it long before she saw it. This time, however, the orgasm simply slammed her with an unexpected force. She reflexively grasped her nipples and pulled hard, and came with a shudder. She looked down at her sleeping husband, and realized she had just had her first orgasm with her husband inside her! It was an amazing release. The tension which had consumed her concerning their sexual relations diminished considerably. She looked at him with love and affection, her faith in their relationship strengthened. She did not mind waking him now, but the game had to be played out. She had come, but she wanted to see if she could make him come without waking him. It was a long shot, but it might just be worth it. She began rocking back and forth, stroking him with her pussy. She continued to play with her nipples, and began imagining her husband taking her in different and various ways. Her eyes closed, and her fantasies took over. She did not even realize that her rocking motion had taken on a more insistent tone. She felt him shake and quiver, and knew that he must be close. Suddenly she opened her eyes, realizing how much motion she was making. He moaned and growled, and then he came inside her. It took her by surprise, since this was a completely new behavior for him. The motion of his cock inside her spawned her second convulsions, and she came along with him. Her breathing slowly returned to normal, as did his. His head was turned to the side as he slept. She placed her hand on her lower abdomen and felt the area where he lay embedded. She slowly raised herself off him, and watched him sleep for a very long time. She could not believe he had slept through the entire episode. Had he, though? Perhaps he was just faking his sleep? But no, she knew her husband well enough to know when he was just pretending to fall asleep. He really had slept through the entire thing. Besides, she reasoned, when he had been awake there was no way he had ever lasted that long. For the first night in their marriage of nearly three years, she fell asleep along side of him satisfied. Their relationship improved considerably, though he never really was sure why. He refused to question a good thing, which was perhaps a wise decision. For her part, she never told him of her secret games that she played at night with his body, though she was sure that there would be a time when he would eventually wake up in the middle of the event. So far he hadn't, though, and she was content to continue playing the games. She never understood why he managed to sustain himself while he was asleep but not while he was awake, but for the time being it truly did not matter. She realized that perhaps a good portion of his problem was mental, not physical, and that in time it could very well be overcome naturally. For tonight, however, she had a variation of the game, as she wanted to try something different. This time would require even more patience for both her as well as him...