Dreams are strange things. The trick is to know when you are in a dream and when you are not. The thing I dreamt that night was more than a dream; it was an experience. I am sure that what a ‘dreamt’ actually happened. I was part of the dream and yet somehow on the outside watching it all. I can only describe it as I saw and felt it.

John was having a feverish night’s sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed until the covers were entwined around him like the thick branches of an ancient vine. His body was covered with a layer of sweat. The room was claustrophobic and hindered his breathing. Finally he gave up trying to sleep and sat upright in bed. His eyes were glassy, open only slightly and I didn’t know if he was awake or asleep. Neither did he.

He paused, looked around his room as if to locate himself and stepped out of bed. He wore only under shorts, baggy, disheveled like his hair. They hung from his hips and over the top of them the hair from his fury body sprouted out like wild weeds. He stood, waited for a moment and then, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, walked through his rooms to the door. He went into the silent corridor.

I followed, watching and experiencing. I could feel the cold stone on his bare feet. I could smell the night air, tinted with the aroma of ancient wood and dust. We walked, him and myself, to the stairs and climbed. We climbed to the highest floor and stood before a closed door. I did not know what was on the other side, but he did.

He walked in, silently closing the door behind him. In the study room the light from a million stars cast silver shadows across two beds. Each one contained a form, sleeping. Ignoring the bed on his left John walked, almost glided, over to the other and looked down. A man was lying on his front, a thin sheet covering his form. His body rose and fell with gentle breathing. He was a wide man, strong and tall, his hair was dark and short, his skin pale by comparison in the starlight. I could not tell his age but somehow I knew he was a man, not a youth.

John, the dreamer, and I watched. We knelt at the foot of the bed and reached out a hand. He took the thin sheet and pulled it slowly. The man’s neck came into view and then his shoulders. Smooth and muscular like a sportsman. The sheet was pulled down further and I saw the back, narrowing towards the hips as more came into view. I had the impression that this man was some sort of athlete. I could tell that his body was toned and cared for. I looked intently at the buttocks, waiting for them to be revealed to me.

And slowly they came into view. Smooth and pale, small and hard. I felt like I could fit one in each palm so slim was his waist, so compact was his backside. And so naked. My interest and my heart were aroused. His legs were revealed, dark hair began at the top, thinned out at the knees and vanished altogether by the time his ankles were revealed. The soles of his feet were smooth but tough. He must have practiced his sports with bare feet, like some athlete from ancient Greece. He was indeed the perfect personification of all that ancient culture held dear. A perfect, Greek god lying prone and sleeping, naked and available, before me.

I, we, the dreamer and myself, stood now at the foot of the bed. John was naked, I could feel the night air around his genitals, around mine, so real was the dream that I watched and took part in. His manhood was standing out huge and hard before him, glistening with moisture, with sweat. He stopped slightly and very gently pulled the legs apart. The buttocks parted revealing a dark shadow, the cleft of a valley wherein lay the object of his desire. He moved the legs so far that they dropped gently either side of the bed. This had the effect of not only opening up the valley but raising it slightly. But the man did not stir, he continued to breath deeply. Unaware or just pretending? I could not tell.

John knelt on the bed between the legs and looked down at what was offered to him. He gazed for a very long time at the slightly raised, opened hills of smooth flesh and I felt both our hearts beat faster. My breathing quickened slightly and I detected the scent of sex mingled with sweat in the still air around me.

John put his hands on either side of the sleeping man’s shoulders, leaning forward so that his face was almost touching the grove between the shoulder blades. He took hold of the man’s hands then and we felt their warmth and their strength. The sleeping man’s fingers entwined with ours and we gripped each other. I felt him sigh, this willing, passive god of a man. He sighed with expectation and desire. He had given permission.

Slowly, without guidance of any sort, John lowered his hips. The tip of his moist penis slid in between the hard mounds of the man’s buttocks easily and rested against the small, ribbed area of resistance. And then he lowered himself some more.

I felt the resistance give way immediately, like I was lowering my own hardness through a warm opening that guided and received me willingly. Deeper in we slid and slowly, until I felt the smooth skin of his buttocks pressed beneath my groin. Beneath me the man pushed back, ensuring that all of my, our, length was inside him. And still he made no sound but his contented sigh, as if he had been dreaming himself all night of this moment.

Our hips rose and fell in a soft, gentle rhythm, with each soft thrust I felt myself swelling more. Pleasure rippled up through my body and made me breath deeper. I found it hard not to gasp as the ecstasy flowed through me. Beneath me the man’s grip on my hands tightened and I rested my face against his back. Our bodies slid together as I penetrated deeper and more easily with every stroke.

And then I was once again an observer. I stood over the bed watching as John’s hairy buttocks rose and fell and he pleasured himself on the sleeping form. I could still feel what he felt but now I was watching from a distance. And I saw the body in the other bed turn and open its eyes.

Another man, also slim and well defined, arose from the bed. His hair burned flame red in the weird light. He stood up, naked, his cock sticking out before him from a burning bush of hair. I saw his youthful, full and heavy, balls hanging beneath it. He had power but his skin was pale and ghostly, shadows lay under the muscles of his chest and the red bush of pubes was the only hair save for the fire of his head. He walked towards the bed and watched with me, looked down at his freidn receiving the huge phallus willingly.

He took hold of his hard cock and slowly started pulling it back and forth matching the rhythm of the action on the bed. John looked up and over to him, they smiled at each other. The redhead knelt on the pillows of the bed and offered his swollen hardness to John’s mouth. He took it in and I could do nothing but watch as a new rhythm started. The redheaded youth thrust fast and keen into the mouth as John pounded the pliant arse beneath him, both actions matching each other for tempo and force. As John buried his cock into the sleeping man so the red youth pushed his cock into John’s mouth. The rhythm intensified, sped up, became more desperate.

I could feel myself welling up inside. I looked at my own cock and thought I could see hands playing all over it. The three men beneath me were touching me, fondling me, exploring every inch of my very intimate places. The pleasure was building to the point of no return until, helpless, the bodies beneath me were drenched in my warm ejaculation. It kept coming, flowing like a burst dam, rivers of come poured down the back of the man beneath me and I knew that as I was soaking him he was filing the insides of his Greek god with his own pleasure. And while he was doing this the red boy was making him drink his own ejaculation, all three of them feasting on their carnal meal.

And then we were all in a circle, standing suddenly, our arms over each other’s shoulders. We were looking down at our cocks, dripping and drooping. Our sweat ran down our bodies and gathered in beads at our groins. I looked up and into the eyes of the Greek god. My heart stopped. I was looking at my own face. I looked at the red youth and again saw my face on his body. I looked at John and saw myself as I am now. All four men were me and yet they were not.