Phantom Snuggles (Patreon)

I was really freaked out that night when it happened for the first time. I had some hazy memory of what had happened earlier that evening, but didn't connect the events until later. He had thought I had disrespected his boyfriend and came over to "talk". I was like "whatever man", but I didn't want to create a scene. Then he begun saying weird things, shook my hand in a weird way, tapped my shoulder, and I was really out of it. When he left 40 minutes, 50 minutes, an hour later, the only thing I really remembered was his promise I would never sleep alone again. I probably sat there dazed for another 15 minutes or so, mind void of thoughts, before I came to my senses and realized I had to leave.

The rest of the evening was unremarkable, as I don't remember anything out of the ordinary until after I had gone to bed. As I tucked myself in, I could feel someone brush up against me. I jumped out of bed, of course, but there was no one to be seen. Being sure I had just imagined it and overreacted, I went to bed again, with the same result. Someone behind me rested his hand on my hip. I was terrified. I didn't dare to move, barely breathing. My reading lamp was still on, shining a light on me and the room. Slowly I turned my head to get the hand resting on me into my field of view. There it was, the hand of a man, and a muscular forearm. I could feel his breath against my neck, his body gently touching mine, radiating heat. Since he wasn't moving except for the slow movement of his chest with his breathing I slowly worked up the courage to jump out of bed.

I bolted out of the room and slammed the door shut, and held the handle ready to fight him to keep the door shut. But nothing happened. Not a single sound. I stood there for what must have been ten minutes, but felt like ages, pumping adrenaline through my veins. Several times I was just about to peek, but immediately second-guessed that he would expect that and attack. On the other hand I couldn't stand there all night either, so I slammed open the door, hoping to strike him should he be standing close. It didn't hit him, but he was nowhere to be seen either. Was I going mad?

Carefully I looked under the bed, in the wardrobes, all the time anticipating to be jumped, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. I was seriously freaked out. With the door carefully closed and the room swept for stray men, I slowly got back in bed. I laid on my back looking around the room. I saw no movement. I reached for the reading lamp switch and plunged the bedroom in darkness. Not a single sound, except for my own breathing.

I slowly turned on my side to fall asleep when an arm snaked in under my arm and started to gently stroke my chest. I was going mad. That was the only explanation. Some sort of sleep paralysis, but instead of witches sitting on your chest or aliens keeping you locked in beams I got a phantom dude spooning me. Somehow that was a reassuring explanation. There wasn't any feeling of ill intent that everyone talks about in sleep paralysis, and I had no problems jumping out of bed when I wanted. Not so far at least. Indeed when I shifted position my imaginary friend accommodated me, mostly. While it was weird as hell, eventually fatigue won out and I fell asleep.

He, it, the illusion or whatever was gone when I woke up. As unsettling as it had been, I didn't actually dwell on it during the day. It wasn't until I was back home, when I walked through the door the possibility of it happening again occurred to me. That's when I recalled the guy from the day before. How he had told me I wouldn't sleep alone again. Had he hypnotized me to imagine sleeping with someone? That felt like the most plausible explanation, as far fetched as it was.

When I went to bed that evening I could feel the body heat even before he touched me. They were strong hands and strong arms. Very masculine, but they treated me tenderly. It was weird as hell, for sure, but it also felt kind of nice to have my own personal ghost, even if it was all in my head. I smiled faintly in the darkness and told him good night. I jumped out of bed, tripped, and hit myself in the darkness when he answered with his own "Good Night." I sat still on the floor, as I had landed, again straining my ears for any sound. As the day before I couldn't hear anything. The voice had sounded like someone my age, but distinctly different than my voice. I slowly got up and turned on the ceiling lights from the switch by the door. The room was empty, of course.

I turned out the lights again, walked to my bed, and lied down. It took a minute before I could feel him again. Barely touching me this time. "I'm sorry" he then said, just behind my head. How deep was this delusion, I wondered, and turned over facing him in the dark.

I could feel his presence in all of my senses, except for sight in the darkness. He didn't use any cologne or anything like that, and while he didn't smell like sweat exactly, there was a smell of warm man. Perhaps that was the smell of sweat, but not the working hard, sitting in sun kind. I reached out with my hand, not very far, and touch him on his chest. He was almost still, but I could feel the slow heaving of a muscular, manly chest. This was too weird. I rolled back and decided to try to sleep instead. This was all in my head, and the more I engaged, the worse it would be.

It became the new normal. All through the week the figment of my imagination would appear when I was about to fall asleep, lying just next to me. Usually he would be very still, perhaps put a hand on me, or an arm around me. One time he hugged me from behind for a while. As weird as it was I didn't try to stop it, not that I knew what I could have done. Medications perhaps, but that would mean having to admit to a doctor I imagine myself sleeping with a dude every night. Just that alone sounds super gay. Add to that trying to explain that someone somehow did this to me through hypnosis. It doesn't sound plausible, let alone treatable. And to be honest I didn't hate it. It felt like someone cared for me, even if it was just my narcissistic subconscious mind.

I don't know exactly when it started, because it probably slowly built up over time, but by the third week my imaginary sleeping buddy was definitely getting frisky, rubbing me, teasing me, and grinding me from behind. He knew exactly what buttons to push to edge me, making me fall asleep horny and wake up with a raging boner. I had to start the day with a wank in a cold shower. I don't think I've ever cummed so much so regularly before in my life. I do know exactly what happened on that Wednesday evening, however.

It started like every evening when I went to bed. His arms around me, touching me all over. I was expecting it by now. He began playing with my nipples, which he had done a few nights ago, but somehow felt like more deliberate this time, like he was working towards something, and not just letting me slip into coma aroused. I was as hard as I had ever been when I felt one hand move down my briefs. He didn't give me a handjob exactly, but a series of pulls and squeezes and more. I can't really remember, because I was lost in bliss. I dreamt I was shooting load after load of cum, and come Thursday morning it was apparent it hadn't been a dream. At least not the cumming part.

I realized over the next week that if I went to bed wearing underwear I would be pushed to cumming, whereas if I went to bed naked I would just be driven horny beyond belief and wake up with a massive hardon. By mid week I had decided to sleep naked every night. I wasn't sleeping bad, but it felt like I was never not horny. I would wake up with a stiff rod and start the day with a shower and thorough wanking. It would then immediately start to build throughout the day. I would find myself daydreaming about being touched, hugged, groped, having his breath in my neck, his warmth against my skin, his muscular arms around me, and the scent of musk and sweat teasing my nose. Every time I brushed up against some guy, or stood close enough to smell him, or even looked at some larger than average arms I would get hard. Sometimes, often in fact, I would get a hardon without even knowing why.

Late afternoon before dinner, if I hadn't already, I would be in such a state I just had to find a private place and do a proper handjob. By the time I was heading to bed I would usually do another one, just to be a bit chill going to bed. Perhaps that was a bad idea, since my ghostly night visitor would then bring me all the way back up to super horny.

Amazingly I still didn't think of myself as gay, despite it probably being obvious to anyone who didn't already know me. That illusion was smashed Friday the following week. We had been out on a classic pub crawl, me and the usual group. I hadn't been out much the past few weeks, as my sleeping situation was weirding me out, but I felt I had it under control. Things were not as they had been though. I noticed my eyes wander in ways they hadn't before, noticing Ricks sun tanned clavicle showing through the opening of his loose shirt. Noticing how wide Marcus' arms had gotten. Noticing Eric's dimples and freckles. Thankfully the more we drank, the less conscious about it I became. I don't know if it made me actually focus on other things, or if it just made me oblivious to what I was doing and perhaps more obvious to others. At least they were just as drunk as me.

I was pretty unsteady by the time I got home. I drank some water, threw all my clothes in a pile, plugged the phone into the wrong cable, and threw myself into bed. I was greeted almost immediately by a sloppy kiss on my neck. It felt like I needed the embrace of my ghost after such a cocktease of a night. He didn't disappoint and went straight for all his greatest hits. I scooted back just an inch to get him closer and feel his cock massage against me. "You want this, don't you?" he said in a low rumble, not quite a whisper. In my drunken state I just responded with a simple "Yes".

I could feel the ghost dick moving around my ass, teasing for minutes before it unannounced penetrated me for my first time. I don't know what I had expected, but this felt so much more than I had anticipated. Not in a bad way though. My dick had swung between hard and semi-hard all evening, finally had the room and the permission to swell into all it could be. I wanted more, and he continued with careful thrusts, a little deeper every time. It was like there wasn't just one asshole, but several on a row inside, breached one after the other, until finally it hit what I assumed was the holy grail of ass fuckery, the prostate.

When I woke up, too early, parched, and hung over I immediately recalled what I experienced. With thunderous headache I climbed out of the bed to survey the damage. There was cum, for sure, but worse stains than that. Was it called santorum? I reached behind and felt between the ass cheeks, and to my disbelief found a gooey mess of shit and what looked like semen that couldn't possibly be mine. How the fuck could this happen?

Despite my instincts I had a shower, had a quick change of sheets, and went back to sleep for a good four more hours before I woke up again, starving. The pile of soiled sheets on the floor a reminder that something really fucked up was happening to my life. That and the raging boner that was my new morning normal, though it was more like lunchtime now.

I felt weird all rest of the day. Not so much for what had happened but because of what it meant. Was this the new normal now, being ass fucked and filled with ectoplasm by something that was less and less likely to be a figment of my imagination? I decided to do some desperately needed laundry and to ignore my dick, despite it insistently beckoning for attention. It had gotten more this past month than probably all my previous life combined. It was time to take control.

To my surprise, as I went to bed that evening, there was no imaginary friend embracing me. No belly rubs, no twisted nipples, no nudges in the neck, no scent of man, or radiating body heat. My dick felt like a rotating emergency lamp, calling out of attention. I twisted and turned for probably two hours before I found my phone, plugged it in just in time for it not to die, and downloaded every gay app I've ever heard of. There must be someone just as desperate nearby, because whoever he was that did this to me, he was right. I would not sleep alone ever again.