Someone Else’s Dream

Chapter 1
What She Doesn’t Know

Chapter Description: Sophie and Fleur are just ordinary housemates in the waking world. Dreams are a different matter… but not for long…

For perhaps the 100th time in their two years of friendship, Sophie sat at her desk while Fleur complained about her latest partner. Propped up against Sophie’s bedroom doorframe, the hallway light illuminating her from behind, Fleur would rattle off every reason she could think of that made them unthinkable as long-term partners. They were painfully posh, they took ugly photos of her, they would text back either too quickly or too slowly, they had a friend who was clearly in love with them: these had all been given as reasons before, just preceding Fleur’s resolution to promptly break up with them. This time, however, the tables had been turned. 

This time, perhaps for the first time as far as Sophie could remember, Fleur was the one facing rejection.

“He called me ‘immature’! Is he serious? I’m the least immature person I know!” Fleur protested, throwing her hands up in exasperation. She had only briefly met the latest one - Tom - and didn’t care for him all that much. The fact that he turned out to be a “twat”, as Fleur called him, didn’t surprise her. In fact, on some level, it induced in her a kind of elation. 

Since their first meeting in the smoking area of the student bar in their first semester, Sophie had nurtured something of a crush on Fleur. It was childish, she used to tell herself. Crushes were for pre-teens: silly, unsophisticated feelings that led people to make silly, unsophisticated fools of themselves. Sophie considered herself much too serious for that sort of thing when she first started at university. If the conviction had been true at the start, she hadn’t exactly done much to prove she had eyes for anyone else. She had been practically celibate since first year and, as the months went on and first year became second year, it became an undeniable fact: she was tragically obsessed with Fleur. Her housemates called her “the nun” to her face and, for as much as she wanted to say it was inaccurate, she could hardly deny that the name was apt. She was a nun, but only for want of one person - one girl - and that person currently stood with her full red lips and her faux leather jacket in Sophie’s doorway. If less self-conscious or possessed of a less prevaricating personality, she might have leapt up and kissed her. Alas, Sophie was herself. Hope as she might, she was stuck awkwardly supporting her friend when all she wanted was to taste her.

“Well, look - you’re clearly far too good for him and you know I think you’re one of the most mature people I know. He’s the immature one! I mean, I don’t know him, but he sounds immature. He lost you, after all!” Fleur sighed with relief at Sophie’s words and grinned for the first time that evening. Her lips were a deep crimson and her cheeks were pink with blusher, giving her face a richly warm glow. A mascara-tinted tear rolled down her cheek. 

Taking her earrings out and placing them in her palm, she thanked Sophie. 

“You’re honestly the best,” she said before the mascara-stained tears started to really flow from her eyes. “Oh god, I’m so stupid…”

Sophie got out of her chair and threw her arms around Fleur, pressing their bodies close. 

“Don’t be silly. No point crying over some stupid boy, lovely. You’ve always got me - and Mia, if she was in.” They both snorted at that last comment: Mia had been AWOL with her boyfriend, Harry, for the last three days. Her room was in the same state that she left when he came to pick her up and whisk her off for a weekend in the south of France. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for any of the girls, which stirred more than a modicum of jealousy in the two left behind in London. It helped, as the two stay-behind girls agreed, to keep a trust fund boy about for such dalliances - not that Sophie harboured any interest in men or that Fleur had any intention of dating another one any time soon. 

The clock read half past eleven by the time Fleur retired to her own room for the night, alone and noiseless save for the odd bit of rustling and moving about. Sophie thought little of the noises, though soon her mind drifted to the images in her head of Fleur touching herself in the dark. Notions of Fleur’s body and all its curves, her curly brown hair, her red lipstick: they came and went like pictures hastily flicked through in a photo album. A carousel of titillating imagination went through her head, around and around and around again.

“You’re honestly the best,” Sophie whispered in initiation of Fleur’s words. Down her own hand went, creating a tent in her pale blue bed shorts as she fumbled for her clit. Gently but firmly, she pressed and rubbed in a repetitive circular motion. It took no more than a thirty seconds before she came, muffling a gasp when climax was finally reached and the electric sensations flowed through her body. 

That night, physically sated yet still yearning for a taste of her housemate, Sophie would drift off to a sleep quite unlike her others of late. Her dreams were usually abstract and strange, more like disconnected ambiences than logical narratives. 

But this time, unlike all the others, Sophie found herself in the most vivid dream she could remember. She was walking down a hallway at university, passing by office doors without names or numbers, and at the end was a golden light shining brightly from the only open door of them all. As she grew closer, she felt a tingling sensation in her head and in her clit. She hoped to see Fleur when she turned the corner. If she couldn’t have her in real life, then a dream version would have to suffice. When Sophie made it around the corner, however, something else appeared. 

A tall woman with bright blue eyes, unnaturally red hair tied up in a bun, and a monochrome pantsuit that matched her eyes was sat behind a desk. She was typing away at a computer, seemingly failing to register that Sophie had entered. The door behind her closed without a sound and she was drawn, her legs moving while the rest of her was paralysed, to sit in the swivel chair opposite the mystery woman. Her lips didn’t move but Sophie heard her voice. 

“What do you want more than anything?” the voice echoed in Sophie’s head. It was a soft yet authoritative voice, like a newsreader from a bygone era. Sophie didn’t answer. It repeated the question, this time with slightly more force behind each word.

“Whatever Fleur wants me to be. I want to be that.” The words came fast, rising from her subconscious and filling her mouth without active effort. She felt weightless in that moment. 

“Are you sure?” The mystery woman took her eyes off her computer screen and stared directly at Sophie. The tingling sensation returned, though stronger than in the hallway. Her mind was buzzing. Her clit throbbed. “Do you want to be the one? The one to fulfil her truest desires?” 

Ecstasy beckoned. Sophie nodded emphatically in reply, managing a mumbled “yes yes yes” before her voice disappeared from her. 

The mystery woman smiled and pressed something on her keyboard, which set off a flash of pink light that blinded Sophie’s vision.

Breathless when she woke, Sophie felt her head was sore and her knees were trembling. The time on her phone when she checked was 3:33am. Before long, she would be back to sleep - this time dreamlessly - and the strange dream would get lost in her memories as all dreams do eventually. Ideas of “deepest desires” and being “whatever Fleur wants” would surely go the way of all dreams too… wouldn’t they?

The object of Sophie’s desire slept dreamlessly that night. Behind her closed and locked door, Fleur Mitchell - 21 years of age - had her hair in pigtails and was cuddling up to a stuffed bear. From her lips drooped a pink dummy sized up for an adult, her drool smothering the rubber teat. They say ‘what you don’t know can’t hurt you’, but Sophie was about to pay for the limits of her knowledge of Fleur’s “deepest desires”.