An orgasm woke Freya.

It was a big one. Brilliance flared behind her eyelids. Her hands clenched, and her toes curled. Afterward, her legs trembled for so long she was afraid they would never stop. She was left panting in the dark, trying to make sense of what had happened to her.

Pieces of the dream flowed together, like droplets converging into a pool. In the dream, Freya hadn’t sent Dan home. She’d brought him into her bedroom, stripping him down as he asked her if she was sure about this. She never spoke, she just pushed Dan against her bed and climbed on top of him. When she’d slipped him inside, he had an expression of awe.

In the darkness, she groped at twisted sheets, half-expecting to find Dan beside her. The dream stubbornly refused to fade, just like the others. When had she forgotten how to forget her dreams? Once, she would have given anything to remember them, but this new inability worried her.

As Freya moved to turn on the light, she felt dampness beneath her, and she paused, caught on the edge of unreality. Had she actually slept with someone?

It was more likely she’d just had her period unexpectedly. She flicked on the light, prepared to see a mess, but it wasn’t blood, everything was just wet. She would have to wash her sheets. She hoped the mattress was okay.

I came in a dream?

It had never happened before, and Freya felt ashamed. She stripped the fitted sheet off her bed, feeling like she needed to do a load of laundry right away to hide this. She hung her head and shut her eyes.

She hadn’t gotten off at all for the last six months, hadn’t even wanted to try. Now, out of nowhere, she’d done this, and it felt so wrong. Freya tried to tell herself it was natural, that she was just backed up, but the guilt remained. At least Lassa was gone.

Freya slumped onto the stripped bed, wondering what was wrong with her. She felt empty. Dan wasn’t about to bound in from brushing his teeth and tell her it was all okay. He didn’t even see her that way. Freya had no business dreaming about him like that, and she felt like a creep. She was the one who’d initiated the hug and held it for way too long.

Freya cringed at the memory, her cheeks ablaze. But the rest of her burned, too. Her breasts had a deep, throbbing discomfort she sometimes got with her period, but it wasn’t due for two weeks. She was ready to go again.

What’s happening to me? Freya wondered.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

She was sure she had a fever, but it was a slow, smoldering feeling she didn’t fully want to stop. Her phone was face down on her nightstand. She turned it over and unlocked it. The screen was still on his last message.

Good night, Freya.

Freya paused. It was 4 AM. What was she thinking? She couldn’t text him now. What was she even going to say? Hey, thanks for the heart to heart, want to come over and fuck? It was insane, and if she did, Dan would never talk to her again. She set her phone down so hard she was afraid she’d cracked the screen.

She wasn’t like that! She hadn’t even thought about him that way last night, except maybe at the very end in the driveway, when they’d hugged. It had been so long since she’d held someone, and he was so warm.

Her hand snaked down her stomach at the memory.

Okay. Get it out of your system, Freya thought, but the feeling would not fade, even after she came again, and again after that. Everything just ran hotter. She reached for her phone when, on impulse, she touched the Starball sitting on the nightstand beside it. It was radiating heat again, like it had when she read Dying Inside.

How was it generating that heat? It was all starting to be too much to ignore, the unusual feelings, the sleepwalking, the internet disruption. All things she was ignoring, pushing everything to the back of her mind. She wondered if she ought to seal the Starball back in the meteorite shell.

As Freya thought about it, the charged sensation on her skin subsided. The feeling was gone, and she wanted it back. It left her with a heavy, aching rawness. She’d gotten off three times since she woke up and still felt so unsatisfied. Thoughts of sealing up the Starball seemed less important by the second. When she tried to channel her thoughts back to the idea, she felt nauseous.

Freya rose to her feet, ready to dash to the bathroom if she needed to throw up. It was a little better when she stood. She finished changing her sheets, shaking her head at herself.

Her eyes lingered on the phone. She was so hungry to be touched. Freya felt like she was just a humming, knotted ball of want, and nothing could sate her. She took a long scalding shower and masturbated again, twice. She tried for a third, but she was getting numb.

When the sheets were in the washing machine, Freya finally trusted herself to pick up her phone again. She searched for “Female Wet Dream,” then for “Hypersexuality.” She read and was relieved the dream was natural, but the intensity was still worrying.

Freya deleted her browser history and wondered if she had to tell Dr. Garbuglio about this. She desperately didn’t want to, but what if it kept happening? What if she felt this way at school? She’d barely had a choice this morning, the desire so strong.

“What’s happening to me?” Freya asked aloud. There was no answer from the empty house. She kneeled by her nightstand and peered at the alien orb, willing it to speak. Her distorted reflection stared back at her. The longer she stared, the more afraid she became of what it might say.