Everybody has fantasies. And by that I mean sexual fantasies.

Some people’s are super kinky stuff; like being peed on by an amputee or something, while there are others whose sexual fantasies are so vanilla that it’s kind of sad that they consider those to be fantasies in the first place.

I happen to be one of the latter.

See, my greatest sexual fantasy in life is to be with a woman who loves me, and treats sex as an experience that we both derive pleasure from, instead of as a favour to me, or some unpleasant chore to be tolerated for my sake.

Simply put, my greatest sexual fantasy is to be in a sexually healthy and fulfilling relationship with a woman.

… Yeah, I know. It’s freaking sad.

Now, as anyone can (and will) have guessed from what my sexual fantasy is, I haven’t had a lot of luck in the dating department.

At twenty-six, I’ve been in two relationships, the first with a girl who was adamant that there would be no sex before marriage and also thought that tongue kissing was gross and sinful, and the second with a girl who just laid back, often with her face turned away while I ‘did my business’ (her words).

It is important to note that girlfriend number two also thought that tongue kissing was gross, and the one time I suggested me going down on her, she reacted with disgust and told me she was never kissing me again if I put my mouth anywhere near there.

So, yeah, my greatest sexual fantasy is being with a girl who doesn’t make me feel like a rapist in bed.

Which, in my defense, is why, when I wake up on a strange bed, in a strange room, with a strange, beautiful, Chinese girl stroking my surprisingly pale dick, I simply assume that I’m having a strangely vivid sex dream.

“Well, hello,” I say to her, noting (and ignoring) my smoother, richer voice. I mean, it’s a dream, of course I suddenly sound like a crooning Lionel Richie.

The girl smiles at me, her soft brown eyes lighting up with it like I’m her whole world.

“Good morning, Young Master,” she says, voice like a lullaby.

Her term of address for me catches my attention for a moment before I shake it off.

I’m having a Chinese themed sex dream, of course I’m a young master in it.

What else would I be?

“Good morning to you too,” I say back, smiling at her.

An expression of surprised confusion flashes across her face for a quick moment, but it’s quickly replaced with a smile once again.

Then the girl leans down, and a small, pink tongue flicks out and licks the crown of my dick.

The electric feel of the brief contact draws a sharp gasp out of me, and the girl gives me another look of surprised confusion.

Confusion that quickly turns to teasing as she asks; “Did Young Master like that?”

I nod eagerly, and again comes that look, before she says; “In that case, Young Master will love this.” As she opens her mouth and swallows my dick down her throat.

The first thing I feel is warmth and the walls of her mouth pressing around my dick; it feels good.

Then she sucks, and it feels great.

And then she does something with her tongue, and I feel my soul leave my spirit for two seconds.

“Oh, God,” I groan, in more pleasure than I’ve ever felt before in my life.

You know, the human mind is an amazing thing.

I’ve never had a blowjob before, and even my experience with vaginal sex is pretty limited, and yet, somehow, here I am having a vivid dream of getting a blowjob, and honestly, if the real thing is even half this good, then I can completely understand why some guys get so obsessed with it.

Because, oh my God! This is heaven.

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Unlike in the handful of porn I’ve seen over the years, the girl doesn’t go hard and fast on me.

There is no gagging, no slobbering, hell, she doesn’t even do the head bobbing thing, just keeps my dick sheathed in her mouth, sucking and licking, and I swear I’m already halfway to nutting.

She keeps her eyes on mine the entire time, staring up at me with this intense adoration that’s honestly a bit unsettling, though nowhere near enough to distract from the pleasure she gives.

I reach for her beautiful face, caressing her cheek, her ear, running my fingers through her lustrous black hair, and again comes that look of surprised confusion that is getting harder and harder to ignore, even as I step ever closer to orgasm.

Actually, scratch that, I’m not stepping closer to cumming, I’m right there pounding on the freaking door.

As though she can tell (which makes sense, seeing as this is my dream), the girl releases my dick from her mouth, the fingers of her left hand ghosting over it in a gentle caress.

“Would Young Master like to paint my face with his seed?” she asks, batting her eyelashes shyly. “Or, perhaps he would like to feed me breakfast?”

My dick twitches in her hand.

She smiles.

“Breakfast it is then,” she says, right before she wraps those beautiful, wonderful lips around the crown of my dick and sucks.

My orgasm explodes out of me with the power of a thousand Hiroshima bombs, shutting off my vision and causing a ringing in my ears.

It carries on for what could be a minute or eternity, leaving me boneless and panting when it finally passes.

I slump back on the sinfully soft pillows behind me as dream girl releases my dick, not a single drop of my semen spilling from her lips.

Gaze trained unwaveringly on mine, she swallows.

“Thank you for the meal, Young Master,” she says, then crawls up to lay beside me.

I hold her close, inhaling the fruity scent of her hair, mind more than a little blown with all of this.

“Goddamn,” I whisper after a moment, looking at her where she curls into my side. “I had no idea my brain could concoct a dream like this.”

One of dream girl’s eyebrows climb. “A dream?” she asks carefully.

I open my mouth to respond, but post-nut clarity is seeping in now, and its getting much harder to simply ignore (or explain away) anything that doesn’t aid in the pursuit of a good hard nut.

My brain runs through this entire scenario again, highlighting every discrepancy I’d ignored before; the several confused looks from dream girl, the vividness of the sights and sounds, the smells.

I pull away, staring at her.

She looks back with confusion and some worry.

“Young Master Xian, are you okay?” she asks.

I stare at my hands; much paler than I remember. Fingers a little too long, too slender. Skin too perfect.

At a corner of the huge, opulent room, I spot a dresser with a mirror gilded with what might be actual gold.

I crawl off the massive bed and walk to it, trying to ignore the fact that I suddenly feel taller.

The mirror reveals the face of a stranger. A handsome stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

I reach up to my face, the—my—reflection doing the same.

I run my fingers over the cheeks, scratching and tugging on the little goatee just to confirm.

Yep, it’s me. I’m in a stranger’s body. A rich, Chinese stranger’s body…

… I’ve been Jin Rou’d.

Oh, God, am I going to have to run off to some tiny village to become a farmer? Because, I don’t even know the first thing about farming. And Bi De is great and all but I don’t want a chicken for a friend.

“Young Master, what’s the matter?” Definitely-not-a-dream girl asks, drawing my attention back to her.

She’s left the bed too, staring at me worriedly from a few feet away.

Seeing her on her feet now, I can’t help but notice how short she is, 5”2 at most, and the expression of confused worry on her face suddenly makes her look so young, like a tee…

Oh, God.

“Um… how old are you?” I ask with trepidation.

The question throws her off for a moment, but she recovers quickly, bowing slightly and answering; “I celebrated my nineteenth birthday two months ago. Young Master gifted me a Moonlight Clover.” Her head comes up and she eyes me in perplexity. “Does Young Master not remember?”

“Oh, uh, of course I remember,” I say, trying to laugh it off, while hiding my relief to the fact that ‘shoved my dick down a minor’s throat’ hasn’t been added to the list of insanity in my life today. “Don’t mind me,” I add, “just had a momentary brain fart.”

Nineteen-year-old not-a-dream girl looks at me oddly. “A… brain fart?” she asks, testing out the words like they were unfamiliar.

Oh, crap, they don’t say that here?

Shit! I need to get out of this conversation. Stat!

“Um, I need a bath,” I say, going with the first thing that comes to mind.

The girl blinks at my declaration, then she nods. “Of course, Young Master,” she says. “You have the meeting with the Ping Matriarch at the ninth hour.”

A flash of panic hits me.

“Oh, um, right, the meeting with the Ping Matriarch. How could I forget?

“Say, um… what was it about again?”

If it’s nothing important, I’m faking a stomachache.

The girl stares at me in disbelief. “Your betrothal,” she says like it should be obvious.

I blanche.

“Right.” I swallow. “My betrothal.” I laugh awkwardly. “Can’t miss that.”

And then the girl says words that really scare the crap out of me.

“Who are you?” she asks. “Because you are not Xian Qigang.”