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Tag Archives: sexsomnia

I find it entertaining to read the search terms that people use to find me on any given day. There seem to be certain trends that stand out, and my inner academic constantly screams at me to dig more deeply into those trends. So this morning, out of curiosity, I hit the search terms “all time” summary button. The list is much too long to post here, and some of the things people search for that bring them here are genuinely disturbing (i.e., illegal). But the vast majority are amusing or simply interesting, so I feel compelled to share a few of the stand-outs here.


I have an uncommon form of parasomnia often referred to casually as sexsomnia. It’s basically like sleep walking, or sleep talking, but instead of walking or talking, I fuck. This is seriously a thing. I’ve since learned that, as long as I’m fucking on a regular basis, it doesn’t happen very often, and when it does it’s usually limited these days to a little heavy petting and frottage. If it’s been a while, though…

Ashley sometimes likes to deny me sex for a few days just so I’ll fuck her with abandon in my sleep. It’s kind of sadistic, and slightly masochistic, I think, since I rarely remember anything of the event in question unless I wake up mid-coitus and am, supposedly, much more demanding when I’m asleep. (I can be woken up with a gentle push and a few words, so don’t think I’m all aggressive or anything. It’s just that my subconscious mind is a bit of a go-getter.)

“snake woman” wraps her coils around him

I get a considerable number of hits from this because of a folk story I once told to a couple of adorable little girls. I wonder, what the hell were they looking for?

beautiful sweater puppies

I am terribly fond of natural breasts. Implants just feel… strange. And they often look even stranger when the clothing is removed. I wrote a post on that subject for one MsTitty, before she went MIA. Which is a shame, because I liked her writing (and, frankly, she had an amazing chest). But I can’t blame her. After all, I pulled a similar disappearing act.

deflowering a virgin

There are so many combinations of this one–“deflower a virgin”, “deflower”,”qatar deflower”, “deflower stories”, “true deflower sex stories”, “teach me how to deflower a virgin”, and so on and so forth. It contributes the largest number of hits I get, by a long shot, because I shared a memory of having sex in a pristine forest. I hope that this search term is so common because people are trying to inform themselves as to how to help a woman have sex for the first time in as painless and enjoyable a fashion as possible… but somehow, I doubt it. My inner feminist weeps at that. (Also, I’m sure those few people who find me with “geocaching” also do so because of that post.)


Ahh. My favorite bedroom activity, by far. I have written so much about this, but probably my favorite post on the subject revolved around Pretty Grad Student. (I just realized, she has no entry in my Players page. I need to fix that.)

young shaved head punks can really fuck

I really love the punk/alt-girl/suicide girl style. Aside from just looking fucking hot, I really admire anyone who can raise a mighty middle finger to modern definitions of style and beauty. That said, I once fucked a woman with a shaved head in my buddy’s bathroom. And yeah, she could really fuck.

bondage shackles story

My ex-girlfriend Kelly once surprised me with a wide assortment of bondage accoutrements before I was mentally prepared for such activities. It really didn’t go well, so I feel sorry for those people who clicked that link only to find a disappointing story.

handle him casual sex bad feelings help 2014

Someone found me yesterday using this phrase. If you’re still reading, feel free to shoot me an e-mail. Let’s chat about that.

I’d be interested to see what my regular readers have in their search terms, so I invite anyone who reads this to do this. If you do so, let me know so I can read them. I’m no sociologist, but I think this is some fascinating stuff!


Have you ever heard of sexsomnia?  If not, don’t feel bad.  I hadn’t either, until I started doing it.

I’ll never forget the first time I found out I did this.  I’d been sleeping rather poorly for weeks, uninterrupted but not restfully.  I never felt like I had slept enough, whether it was 4 or 10 hours in the sack, and I took a lot of afternoon naps on my off days.  It had been going on for months, and I was beginning to reach a constant state of exhaustion wherein everything was hazy and nothing felt quite real.

One morning, I left the bedroom to find Ashley in the kitchen, making breakfast, in her skimpy black silk Victoria’s Secret robe.  She was listening to Michael Buble on her iPod dock and singing to herself.  She’s not usually much of a morning person, so to see her in such a good mood before noon was a real rarity.  Also, given her wardrobe selection, I assumed she was feeling a little amorous.  I wasn’t going to waste such an opportunity.  I snuck up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and kissed her shoulder.  “Good morning, sexy.”

“Hey you,” she answered, rubbing her cheek against mine.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Of course not,” I said, “but maybe I can take a nap here in a while.”  I kissed her shoulder again.

“Not until after breakfast!”  She continued cooking, but I could hear the playfulness in her voice.  A good sign.  I tested the waters by sliding my hands down to her bare thighs and moving up just barely below the hem of her robe while nipping her nape lightly.  She giggled and squirmed in my arms, elbowing me in the ribs and casting a good-natured glare over her shoulder.  “Stooooop, haven’t you had enough already?  I’m sore enough as it is!”

I blinked.  “Wait………… what?”

“I think we might have thrown my hip out of whack,” Ashley continued as though I hadn’t said anything.  “I need to recouperate!”

Confused doesn’t quite capture what I was feeling.  Befuddled maybe.  Use whatever term you like.  “Umm, what are you talking about?”

Another elbow in the ribs.  “Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“No, seriously, what are you talking about?”  I let her go and took a step back.  She turned to face me, confusion and amusement vying for control of her face, until she saw my expression.

“Wait, are you serious?  You don’t remember last night?”

“Obviously not.”

She sat the plate down and crossed her arms.  “You don’t remember rolling me over onto my stomach and making love to me?”

“Pretty sure I would remember something like that,” I answered crossly.  “You had to be dreaming or something.”

“Ahh, no, I didn’t.”  Ashley pulled the shoulder of her robe to the side, revealing an angry purple bruise.  I’d call it a hickey, but this was way too intense for that term.  “You bit the shit out of my shoulder, pinned my upper body to the bed, and took me from behind.”  She covered up the mark and folded her arms again.  “It was pretty fucking hot.”

Holy shit.

We chalked it up as a one-time thing, owing to my general state of stress and exhaustion.  But a few days later it happened again, when she was unwilling to cooperate, and I woke to her pushing me away violently and telling me to go back to sleep.  I remember sitting up in bed, dazed, uncertain of what had happened, but ultimately going back to sleep.  And the cycle continued for months.  Most of the time, I would never remember anything happening at all.  The few times I did remember, it was like a dream, or it was a dream wherein I was making love to Ashley, or someone else.  She would tell me the next morning, “You did it again,” and look at me with a worried expression.

I finally looked into it, because it was beginning to worry us both.  Turns out, it’s a recognized sleep disorder, a form of parasomnia, in the same class as sleep-walking.  Somnambulistic sexual activity, caused by a deficiency in the sleep-period dopamine production that causes most people to be effectively paralysed while sleeping.  Mine was a mild case because Ashley could wake me up, but more severe cases had been documented wherein sufferers had raped unwilling victims in their sleep.

Again, holy shit.

I saw my doctor about it, and as it happens, I was his second case of odd parasomnia.  He said it could be induced by stress at home and at work (which, admittedly, had increased over the past several months), and he told me that as long as I was waking up, it shouldn’t be anything to be concerned about.  He suggested I try taking melatonin before bed and try some breathing relaxation exercises before bed.  Superstitious hoakum, but I gave it a shot.

Over time, my episodes occurred less frequently, and to date I haven’t tried to molest Ashley in my sleep in almost three months.  Surprisingly, she’s slightly disappointed by this, as the notion that I wanted her so badly that my body pursued her even when my mind had checked out was somewhat arousing to her.  (Not as surprising as I originally thought, given our recent discussion about her pain during sex, but still.)  I’ve never quite figured out what causes these seemingly random episodes.  I figure it may be an extension of my general sexual obsession, my physical body acting out my subconscious desires, but that seems somehow too Freudian for my liking.  Whatever the reason, it’s certainly one of the more interesting things someone can experience.  And it gives me a damn good reason to exclude my future children from the bedroom when daddy is sleeping.

Not my usual entry, I know, but Ashley brought it up during our Skype session this evening, so I felt compelled to share.  I’d be interested to hear if any of you have experienced something similar, as the fucker or the… umm… fuck-ee?  Is that right?  I don’t know.