I gasp and shake my head, trying to clear my mind of the disturbing visions I am suddenly entertaining.

"Mom? Mother, are you all right?" Jeff is suddenly standing beside me, his strong hand on my shoulder, looking down at me, his face full of concern.

"Uh -- Um, yes, I um, I'm sorry, honey. I just didn't sleep too well last night."

"Yeah, I think I heard you tossing and turning a lot, Mom. Is there anything I can do?" Jeff rubs the tight muscles in my shoulder and I grunt happily.

"That feels good, son," I murmur in reply, smiling up at him. Then I glance downward. His crotch is level with my face and there is definitely a bulge in his lungi -- a very distinctive and large presence! I scoot away from the table -- images of my dream lover's cock exploding into my mind.

I look up nervously as I stand. My son is staring at me intently, eyes full of concern and it seems something else. Maybe it's my imagination, but it feels like he's looking at me appreciatively, the way his father used to look at me back in college! Or maybe, I am going crazy! I can feel myself blushing and I turn away, taking my dishes to the sink and trying to act normally. "We better get off to school, Jeff. It wouldn't do for the teacher or her son to be late."

Jeff looks at his watch and nods in agreement. "Oh wow, it is almost time for school and I told Bimal I would meet him before classes!" He looks at me expectantly. "Are you sure you are alright, Mother?"

I smile at his formality, so much more common here than in America. He hears it so much here, he often calls me that instead of Mom. "I'm fine, honey, go on, meet your friend." And like a whirlwind, Jeff grabs his backpack and is out the door. I keep the smile on my face until he is gone and then I slip to the floor and sob. What is happening to me? Am I going stark raving mad? My sex fantasies now mixing with thoughts of my son -- am I going insane? My mind flashes back to my masturbation fantasy in the bathroom. My fantasy lover's hair was the exact blonde color as my son's!

I wail like a baby until I hear Joseph stirring in the bedroom. How do I explain my madness to him? I can't, so I wipe my eyes and struggle to pull myself together. I come from hardy Alabama stock. I can soldier on.

I am only five minutes late to school. My students greet me and we begin the day's Science lesson. The day passes slowly and I struggle and fail to keep the horrible thoughts out of my mind. Images of my dream lover come and go. I envision myself being brutally fucked by him, unable to see his face until at the moment of orgasm my eyes open wide as I cum and then I can see his face -- my son's face, Jeff's face twisted in a deliriously happy expression as he cums inside me. My students sense my distraction, my troubled spirit and bless their little hearts, they are as good as gold.

I maintain my composure until classes are over and they run out to play or go home. I break down and begin crying, increasingly more intense until I am almost hysterical. Suddenly, my door opens and in walks another teacher -- my best friend, Ramita. She teaches Mathematics at the school and her son, Bimal is Jeff's best friend.

"Christine, I would like to go over the plans for the tests next..." Ramita's voice trails off as she sees me sobbing at my desk. In an instant, Ramita is by my side, kneeling and taking me by the hands. "Oh, Christine! Whatever is wrong, my dear? What can I do to help?"

I fall into my friend's arms and just cry. Ramita's arms wrap around me, comforting me and making me feel safer just for her presence. I cry for a long time before it peters out with sniffles. Ramita finally lets me go, her sari wet with my tears. She pulls over a chair and sits close to me, taking my hands and softly asking, "Christine, how can I help you? Should I go summon Joseph?"

This makes me want to cry again. "I can't talk to Joseph, he thinks I'm awful as it is!" I say in a halting, gasping voice. I tighten my grip on her hands. "Ramita, I think I'm losing my mind."

Ramita cocks her head and she looks at me curiously with her deep brown eyes. "Losing your mind? Christine, you are the most level headed person I know. Surely whatever is troubling you, we can deal with it, yes?" She reaches over and hugs me. In my constant state of arousal, I am more aware than ever over her physical presence, especially as her massive bosom presses against my own smaller breasts. I feel a fresh spurt of wetness within my lust filled cunt. I am embarrassed and appalled at my sexual response. "Tell me what is wrong, Christine and I will help you," she whispers in my ear.

Suddenly the words just begin to gush out of me. "It's these dreams, Ramita! I've been having these crazy sex dreams every night and I can't get them out of my head and I'm thinking crazy stuff all the time -- seeing this man's cock and I'm constantly horny, um, I mean I'm aroused thinking about sex all the time and thinking all these unnatural thoughts about...about..." I can't bring myself to say anything about Jeff and the terrible images in my head. Ramita is looking at me oddly and I think she's thinking I've gone mad too. "Every night, it's the same thing. A faceless man about to fu-fuck me and then that lovely voice telling me I'm the chosen of Danteshwari and I see his..."

I trail off as Ramita lets go of me and shoves her chair backwards, an utterly stunned expression on her face. I'm thinking that I've scared her when she hisses, "You hear someone speaking that you are the chosen of Danteshwari? Tell me the exact words, Christine! Tell me now!"

Startled out of my tears by her shocked expression, I begin to utter the words that over the course of thirty nights have become imprinted indelibly on my brain. "Behold -- you are the chosen ones of Danteshwari. Embrace the blessings and the rebirth she offers you now..." At this point, Ramita joins in and we speak them together, "Open your heart and know love for all eternity. Accept the sacred gifts of love and family and be as one." I am the one shocked now and I am staring silently as Ramita finishes the words.

"You are the blessed of Danteshwari!" Ramita stares at me now silently with an expression somewhere between horror and awe.

"How did you know?" I whisper. My voice rises and cracks as I say, "Tell me what's happening, Ramita!"

My good friend opens her mouth and then closes it. She lowers her head and I can see that she is shaking. "This cannot be. How can you..." Ramita lifts her head, her dark eyes now ablaze. "How is this possible, Christine. You are American. This should not be happening. These dreams -- they are not for you."

I reach out and take hold of her wrists, gripping them tightly. I can barely keep myself under control as I whisper to her, "How did you know those words? How can you know what I've been dreaming?"

Ramita stares at me for a long time. Finally she whispers back, "Because, Christine. I too am having those dreams."

I shake my head in disbelief. "That is not possible. No one shares their dreams."

Ramita gives me a tentative smile. "They do, my dear, if the dreams are of a divine origin. Danteshwari sends us these dreams."

"Danteshwari?" I again shake my head. It doesn't make sense. I recognized the name from the time of my first dream, it is a local deity. Many miles outside the district capital, Jagdalpur, there is a famous temple dedicated to Danteshwari and there is an annual celebration of her -- she is a female and motherly aspect of the Hindu Gods. Despite of my love of this place and my acknowledgement and acceptance of their faith, I find myself suddenly confronted with the truth that I never really accepted that there could be other gods within the world.

Ramita puts a finger to my lips and shushes me. "Hush now, Christine. We must not speak of it further. I must consult Naija, she will know what to do."

Naija is an old woman in the village -- perhaps the oldest woman in the village, although nobody knew her true age. She is the local midwife and is considered a wise woman, maybe even a holy woman. In truth, she might be the most influential person in the village, maybe within the whole region. She has an incredible amount of influence. It was only when she brought her great, great granddaughter to my school that others in the village warmed to it and made it a success. Every Sunday, she sits on the front row in our little church and listens intently to Joseph's sermons, a slightly perplexed expression on her face as she strives to make sense of our faith. I cannot blame her, it doesn't always make sense to me.

Standing up, Ramita reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. "Do not worry, Christine. I am sure Naija will know what to do. I will come see you later this evening. Everything will be alright."

I am still dumbfounded, but just hearing my good friend speak those words gives me comfort. I watch her walk away and I gather up my things and walk home. As I step into the house, I can smell the aroma of a casserole. Following the smell, I see that the dining room table is set for two. In the kitchen, I find Jeff busy washing dishes.

"Mother! I wanted to surprise you!" he says, bounding over to hug me. He tells me his Dad has gone to the next village over to lead a prayer group meeting this evening and won't be back till late, so he decided to make me dinner as a surprise.

"Well, I guess you did, honey!" I reply. I shiver a little as my son wraps his strong arms around me and pulls me to him. I feel my breasts pillow out against his bare chest and I imagine I am blushing as I feel my thick nipples harden, the long bumps pressing against my bra and blouse, aching to touch male skin. For a moment I struggle with the urge to press my lips against his as my vagina begins to burn with lust. I control myself and peck him on the check, content for the moment of just being in a handsome young man's embrace.