Sweet, Sexy Dreams, Lover…
Do you ever have sex dreams?
Don’t be shy, it’s just you and me.
I’ll be honest, I have them often. I’m quite an avid dreamer, and quite the vixen in my deep, deep sleep.
Having had one last night, still fresh on my mind, I thought it’d be prudent of me to share…
Frigid in life, lady of the night… by night…
The thing about dreams is that you can be anything or anyone you want to be.
When you think about it, when you’re all alone and no one is interrupting your thoughts – when you allow yourself to be completely honest – are you true to your slutty self?
I’ve had sex dreams as long as I can remember. For the first few years of my relationship with the Husband, you know, the honeymoon period where you live and breathe each other, I would always feel guilty in my sex dreams.
I would feel like I was cheating.
I would be making eyes with a guy in a club, we would circle the dance floor, holding each others gaze. Eventually, we would get closer, start moving to the music, touch hands, sending electricity through me. And as our bodies entwine and our faces get closer, so close…
I remember the fucking Husband! I’d panic, freak out, wake up, find the Husband next to me and feel overwhelming gratitude that I hadn’t cheated.
Controlling my dream destiny
Don’t get me wrong – the Husband features in quite a few of my sex dreams. More so during a dry spell. But he’s not the only star, seeing as he’s real and I could actually have sexy sex with him any time, in real life…
It took me years to allow myself the guilty pleasure of hooking up with dream randoms, knowing that this was an opportunity to discover new, fake people, without actually meeting them.
So now, when the opportunity presents itself, I allow myself to go with the dream flow, explore the story I’m in and the guy – or girl – that I’m with.
So imagine my dismay when I missed a sex-pportunity last night…
A missed sex-pportunity…
So I’m in an elevator.
No, this is not that kind of sex dream.
I’m in an elevator, and suddenly, it starts swinging wildly from one side to the other.
Still not an elevator-sex-swing-story.
No, this was real fear factor stuff, because it seems as though one of the cables holding the elevator from falling into the elevator shaft and instantly (or painfully) killing me, had snapped.
So now, there are a bunch of people trying to get me out. There’s no roof on the elevator anymore (so what the cable was holding on to is anyone’s guess) and looking up, I can see the next floor and people with equipment scrambling to get to me.
I’m free! Don’t ask me how.
And I’m being comforted by a very handsome gentleman.
He’s tall and gorgeous, holding me close, breathing in my hair and caressing me, making sure I’m ok. It’s all very intimate.
That’s when she shows up.
I want to see where this goes…
She’s gorgeous. Blond bob, lips the colour of blood.
Suddenly, we’re in a bathroom.
And just as suddenly, she nekked.
She gets closer, eyes closed, her cheek brushing against mine. I cannot help myself and start nuzzling at her neck. She smells like flowers and sex. My hands are on her…
That’s when my concentration breaks and I feel her slipping away, my consciousness returning. I try and stay with her, I want to see where this goes… But as I wake, I start realising that my hands are not, in fact, on her but on my sausage pillow that I am humping the life out of.
And that was it.
Sometimes I go back to the same place I’ve dreamed of before, so maybe we’ll meet again.
I know y’all have sex dreams too, so here’s my parting message:
Sex that shit up!
And enjoy every, dreamy, second.
Thanks for reading, my lovelies, and remember – don’t be a dick!