I had a dream a few nights ago.
A beautiful, exquisitely erotic dream of the near perfect lover.
That ravenous mix of pure fantasy and ultimate desire, of soulful passion and sheet gripping lust, of deep belly hunger and all consuming need. The perfect blend of my submission and her complete and utter domination. Daddy and Baby-girl in the ‘oh-so-sexiest-kinda-way’. 50 hundred shades of sweaty, perverse, mad love. And I reveled in them all.
Lost in the musings of a sexually depraved mind? Or simply the wanting of a lonely, unfulfilled woman? I’m unsure at this point. But don’t judge me. It was just a dream, after all.
What I do know is that in the strange, surreal and electrifying moments between REM sleep and twilight, I met a woman who touched me sexually in ways I have only dared to imagine. Whose seduction was so much more then a practised art. Whose lips spoke of and gave me such pleasure, waking to the realization that she had only been a dream was almost fetal positioning-ly painful. And she’s made me want more then I have.
Jean. Laughing eyed, full mouthed, salt and peppered, Jean.
Sexy boi butch.
With perfect clarity and familiar hands, she showed me secrets lying dormant in the cavernous ache of my body. No shame. No guilt. No pressure. No demands. She just was. Just as I ‘just’ am, but was never allowed to be.
A dream is just a dream is just a dream. I know. But I want to dream her again. I want to will her out of my stream of consciousness and into my realm of existence. What would I do with her then? Would reality kill the perfection?
But still…I want.
Come back to the five and dime, Daddy Jean.
You left your Baby-girl behind.