Dream On

Dream On

An Old Man's Fantasies

Let me explain the sub-title. I am a seventy-four year old widower who has not had sex with a woman in close to fifteen years. My sex life, if you can call it that, exists entirely of masturbation facilitated by an active imagination. Some of my favorite 'jerk off' fantasies appear below.

Please excuse my use of a pseudonym. This is about me, and I would not like others to know that I'm really as obsessed with sex as I am.

By the way, the "a" in Lang is pronounced as though it's an "o". (Long) Yes, that's part of my fantasy. My hard on is not actually long enough to make any woman swoon, but it feeds my ego to think it is. But let's get on with this story.

Fantasy One

Karen

Late January often brings heavy snows to the area where I live, but in January 1991 the third weekend was a doozy. Snow drifts ten to twelve feet deep built up on the windward side of buildings and other tall structures.

The storm started around three in the afternoon that Friday, just in time to make driving difficult, if not dangerous, for those who had to drive home from their jobs in the city.

I'm retired, and I had a good supply of food, reading materials, booze, and adult video tapes on hand so I didn't mind the prospect of being snowed in for a couple of days. I merely went out to the wood pile, and brought in enough wood to keep a good fire in the fireplace for up to a week if need be.

Along about 6:00 o'clock that evening, while I was cooking supper for myself, the doorbell rang. When I opened the door I looked into the face of one of the most attractive women I had seen in years. At least she would have been had her face not been so distorted by fear and anxiety.

Before I could say anything, she said, "Hello, I'm sorry to bother you, but the road is so bad, and the visibility is so poor that I'm afraid to drive any farther. Can I use your phone to call a taxi?"

"Come in. Yes, certainly you may use my phone."

"Thank you."

I led her into my library and showed her where the phone was. "Excuse me," I said, "I'm cooking supper and need to make sure the noodles don't boil over." With that I left her to make her phone call. In the kitchen, I made sure I had cooked enough for two people. I suspected, and hoped, that she would be with me a while.

She looked distraught when I returned to the library. "You look troubled," I said. "Is something wrong?"

"The state police have closed all of the roads in the county to all but emergency vehicles. I can't get a taxi, and I have no other way to get home."

"Well, my place isn't fancy, but you can stay here with me until the roads are cleared. Is there anyone you need to call so that he or she won't be worried?"

"Thank, thank you. Yes, I need to call my roommate, Inga." With that she picked up the phone again and dialed it. After a full minute she hung the phone up. "Inga's not home yet. I let the phone ring ten times. She usually answers by the fourth ring when she's there."

"Well, you can try again later, but it's possible that she too is stuck somewhere and can't get home."

"I hope not."

"I hope not, too, but there's nothing either of us can do about it right now. I have supper prepared, and there's enough for both of us. Let's eat, and then you can try again to call Inga."

"Thank you." She sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye, and then said, "I'm Karen Wilson. I appreciate what you're doing for me."

"I'm glad to know you Karen, and no thanks are necessary. I'm glad to have company, although I wish it were under better circumstances. My name is Lang Hardon. (No, I didn't pronounce it as long hard-on. I pronounced both the "a" in Lang and the one in Hardon with a long "a" as it is pronounced in Europe, and gave the "o" in Hardon a soft "u" sound. Laang Haardun.)

"Lang, this Stroganoff is delicious. Are you a chef?"

"No, Karen, cooking is a hobby for me now. I was a restaurant manager for a while and had to fill in for the chef on occasion, but was never actually a chef."

"Well, you could fool me. Everything you served was wonderful."

Karen was beginning to look more relaxed and less anxious. "Would you like to call Inga again," I asked.

"Yes, please."

"Inga finally got home. She was almost frantic with worry until I told her that you had taken me in and that I'm okay."

"Good. Would you like a glass of wine, or something else to drink?"

"If you have some, I'd love a little brandy."

"Now there's a lady after my own heart. I was going to have a brandy myself."

I took Karen into the living room and moved a second easy chair next to mine in front of the fireplace, and then went to pour our drinks. When I returned Karen had taken off her high heeled shoes and was sitting with her legs stretched out toward the fire.

"I'm glad you've made yourself comfortable," I told her as I handed her a snifter of Asbach Uralt. "I hope you like German Weinbrand. I have some American brandy and some cognac also, but I prefer this."

"I've never had any Asbach, but it smells pleasant. I'm sure I'll like it."

We sat sipping our drinks and just chatting, getting to know one another, as it was, for nearly an hour. During that time I put some quiet music on, and kept the volume turned down low enough that it didn't interfere with what we were saying.

As we sat talking, Karen curled her legs up under her, and in so doing gave me a good look under her skirt almost to her panties. I liked what I saw. Her silk hose covered calves and thighs were beautiful.

Either she didn't know she was showing me her charms, or it didn't bother her. At the time I didn't know which. I hoped that it was the latter.

I know you're thinking that it's taking me too long to get to the action you were hoping for when you started reading this, but be patient. A good story, like good sex, needs to develop a reality of its own. It's not good to rush either.

At ten I told Karen that it was time for the news, and asked if she preferred any of the channels that were on TV. She said no, so I turned to the NBC station. As we expected, the storm that had brought Karen to my door was the main topic in the local news room. There was some national news, and a story about riots in Pakistan, but the snow storm pushed everything else to the side.

After the news, I said, "Karen, I haven't mentioned it earlier, but I have only one bed. I can let you have it, and I'll put a pallet on the floor here in front of the fireplace for myself. I just need to put clean sheets on the bed for you."

"Lang, please don't. I don't want to make extra work for you, and I hate to think about you sleeping on the floor."

"Karen, it's no problem for me."

"Please. Don't think I'm too forward, but if it won't embarrass you, why don't we share the bed. You've been a perfect gentleman all evening. I don't think you'd take advantage of me if we slept next to one another."

"It has been years since I slept next to a woman. I would enjoy it greatly, but I can't promise that I won't touch you in my sleep."

"I understand, but if you do, you do. If I don't like it, I'll wake you and tell you to stop."

"I normally sleep nude, but I'll keep my shorts on tonight."

"Don't, I'll sleep nude too."

Could I actually be hearing this beautiful woman say she would sleep next to me in my double bed, and that she would sleep nude? Let me tell you, I started to get a hard-on and had to turn away from her to keep her from seeing what her words were doing to me.

I showed Karen where the bathroom was and gave her a clean towel and washrag. While she took a shower, I turned down the bed, and turned on the small table lamp next to the side of the bed I wanted her to sleep on.

When Karen came out of the bathroom I was surprised, and pleased, that she was not wrapped in her towel. Nude, she was more stunningly beautiful than when dressed. Her breasts were not large, a "B" cup at best, but they stood straight out from her chest with no sag at all. Her aureoles were almost the size of half dollar coins, and somewhat a terracotta color. Her nipples were large, and looked like they were semi-erect. The triangle of pubic hair at the top of her thighs was a lovely auburn color, and had been neatly trimmed so that she could wear a bikini without any stray hairs peeking out.

I turned off the ceiling light as I passed her to go into the bathroom for my shower. When I came out a few minutes later, I like she, didn't bother to wrap my towel around my waste, but left it on the towel rack.

Karen was sitting propped up in bed, the covers across her lap, and her breasts exposed. She had found one of the stories I had written for Penthouse® and was reading it. There was no doubt about the condition of her nipples now. They were big and stiff, very stiff.

Her obvious arousal quickly made my penis as erect as her nipples. It led the way, bouncing and swaying with each step, as I made my way around the bed and got beneath the covers.

"I take it that you like my hard nipples," she said as I settled in beside her.

"They're gorgeous," I said.

"Well I won't call your dick gorgeous, but it's handsome enough that between seeing it and reading this story I'm soaking wet. Did you write this?"

"Uh huh. I sent a copy of it to Penthouse® a couple of months ago. They bought it and will print it in the August issue."

"It's hot. I've gotten turned on just reading it. Did you write it based on your own experience?"

"Only in part; mostly it's the product of my over active imagination."

"Do you really like to eat pussy?"

"Yes!"

"Would you like to eat mine?"

"Silly question. I'd love to."

"Lang, you don't think I'm an over sexed slut for asking you that, do you?"

"No. I think you are a beautiful, healthy, young woman with a healthy libido."

"Lang, kiss me."

I didn't have to be asked twice. The kiss was torrid. Almost immediately Karen's mouth opened and her tongue danced across my lips causing them to part. For the next ten minutes we played tongue tag. As we kissed, I let my right hand find her breasts and play with their warm firmness. As I gently pinched her nipples, they became even larger and more fully erect.

Karen moaned as her tongue caressed mine. Her hand slid down my belly, through the mat of pubic hair, and grasped my erect penis. Damn that felt good.

While Karen slowly slid her hand up and down my cock, covering and uncovering its head, I broke our kiss so that I could take her left nipple into my mouth.

Even after her shower, I could detect the faint fragrance of a perfume she later told me was called Midnight Passion. Her nipple was large, firm, and ultra-sensitive. While I sucked on the left one, I gently pinched the right one.

"Oh, oh! That feels so good."

A moment later she said, "Lang, no one has ever kissed my pussy. Will you do it?"

I didn't have to be asked twice. As lovely as her breasts were, I abandoned them and slid down to nuzzle her pubes. The fragrance was what every cunt lapper dreams of. It was not fishy, but had a heady aroma that made my dick jump in her hand. Within less than a minute I had parted her nether curls and was licking the hood of her clit. She gasped and spread her thighs further apart.

"Oh, Lang, that hurts so good. Don't stop. Don't ever stop doing that."

I did stop, however. No, I didn't stop eating her pussy. I just moved down deeper into it. I sucked and licked her labia minor, and plunged my tongue in and out of her vagina, and then returned to her clitoris, this time not to just lick it through its hood, but to push the hood back and expose its swollen head. With her turgid clit now fully exposed, I took its head between my lips and began licking, gently, but firmly. Karen's body became rigid and began to vibrate. Her scream pierced the air as her orgasm built and peaked.

"What did you do to me," she asked.

"Only what you asked me to do."

"Oh! That was fantastic. I've never come like that before."

I let her rest a moment and merely snuggled close. When her ragged breathing returned to normal, I kissed her. She seemed uncertain, but didn't stop me. When I broke the kiss I asked her if everything was okay.

"I think so. Its just that when you kissed me I smelled and tasted my pussy juice on your mouth. I've never done that before."

"Did it bother you?"

"A little, at first. But then I decided that if you liked the smell and taste of my pussy, and you obviously did, there was no reason why I should be bothered by it. Then... Oh God, does that mean I'm a lesbian. I liked it."

"No, love. That doesn't mean you are a lesbian. It merely means that you've had a new and enjoyable sexual experience."

All the time we were talking Karen was again slowly, but firmly stroking my cock, keeping it fully erect.

"Lang"

"Yes"

"Make love to me."

"I thought that's what I was doing."

"La a a ng, you know what I mean. Put it in me and fuck me."

I rolled onto my back. "Be my guest, darling," I said as I pulled her on top of me.

She looked a little puzzled, but soon realized that I wanted her to straddle me and take my cock into her. "I've never done it this way before. Am I doing it right?"

"You're doing it just right. Just slip it in and move on it any way that feels good to you. There's no way that you can do it wrong."

It took Karen a little bit to find the movements that gave her the most pleasant sensations, but once she discovered them she became a blur of motion, rising, falling, twisting, scooting. Her vaginal muscles clamped tight, then relaxed, and tightened again, and again. She ground her clit into the mat of my pubic hair. She bent forward dragging her stiff nipples across my chest. She kissed me, plunging her tongue into my mouth. Then her second orgasm hit her. With it came a flood of vaginal contractions that so massaged my cock that I exploded flooding her vagina with my semen.

Karen collapsed on my chest and lay there panting for several minutes. My cock wilted, but stayed firmly within her still pulsing vagina.

At last she revived enough to kiss me and roll off onto her side. She was asleep. Three or four deep breaths later I was also asleep.

The snow continued throughout the weekend. It was Tuesday of the next week before the city workers got the roads cleared and Karen was able to leave. Throughout those days we remained nude and spent a lot of time in my bed joined at the hips like a pair of newly weds.

I still see Karen from time to time. Our relationship is almost platonic now that she is engaged.

I say it is almost platonic. Her conscience bothers her, she says, but during that weekend we were together, she became addicted to cunnulingus, and her fiancé won't go down on her.

We don't have intercourse any more, but she has become an adept fellatrix so our afternoons together leave us both completely satisfied and satiated.

Fantasy Two

Rhonda

I met Rhonda while vacationing in California. I've been a nudist for years, and had gone to the clothing optional beach near Los Angeles to sunbathe and to see if there were any attractive women who could fuel my fantasies.

Fantasizing while nude in a public place presents some dangers, but I figured that if I got an erection, I could merely lie on my belly until it subsided.

The day, like those that California likes to brag about, was warm, almost hot. The sky was cloudless and amazingly clear. A good sea breeze was keeping the smog pushed back over the city, and was just cool enough to make the heat from the sun bearable.

There were a few moderately attractive women walking about or sunning themselves, but none possessed the qualities that stimulate my imagination or my libido. Nearly all of them had breasts that were beginning to sag, or already sagged so badly that they resembled goat's udders. Those whose breasts didn't sag had so little mammary tissue that they looked like the proverbial ironing board.

Moreover, too many had either cellulite or varicose veins. I'm turned off by both conditions.

Yes, I'm a dirty old man. I get aroused by young women, those who are just old enough that playing with them won't land you in jail. I want them to have medium sized breasts that are either conical or hemispherical, and which jut straight out from their chests, or perhaps point slightly upward. If they sag enough that they would hold a pencil in place where one placed on the chest wall beneath them, they are not attractive enough to interest me. But, don't get me wrong. If a woman with such breasts was to offer herself to me, and she was otherwise desirable I'd set my prejudice aside and accept what pleasures she offered. I also want these young women to have flawless skin: no scars, no cellulite, no varicosities, no overly large moles, and no birth marks. I also like women who don't shave their vulva, but who do trim their pubic hair so that it doesn't interfere with intimacies. Further, while I don't mind a moderately large buttock on a woman, I want it to be firm and non-sagging. Her legs, to arouse me, must be slender, well curved, and moderately muscular. That is they must be firm; her whole body must be firm and well toned. Not many women meet these specifications. Fortunately, Rhonda did.

I had rented a beach umbrellas and a blanket at one of the stands that offered them as well as soft drinks, ice cream, and other snack foods, and had settled down to write down my observations and to make a few pencil sketches (I write erotica and always have a note pad or sketch pad with me on which I can jot down ideas that I think might fit into one of my stories.) when she strolled by. Yes, I used that old fashioned word. The way she moved cannot be properly conveyed by saying she walked by. She strolled. Her pace was leisurely. Her entire demeanor was one of relaxed self-confidence. She knew she was beautiful and took pleasure in that knowledge. I don't mean she flaunted her beauty. That would have required artificial deliberateness. No, she simply was. She didn't need to do anything to draw attention to her. Everything about her was natural, relaxed, and

un‑self conscious.

"Hi! Are you such a workaholic that you can't even come to the beach without bringing work with you?" Her question was asked in such a way that I could not take offense to it.

"I guess you might say that, but really I don't think I am. I write for several men's magazines and I'm always looking for interesting things to write about. I also illustrate my own articles and like to make sketches on location."

'Oh, have you made any sketches today?" She paused and then added, "I'm sorry, I'm Rhonda, Rhonda Schoenberg."

"I'm pleased to meet you Rhonda. My name is Lang Hardon."

Rhonda glanced at my lap. Her beauty was working its magic on me.

"Your name is very descriptive," she said. Her smile and the amusement in her voice made it obvious that my erection did not offend her. "May I join you on your blanket?"

How could I say no to such a lovely young woman?

"Please do."

"I've always wondered where writers got their ideas. May I see what you've written of sketched?"

As Rhonda read my notes and looked at a couple of my sketches her breathing quickened and her nipples became as erect as my penis. 'Wow," she said, "this is hot. Do you really get things this graphic published?"

"Oh yes. There's always a market for erotica."

"Erotica? Don't you mean porn?"

"No, erotica. Porn has little or no story to make the sex scenes hold together in a believable manner. Porn depends entirely on the use of sexually charged words and exaggerated descriptions of sexual activity. Erotica, on the other hand, while it describes the same kinds of sexual activity does so in the context of a story that would be worth reading even if the sex scenes were left out. And, erotic doesn't depend on gutter language when depicting the various kinds of sexual activity people engage in. Well written erotica is acceptable in polite circles; porn isn't."