Dreams 01 & 02

Dream #1: Fire-Engine Red

She turns her head and sees me from across the field. She has just turned 20. Maybe it is even her birthday. She has a very cute face. What do I mean by cute? I mean button-nosed-young-starlet cute. Unattainable-babysitter cute. Catholic-schoolgirl-in knee-socks-and-pleated-skirt-at-the-mall cute.

I don't really know who she is; she is a composite of my best fantasies. She isn't wearing knee socks today either, but I know her here and now, in my dream, and that's all that matters.

Excitedly, she strides toward me. Now she's skipping! Her fluttering knee-length dress is fire-engine red.

She is slim and radiant. Smiling a broad smile. Perfect skin. I am very glad to see her.

She reaches me, jumps on me as if I'm a tree trunk, hugging with her legs as well as her arms.

"I'm not wearing underwear," she whispers in my ear.

Quickly, she is back on two feet in front of me. "Let me see you," she says.

Before I can respond, she has my pants down around my knees and is sucking me to an erection. In less than a minute, I am harder than I've ever been before.

She stands, still smiling, leaving a hand on my erect member, and says, in a mock-stern tone, "I want this in me, now."

My first words: "First I need to see you. Lie back."

Down on the grass she goes, raising and spreading her knees. As I kneel to view the spot I love more than any other place in the whole world, she wraps her arms around the backs of her knees and pulls her legs up toward her head. This pulls her hips up off the ground, and then she spreads her legs even wider.

"See, I'm ready for you," she says.

She's right. Her smooth, shaven vulva is all puffed up and gaping like a peach with a slice missing. The inner lips, as red as her dress, are glistening with fragrant pussy juice. All for me.

I lower my body and plunge into her in one stroke. We gasp in unison.

Slowly at first, I pump in and out, but I can't help picking up speed.

"Yes!" she says. "Yes...yes...yes. I love you, I love you, I love you." At the last "love you," she begins contracting her vagina to clamp down on my penis on every outstroke.

"I want to keep you in me always," she moans. Although we are prone, she is again hugging me with all four limbs, and she tightens her grip. I'm in heaven.

We kiss. Our tongues meet, dancing briefly amidst grunts and groans. The flames of our pleasure grow higher. We are awed by the power of sex. Good sex.

Then she snakes one little arm down between our bodies. First, her thumb and finger form a ring at the base of my slick penis as it slides in and out of her. Then, her little fingers form a basket around my testicles, and squeeze lightly.

I explode, then so does she, both of us yelling, with powerful, whole-body spasms of ecstasy.

Dream #2: No Strings Attached

She works in my office, down the hall. She's in her early 30s, and I'm about 10 years older. I fantasize about her regularly. So much for real life; in my dream she comes into my office on a Friday morning and closes the door behind her.

She's a sharp dresser, with a dark complexion (parents from the Azores). Her dark brown hair is shoulder-length, and kinky.

Her tight top shows off her high breasts to good advantage. Tight skirt, too. Tight ass. Very attractive, but tough, and often cynical and sarcastic. Fortunately, we get along well. Our banter sometimes contains sexual innuendos.

"Can we talk?" she asks, leaning on my desk. Her tone is put-on sultry, ironic. As if I could ever say no.

"What's up?" I reply.

"Can we cut through all the bullshit?"

"By all means."

"Let's fuck. Tonight. My house. My husband's going away for the weekend."

Mentally, but not literally, my jaw drops open. I don't speak.

"No strings," she says. "We're both married. We'll keep it a secret. Maybe it will be just a one-time thing."

God, I thought. She is dead serious. What did I do to deserve this?

"Tomorrow," I finally answer. "My wife expects me home tonight, but she works Saturdays.

"All day?" she asks, smirking.

"All day."

"Perfect. See you around 10 tomorrow morning."

She turns, dropping a scrap of paper — her address — onto my desk, and leaves without looking back.

Next morning, she meets me at her door in jeans and a t-shirt, but she's still all business. We kiss only briefly. She removes my pants and sucks me off as I stand just inside her door. Great technique, deep throating me at times -- this bodes well. I come, she swallows. I lean back against the closed door. I'm spent, but now free to concentrate on her. I pick her up and carry her to her bedroom, undress her. She has beautiful dark nipples, which I kiss intermittently as I remove my own clothes.

She lies on her back, and I get down to work between her legs. Her labia are full, engorged with blood and the color and texture of fresh liver. Her pubic hair is very curly. I lick, and she gets wetter. I rub her clit in circles, as if it's a ball bearing in oil. She moans.

Then she sits up, instructs me to lie down, turns it into a 69 with her on top. She sucks me again, and though the pleasure is intense, I am also grateful for the opportunity to continue playing with her pussy with my mouth and fingers. She directs me to insert one, then two fingers. After some pumping, I withdraw. With thumb and finger I pinch the lower edge of her vaginal opening while pressing another finger against her anus and the thumb of my other hand against her clit. She comes hard in a long, guttural shout.

What next? The fucking, of course, and it is superb. She is on top, on her knees, milking me. I play with those dark nipples, taking pride in how long I've been able to postpone my orgasm, hoping she is impressed. Toward the end, she lowers her body down to hug me, cheek to cheek, breathing hard. She rubs her public bone against mine, faster and faster. We come simultaneously, roaring.

She now seems so much more relaxed, contented. After more fun together in the shower, I get dressed and leave. I don't think it's going to be a one-time thing.