I could feel his body pressed against mine.

We were spooning.

Maggie slept beside me, unaware that a naked man — a tall, 40ish hunk — had crawled into our bed.

His strong body felt so good pressed against mine

“Where do you live,” I asked him.

“On the 12th floor,” he replied.

I briefly wondered why he crawled into my bed.

He held me tighter, and I hoped his hands would start exploring my body, my thighs, my . . .


I woke up. His hands never got to explore my body. He had been a dream. There was just me and my beloved Maggie in our bed, she fast asleep.

I don’t often have such watered down wanton dreams. But lately, the unrequited part of my bisexuality has been reminding me it is there.

In reality, I loved to be courted by strong, handsome gentlemen — not that my dream man was doing any courting first.

Of course, even in my dream I knew I would push him away . . . at some point. I am betrothed, happily so. No fooling around. But there I was not asking him to leave just yet.

You gotta know that getting special attention from such striking men has been flattering in both my dream and wide-awake worlds.

Sometimes, I miss the kind of pampering and love a woman gets from a good man. I had special times with a few. I miss them. I miss their kind, noble hearts. Yes, yes, I know about the bottom line, but the art is in the getting there.

It can be so exciting.

It was.

Smiles . . .