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.
Smiles . . .