Dream a little dream.... of me
Bond told me the other morning that he dreamt of me the previous night. Such a lovely thought, I mused to myself. "But I dream of shagging you nearly every night," he continued.
I tried to suppress a laugh. I NEVER have sex dreams. No matter my state of horniness. No matter how long it may have been. I never dream of getting it on. So when Bond declared he has regular sex dreams featuring me, I find it most surprising. Flattering, but surprising nonetheless.
In my conscious mind I will often imagine slow, passionate love-making. I will dwell upon manic fucking. And I will spend hours thinking of ways to spend intimate hours together. But when I fall asleep, none of these delightful imaginings will find its way to my somnolent brain.
Oddly, it had only been a few hours earlier that I had been online chatting with a slight inebriated Ted. He had just been relating his thoughts of me from our well and truly defunct attempted relationship. Apparently, if his drunken discourse can be believed, he still conjures up memories of our time together for those quiet horny moments alone. Apparently, it is not uncommon for my exes to draw upon me from their spank banks for such times. One those rare occasions that I have spoken to B, he too, claims to frequently recall particular moments of our time together.
And I actually don't mind. In fact, I feel it a great compliment at being used, albeit virtually, to provide joy and pleasure.
But returning to Bond's dream, I enquired, "So, what precisely was I doing to you in this dream?". I imagined I had performed breath-taking fellatio or had achieved Olympic-level gymnastics providing some heretofore unknown pleasure.
"Nothing much. We shopped, hung out and cooked dinner together."
We were both a little speechless. Is it sweet and comfortable to have such a dream, or just a little pedestrian? My vote is for the former.