Dreaming

I dream of a man. I imagine him as being tall, not necessarily a gorgeous guy but a man with nice smiling eyes and an easy laughter

I imagine him as he walks past me in the hallway reaching for me, pulling me to him and squeezing my butt between his hands and kissing me.

I see me standing at the sink washing dishes. He is coming in the door from washing my car. Still wet and hot from the outdoors. He walks up behind me and puts his wet arms around me and in each hand grabs a boob and massages them, while pushing into my butt with his crotch.

As I begin to turn toward him, he takes my face in his hands and pulls me to him and kisses me with the yearning a man might have for something to drink after being lost in the desert. His tongue finds mine and kisses me that deep kiss that only can be appreciated by two people who have that one special bond.

By the time supper is eaten and showers are taken, we both know what is next for us. We’ve been headed this direction all day. Our big bed, so soft and warm, is just the right place for two passionate people like us. He lights one candle, peels his underwear off and hesitates just long enough to give me a good look at what I am about to enjoy, then he crawls in bed and immediately turns me over onto my belly so he can run his lips across that most sensitive part of my neck. From that point on he has my motor running. In the end, we drift off to sleep, tangled in each others arms, hot, sticky.

Every day, he appreciates my femininity. In some way whether it be grabbing my ass, or kissing my breast while I am dressing in the mornings, he shows me how much he enjoys my body even with its’ flaws.

He knows I don’t want flowers. He doesn’t have to worry about buying me jewelry. A phone call during the day to tell me he loves me is worth all the diamonds in the world. He knows my contentment comes from our love and our passion and the bond we possess.