On occasion, I find myself the helpless victim (and I use that term lightly) of a filthy dream. You know the kind—you wake up with a start, disoriented and a bit tense, breathing fast while you feel that familiar pleasant ache between your legs. It’s the pulse of someone who has just cum in their sleep.
This morning I woke up late, in that exact state. This dream was about you.
It was erotic from the beginning, it got right to the point. While soaking and playing with myself in the hotel bathtub, you were at the sink in front of the mirror while I watched you from behind. You were older than me by at least 15 years, judging by some grey hairs on your head and body. That alone drove me even crazier with desire.
You turned around and approached me while I sat up, our eyes locking while the steaming water and bubbles ran down my body. I was ready for whatever you had to offer, and you were more than ready to give it to me.