I am awake, sitting up in bed, my straining arms reaching out…to nothing. “Nooo, please, God, noooo — bring it back!” I whimper. My entire body is trembling with need. My nipples are erect, pressing against the cotton of my nightdress, my panties are soaking wet. I am sweating — not because the night is hot and humid, but because of my arousal. I know that it is fuck sweat that trickles down between my heaving breasts.
I glance at Joseph, stirring and mumbling, “Will you settle down, woman? Go to sleep,” before drifting back into slumber. I slip from the bed and strip the sticky, wet clothes from my body, letting the night dress and panties fall to the floor. I move quietly down the hall to the bathroom and closing the door, I turn on the light. With shaky hands, I get a drink of water and then consider my image in the mirror.
The eyes of a mad woman look back at me. I have now had the dream for thirty nights in a row — a month of being so close to having my dream lover, to being fulfilled, but always in the end, interrupted. I masturbate every morning, but it does not sate my desire — my hunger, I am still in need of satisfaction. I want, no, need that cock. I know that in my heart. Until my dream lover can complete our act of love, I am left bereft and aching.
For the first time in my life, I fear I am losing my mind. This dream occupies my thoughts night and day. Each night I pray for the dream to continue to completion or to vanish and never plague me again. I do not know how much longer I can continue. I cannot make heads or tails of this.
I gaze into the mirror at myself and wonder why I can’t make my husband love me. I don’t think I’m unattractive — at least for a forty-six year old woman. Hard work and the heat of this region have kept the weight off me. As I look at my reflection, I have to smile. I have a 40DD-28-36 figure that works well for my height of five foot, eight inches. I have a little pooch to my stomach left over from having my son, but otherwise, my body is pretty firm. My breasts sag a little from gravity, but are still full and attractive. Blonde hair, blue eyes and tanned skin make me attractive, I think. I have great legs, well muscled and smooth. I don’t why I am unattractive to my husband. I often think he construes religious virtue with celibacy.
Now I wonder if his neglect has manifested into some sort of mid life crisis for me — that I am now slipping into madness with these dreams. As I stare at myself, again, my fingers find their way into my pussy, rubbing and thrusting hungrily into my wetness. My free hand cups one of my heavy breasts, stroking and pinching my hard nipple. I can almost feel my dream lover — his hands on me, his cock inside me, his mouth on my breast. In the mirror, I imagine him standing in front of me, fucking me as my legs are wrapped around his waist. I feel his mouth on my breast, sucking and biting my hard nipples, biting them as I run my hands through his blonde hair…
I open my eyes. “Blond hair?” I whisper aloud. I wobble — a little off balance, my head swimming with need. I haven’t seen my dream lover’s face. I wonder where I got the blonde hair from. I stand there in a daze for I don’t know how long. Then I hear Jeff’s clock go off and it is time for the real day to begin.