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It Was Just A Dream

I woke in a pool of my own sweat.  It took seconds to clear the fog in my head and make sense of what happened during my sleep.  I tried to convince myself it was the best wet dream of my life, but it wasn’t.  It was the worst nightmare ever.

The dream slowly came back to my conscious mind in a slow wave.  The memories forced themselves through the fog.   With each image becoming clearer, I realized I was crying.  Tears.   Real tears.  Streaming in tandem down my cheeks and onto the sheets of my bed.  I realize I am sobbing uncontrollably.  I tell myself it was just a dream.

I spent the day trying to shake the images from my mind.  I told myself it would never happen in real life.  Never.  The entire day was spent in sadness and worry.  How could he have done this to me?  What reason would he have?  I found no answers.  Then it happened.

The text for me to come over.  The hour spent watching TV and making comments about the happenings of the world.  The walk up the stairs, the order to remove my clothing.  The instant and natural way we fall into the same position that feels like a second skin as we wrap our limbs around each other and touch every part our bodies together as closely as possible.  His hands on my body.  His beard lightly scratching my neck.  His voice whispering, he missed my tits.  His breath as he falls softly to sleep.  His gentle way of waking me by a soft squeeze of those missed tits and his hand searching for the warmth and wetness between my legs.  How he rubs and pulls and holds me close as I writhe in his arms.  How he leads my mouth to his cock and allows me to make him hard with my tongue.  How we fall back into our cuddle position and wrap each other up and drift again to gentle sleep.  Unlike the sleep, I had the night before.

Yes, it was just a dream.

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