"We agreed. If I won, you'd marry me someday."
"Why'd you wanna marry me, anyhow?" I ask.
"So, I can do this for the rest of our lives," he stops walking with me in his arms, his radiant blue-green eyes flickering between my eyes and lips as the ons...
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You get sex dreams.
And then you get sex, sex dreams. If you know, you know. But I'll explain for those who don't.
The first is the usual sex dream you'll randomly have. It's just a sex dream that happens but you wake up feeling close to nothing. There's nothing significant about it. Nothing intense, nothing extraordinary.
It has you feeling some kind of way. You feel breathless and close to climax. You feel hot and bothered. Your heart is pumping and racing with need. Your skin is clammy, your pussy is clenching and pulsating, and you find yourself wishing for that dream to be your reality.
You'll feel compelled to slip your fingers underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. At that point, you think you're still going to tease yourself to intensify your orgasm, but you'll notice how sensitive you are.
The moment your fingers make contact with your clit, you might gasp in surprise, and you'll be enticed to finish yourself off replaying the vivid sexual dream.
The orgasmic release will come within minutes, if not seconds.
And no, this isn't a how to guide. This isn't an instruction manual.
This is just me speaking from experience.
It's happened to me multiple times. More times than I'd like to admit but it's happened.
A few times I was fortunate, I had Justin there to rigorously satiate me until my legs felt like jelly. Right now, is a different story.
I'm in a car with a fifty-eight-year-old man singing along to Baby Shark, bobbing his head, and I'm trying not to show my frustration. "You really like this song?"
"I do but I used to despise it," he smiles fondly as I rest my arms against the corners of the front seats. "Last week Jessy played it for the twins, and I swear I saw Abigail smile. Her small lips tugged up in the corners and it's the most precious thing."
"Now you love it 'cause of the memory?"
"Yes. It's a fond memory I'll treasure for the rest of my life."
I sit back, not wanting to tell him babies only really start smiling at six weeks or older. "That's beautiful, Alfred. I never knew you were so sentimental."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," he chuckles.
"We should change that," I lean forward once more. "We're going to become best friends still," I beam. "You'll see," I give his shoulder a buddy tap, and I lean back. I stare at my hands in my lap, and I twiddle my thumbs, tapping my foot before leaning forward again.
