Even In My Dreams

Even in my dreams, I’m feeling little.

Whoever he was, he found me while on a business trip in some mysterious tropical location. He approached me cautiously, calmly, determinedly. Gradually I accepted his presence.

He sat next to me, always close by, without overwhelming me. He asked after my well-being. He brought me water. He made sure I remembered to eat.

In the afternoon and evening, he helped with the boys while we watched the sunset, and they played on the beach. I was unsure. I’m protective of them. I’m fearful of taking help for granted and assuming its there when it isn’t.

When confronted by business colleagues who were upset with me, he stayed by my side as I defended myself. I walked (ran, rather) from the situation. He came after me. He rubbed my back, said soothing things, and brought me chocolate.

In my dream, I felt protected and loved. When I woke up, my pussy ached and dripped, throbbing with need.

It still is.