And my body twists as orgasm grabs me and carries me to the pleasure that only he gives.
 
Waking from that kind of dream can be pleasurable or leave you feeling down.  For me, this one was a pleasure.  I guess because I didn’t leave it there.  Wet dreams are often the precursor of the sexual desire we all try to keep suppressed during the day, and this one was a doozy.  You know the feeling you get when you’ve been trying to put off, or postpone something?  How everything gets more intense?  Well…

It had been a long time since there had been time for me to think about anything except work and the day to day problems that we all endure. That special morning my eyes just didn’t want to open.  The languor that gripped my body kept clinging, no matter how much my mind told me it was time to get up and get going.  Darkness still held the quiet room in its firm grip. The bed was so soft, the cover warm and I was sleepy.  Deep and slow, each breath stirred the lock of hair that had fallen over my face.  Lying there on my back, I could feel the sheet brushing my breasts as my chest rose and fell. It felt different than normal. The light cotton had taken on the essence of satin and my nipples began to harden. They were becoming sensitive, so receptive to the light touch.  Tendrils of awareness drifted from them to other parts of my body making me aware of an ache, an ache that demanded fulfillment.  To ignore that demand was more than I could do.

I slid my arms under the blankets, down into the warm cocoon of body and cover. My right hand rested on my tummy as the fingers of my left began an exploration of a breast. The skin was smooth as my fingers brushed across until I came to the aureole. So soft just before the swelling of the nipples. My right hand mimicked the left on the other breast, gently pinching the nubs, tugging, pulling, feeling the shocks that raced from each to my groin. Nearly painful in intensity, I still couldn’t stop.

The pressure built. My eyes remained closed as my thoughts wove a fantasy, not in words but in pictures. The man of my dreams in flashes of memories. The way he turned his head to look at me. The sight of his strong hands as they lay on my creamy flesh. His strong physique, ready to make love to me, wanting to take me to paradise.

My hands traveled across my belly imitating the moves his hands would have made. Fingers splayed to touch as much of my body as I could reach; I paused at my navel to run a fingernail around that depression. Another shock sped from