Last night I had a crazy dream. I was a furniture artist, a sexy young girl who was not me, and at one of my art shows I met "the president." It wasn't Obama, but he was black...honestly he sorta looked like Wayne Brady. (So hot!)
The dream was very vivid following how we fell in love, even though he was married, our passion wouldn't allow us to be separated. There was erotic sex, and beautiful fucking, all very secretive. I made love to him in the shower and in a park. I savored his big black cock and the sensations. At some point the cute furniture artist merged into me and I became aware of my husband, and my infidelity. The dream took a turn and played with the idea of cuckolding my husband, forcing him to watch.
The dream was very vivid following how we fell in love, even though he was married, our passion wouldn't allow us to be separated. There was erotic sex, and beautiful fucking, all very secretive. I made love to him in the shower and in a park. I savored his big black cock and the sensations. At some point the cute furniture artist merged into me and I became aware of my husband, and my infidelity. The dream took a turn and played with the idea of cuckolding my husband, forcing him to watch.
Toward the end of the dream sequence I had the opportunity to erase our memories. I could forget the "president" and our passion. I could erase the memories of my husband, but a remembered passion... killing that, I couldn't do it.
Its amazing how sometimes a dream can be so powerful that when you wake up you feel like you cheated on your lover, haha. Some stories are meant to challenge a person, meant to cause them reason to pause and think. They offer up an emotion you would not have felt through any other way. They hurt and pierce and drive you to sensations and beauty that can transcend what you have experienced before.
Its amazing how sometimes a dream can be so powerful that when you wake up you feel like you cheated on your lover, haha. Some stories are meant to challenge a person, meant to cause them reason to pause and think. They offer up an emotion you would not have felt through any other way. They hurt and pierce and drive you to sensations and beauty that can transcend what you have experienced before.
There is a famous story about a princess who's suitor falls in love with another lady. The King places him in a gladiator-type prison with two doors, one leading to the lady he is in love with, one leading to a tiger.
The princess knows which door is which, and ultimately it is her choice - allow the suitor the woman he loves or feed him to the tiger. The story never tells which door he opens, but the suitor obeys the princess. I read this piece in college and was infuriated by the ending, simply the door opening - never finding out which way the story ended. It wasn't until years later I realized that was the purpose of the story. To force the reader the emotion of deciding on their own, to wonder, to ponder, to hurt.
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