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Dream Post...sort of private (re: erotic). Read at own risk.
I've been having these dreams lately. I don't know what they mean, or even if they necessarily mean anything at all, but they're so vivid and they keep recurring over and over. Normally, I don't dream about men per-say, or anything of this type, and really, these dreams are quite tame for me, but they are endlessly arousing. I just don't even know what to think about them anymore.
They involve this man, Clarence, the fiddler for Lenahan, and they usually start out innocently enough--start being operative. We talk about music, mostly: when he learned to play, what it's like to be in a band, what we both like to listen to. It's a pleasant enough dream up to that point, and some times I've woken up there, very pleased.
But other times, it keeps going, and he starts playing his violin. I have enough trouble with real live people who play their string instruments, all hands and fast fingers and passion, but in the dream I'm watching raptly and he's so close and it starts getting to me, making me squirm and breathe unevenly.
And he starts noticing, casting little looks out of the corner of his eyes, gripping the neck of his violin tighter than he should; it's maddening. He cuts a note off without warning and then he's on me, kissing me hard and deep and I'm helpless but for the hands clutching at his shoulders, trying to keep myself from toppling over.
There's barely enough time for him mumble out You like this for all the violinists? and my No, God, s'just your hands before he has my jeans undone and his fingers slipped under my panties, touching me, making me moan.
I can feel how hard he is against my leg, hot and straining, and I unbutton his trousers and slip my hand into his pants, wrapping my fingers around him and pulling. We're kissing again, harder and a little more desperate, all teeth and tongue and wet.
He puts his musician's hands to good use as we kiss: stroking and pushing everything just right with long fingers and making small noises in his throat that burn me straight through. I'm as good as done when he bites my neck and comes hot and sticky over my fingers, and its enough to push me over the edge into an unstoppable, powerful orgasm that leaves me gasping.
Inevitably, I wake up soon after, wet and wanting. Which is not necessesarily a bad thing.
The only problem is that I will never be able to listen to a violin again without becoming helplessly aroused.
They involve this man, Clarence, the fiddler for Lenahan, and they usually start out innocently enough--start being operative. We talk about music, mostly: when he learned to play, what it's like to be in a band, what we both like to listen to. It's a pleasant enough dream up to that point, and some times I've woken up there, very pleased.
But other times, it keeps going, and he starts playing his violin. I have enough trouble with real live people who play their string instruments, all hands and fast fingers and passion, but in the dream I'm watching raptly and he's so close and it starts getting to me, making me squirm and breathe unevenly.
And he starts noticing, casting little looks out of the corner of his eyes, gripping the neck of his violin tighter than he should; it's maddening. He cuts a note off without warning and then he's on me, kissing me hard and deep and I'm helpless but for the hands clutching at his shoulders, trying to keep myself from toppling over.
There's barely enough time for him mumble out You like this for all the violinists? and my No, God, s'just your hands before he has my jeans undone and his fingers slipped under my panties, touching me, making me moan.
I can feel how hard he is against my leg, hot and straining, and I unbutton his trousers and slip my hand into his pants, wrapping my fingers around him and pulling. We're kissing again, harder and a little more desperate, all teeth and tongue and wet.
He puts his musician's hands to good use as we kiss: stroking and pushing everything just right with long fingers and making small noises in his throat that burn me straight through. I'm as good as done when he bites my neck and comes hot and sticky over my fingers, and its enough to push me over the edge into an unstoppable, powerful orgasm that leaves me gasping.
Inevitably, I wake up soon after, wet and wanting. Which is not necessesarily a bad thing.
The only problem is that I will never be able to listen to a violin again without becoming helplessly aroused.