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While I was Dreaming
Welcome to The Dreamery. There have been a few changes, but my blog is still simply a random series of Thoughts and fantasies, examining my past and my impossible future. Nothing on this blog is a lie. When I say nothing that follows is made up you can be sure it is the truth. Even the dreams are real dreams that I have had . And all the fantasies are my real fantasies.

There are however some questions which may never be answered:
Is it possible to actually laugh your arse off?
How sick is a parrot?
Are sandboys truly happy?
And just how mad is a box of frogs anyway?

And mostly, I do have it all in perspective!
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Sexy Nervous
Posted:Jan 11, 2017 10:12 am
Last Updated:Jan 13, 2017 3:10 am

I admitted she made me feel nervous. Younger women don't necessarily know what that means, but over thirty-five or forty you might just as well say, "you are gorgeous and I think I might be falling in love with you."

I mean, I am reasonably confident in most situations. I know what I am good and bad at and mostly what my faults are. But I still suffer, occasionally, from that lovely feeling of being a bit tongue-tied when I am faced with someone I am instantly attracted to. When I was younger I hated it, but now it feels good in a breathless kind of way.

Even more exciting is when I can tell she feels nervous too.

But there is a special quality to it. It doesn't happen every time I fancy someone. I can't quite put my finger on it - maybe someone reading this can describe it better than I can, but it has to do with the level of instant connection and the amount of sex in the attraction I think.

Her name was Emily Gainsborough, but sadly, I was just dreaming again. I had been out for coffee in Oxford with my niece. (Don't ask me why Oxford, I don't go there very often, although it is a town I know quite well. ) Anyway, I suddenly realised I had to go to a business meeting, which, incidentally turned out to be in a big modern office building in London, a short walk sixty miles away. (it's a dream remember.)

So I realise I am A ) late, and B ) wearing very casual clothes rather than a business suit. There isn't time to change, so I decide I can wing it, explaining that I had to meet my niece and didn't have time to change. (! ) I walk up to reception, tell them I am here to see Emily Gainsborough, (? ) and they tell me to take a seat. I am still waiting when a Lady Gaga sort of woman breezes through, singing. Her name is River Punk apparently. Clearly this is a diversion, and anyway before I can wonder what she is doing in a big London lawyer's office, another absolutely stunning woman walks in. Late thirties, dark hair tied back in a sort of loose pony tail, tight A-line drop-dead-red skirt just above the knee. I can't help staring. She looks at me and stares too, saying nothing.

I say, "You can't possibly be the person I am meeting?"
"Try me."
"Emily Gainsborough?"
"You must be Dreamer."

Long silence.

"I'm so sorry I'm not properly dressed, " I say, thinking: properly dressed, you total idiot. "I had to meet my niece and I haven't had time to change. " That sounds worse!
But then, she says something stupid too, (I can't remember what ) and I realise she is also tongue tied.

"I'm sorry, you are making me nervous, " I admit, because I know she will know what I mean.
"Me too."

What a rush. The dream carries on, gradually descending into eroticism. But, as with so many of mine, the key is that deeper interconnection of minds. Okay, as well as her fantastic body. We decided to get the business out of the way quickly and then go out for lunch. The rest is bedroom certified.

I know I know, my dreams sound ridiculously vivid, but that was really what it was like. And I woke up realising that the nervous feeling you get when you like someone enough to worry about saying the wrong thing is actually quite rare, and worth savouring.

It's also the most delightful give away, but without having to risk any awkward rejection either way.
Is it Possible to Actually Laugh your Arse off?
Posted:Jan 4, 2017 3:04 am
Last Updated:Jan 5, 2017 9:28 am

I was going to pose the question "why don't I like the word 'conumdrum' " as I mentioned it in a recent post, but then I thought, here are these age old unanswered questions on the header page of my blog, and why don't we examine them in more detail?

So, Question 1: Is it possible to actually laugh your arse off?

I am not going to research medical evidence here - I will leave that to rainbowsox if they ever come back up for air, because that seems to be their bag, to dredge up an old expression. But I expect they, or perhaps Marysia would be able to find some internet story of mirth induced prolapse somewhere, and that's as close as I want to get. Anyway, technically that would only be laughing your arse out.

But that whole phenomena of the all-out-belly-laugh is an odd one. It's something that happens to me a lot less these days and I miss it. Not that I am unhappy, I'm not, and I still laugh often, but it is in a dryer, more wryly amused way rather than actually ROTFLMAO. I'm not sure why this is.

I remember student days when a simple quip by a friend could send us into endless giggles, gasping and clasping our sides. Or watching movies. When Arthur looked up at the stuffed head on the wall and said to Mr Johnson, "You must have hated this moose," it made me properly laugh out loud. Now I just chuckle at Seinfeld, but I still think some of his scenes are the funniest TV ever. I don't know, maybe when you get older you've heard them all before.

Thoughts anyone?
Christmas, Actually
Posted:Dec 21, 2016 4:10 am
Last Updated:Nov 22, 2018 7:46 am

I love the opening voice-over lines of the film "Love Actually." Something along the lines of "people say nowadays the world is full of greed and hate, but in fact if you look for it, you will find that that love, actually, is all around you."

I can be grumpy and pissed off with life as much as the next guy. Well, perhaps not quite as much as the next guy, because there are some pretty dreadful things some of the next guys out there have been doing, but we won't go into that, and you know what I mean. But deep down, I like to look for the best in things, and I try to remember to look for the best in people. (What I really love is when I come across one of those people in whom you don't have to look for the best, it is just there, staring at you wide eyed and wonderful. )

So as I look forward to another wonderful Christmas spending time with people I love, as always I wanted to say hello here to some of the bloggers I know, and who, whatever else is going on in the world, are here so that I can love them too.

Sexysixties - Thanks for nearly always being the first to comment on my blog. I feel I should ask if there is any subject or theme you would like me to write about! Maybe it would inspire me to recapture the Old Dreamer!

RainbowSox – It's quiet round here without a regular. Blog. From. You. I know you've both been busy, but come back soon, Blogland needs you. Meanwhile, I hope you are both as happy as ever, and have a great Christmas. It will be okay as long as someone else is cooking!

Wildfire – Somehow I always feel warm inside whenever I think of you Wild. In a weird kind of blog way, you are always there for me, even when you aren't around much, if that makes any sense. I genuinely think of you often and wonder how you are getting on, and I wish you the Happiest of Christmases.

Marshamaybe - I can't describe in a short Christmas message how much I have enjoyed reading your blog this year. It always interests me even when it is about nothing. A fascinating glimpse into a different kind of life, in a part of the world I would love to be closer to, and a reminder of a happy time driving through Canmore and out towards Field and then Jasper. You have been quiet lately, and I really hope that doesn't mean you are going to stop blogging, as I would love to keep hearing about your life. I bet is snows round your way every Christmas.

BiggLala - I don't know if you will be dropping by here this Christmas, but if you do, season's greetings, and thanks for getting me thinking about stuff this year.

Author51 - Your blog has kept me interested in blogging this year and I hope you keep "spreading the Joy."

Amakamaria – I'm sorry we didn't manage to catch up recently. I keep meaning to, but sleep gets in the way! Let's talk soon. I love you, you know that right?

Violette - I am always excited whenever I see you have a new post up. Sadly not that often any more. But I don't forget you, and sometimes I try to write a bit like you, and it makes me smile..

Oldhabits – I'm still trying to catch up with what's going on in your head / life, but I can't imagine it is going to be any less interesting or exciting when you move to Hawaii! I can't wait.

Zandigal – If you're here, then Happy Christmas Z, if not then I wish I lived in Jax. so I could drop by and give you a merry one in person. (I wouldn't bother following the Jaguars at the moment though, if I did live in Jax. lol. ) Don't stay away too long, 'cause I love you and your blog and I miss it.

Marysia – I'm glad you still drop by to read my increasingly boring blogs! And I can always rely on yours for a laugh. Merry Christmas, and as always please say hello to your sister for me and wish her well.

Stormyroses. - You've been quiet this year? I know you haven't been very well, so if you happen by, I hope you are feeling better, and have a really good Christmas. I love hearing from you,

Hippiechick – Another “Merry Christmas, Dude,” to you, if you happen to pass by. I know it wasn't that long ago you were here for a moment, but otherwise, I miss seeing your posts.

Your name is Kay – I mean MyNameisKay - you know what I mean. Hi. Happy New Year, lol.

To everyone else who drops by, and any old friends who might be just saying a once in a while hello - (Bubbles, Syndarella, Passion, skierchick, mostwantonwench, peter, oh heavens I hope I haven't forgotten anyone....redrose?) thanks for being part of ,my life, and I hope to see more of you soon,

Love and Happy Christmas,
My Night with Nicole
Posted:Dec 12, 2016 12:05 pm
Last Updated:Dec 19, 2019 9:18 am

I dreamt I met Nicole Sherzinger at a business function - it was very convincing: she was there to present an award. Anyway we got talking and I told her how much I liked her voice and her sense of humour, trying not to mention how much I liked the rest of her as well, spilling out of a number of openings in a skin tight dress. She looked Sher-mazing. I would have been spilling out myself if my openings had been less firmly fastened. She asked me a lot of questions about what I do for a living. It seemed there was a chance that she might want to employ my professional services......

It was extraordinary, but we were getting on really well. She said she really liked the way I talked about things that mattered, not like most men who were only interested in getting her into bed. I told her I probably would have behaved differently if hadn't been trying to be professional, as after all it was a business function, and of course anyway, I knew perfectly well I didn't have any chance with her, so it was easier not to be distracted.
"Oh there's always a chance," she said.
She said "Why don't you try asking me if I would like to go for a drink with you so we can talk some more after I have finished here?" So I asked and she said, "well I'd have to go back to my hotel and change into something a bit less noticeable first, but yeah, okay, I'd like that."

I could hardly breathe.

Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me.

So we went back to her hotel, but before we went inside, she said, "You'll have to wait in the bar and have a drink or something - if the paparazzi see us together they'll be watching you and we'll never be able to get away."

So I sat in the bar while she went upstairs. Part of me was thinking, bloody hell, I'm going to be sitting here for half the night now, and she won't be coming back down. But deep down I knew it was going to be alright. We had had an incredible connection - we really liked each other - something special was happening. After about ten minutes I was glancing towards the door when another wonderful looking woman walked in. Tall, long dark hair, fabulous figure, dressed in jeans and a T shirt. She glanced round the room, fortunately without seeing me staring at her, and then walked up to the bar. My eyes followed her. As if sensing my gaze she looked in my direction. I grinned, and holy macaroni, she grinned back, and started walking over. I couldn't believe it. There I was, sitting in a posh hotel bar, waiting for Nicole Sherzinger for goodness sake, and here was another fantastically sexy woman coming over to talk to me. What the hell was going on tonight?

"Okay, you still want to go out?" she asked me.

I had worked it out by now, but it still took me a while to say anything. "Yes," was all I could manage.
"I'm sorry I'm looking so plain," she said, "but it's the only way not to get recognised. An awful lot of men want to go out with Nicole Sherzinger from the Pussy Cat Dolls, but not very many are so keen on plain old Nikki Valiente from Louisville. So I wanted to check you wouldn't have changed your mind."
"Are you joking?" I asked. "You have just gone from drop dead gorgeous, to "Oh-my-God-get-me-one-of-those-absolutely-right-now-irresistible."
She smiled, looking straight into my eyes like a sex-crazed grown-up schoolgirl. "Ask, and the Lord shall provide," she said. Then she leaned in, snaked one long arm around my neck and placed her other hand on my chest, and kissed me like it might be going to save her life..

Then I woke up.

I knew I shouldn't have been watching the X Factor.
How A Woman Can Understand a Man
Posted:Dec 6, 2016 4:38 am
Last Updated:Dec 12, 2016 12:30 am

Bigglala set me thinking. (I bet I am not the only person to have had that happen. )

She had a post up recently which digressed off into wondering about the perceived differences between men and women's attitudes to sex. Her parting words were, " I do my best to understand................but boy is it tough."

This set me thinking..........

Like her, I always try to understand what is going on, what someone's motivation and desire is about, where it comes from. And from my own point of view, I always think what I crave most from other people is to be understood. But now that I have actually stopped to think about it, in a high proportion of what I would consider the deepest and most intensely satisfying sexual relationships I have had in life, I really didn't understand the woman I was with at all. In fact in the case of The Lioness, for sure, her unfathomableness was definitely part of the charm. And in that amazing relationship, I felt able to be totally myself, not to worry about what she thought, because although didn't I understand all that much of it, what I knew was that we wanted to be together above all else, and that was all that mattered. And I didn't even mind that I didn't really know why she wanted to be with me - the fact that she wanted me was enough. Over time, although I never did understand her in any logical way, I got her on a more fundamental, basic level, rather than being able to consciously rationalise her personality.

"He's a complicated man, and no one understands him but his woman......"

I have a friend who is going through a mess with her husband. We've been friends for a long time, before she met him. She sometimes asks me (as do other female friends ) for my masculine perspective on his motives. Sometimes I can give one. Sometimes I can only say, well, that's what I would be thinking, but of course I am not him, and people say sometimes I think like a woman. But what I don't say, at least not in such blunt words, is that sometimes I wonder whether the problem is not that she doesn't understand him, or that he doesn't love her enough, but just that she doesn't really love him enough. If she did, maybe she wouldn't need to understand. That's the vision which goes through my mind when I listen to "Shaft." He's a complicated man, but he's got this woman who just gets him. It's not that she really understands him any better than anyone else, it is more that she doesn't need to.

We don't like it when our dogs stop to eat some old rotting piece of crap they find lying about. We don't understand it at all. It doesn't stop us loving them though.

Perhaps, though it goes against the grain for me, what I need is to just be really instinctively close to someone, but maybe I don't necessarily need to completely understand them......Maybe that might apply to more people than just me.
The River, re-posted
Posted:Dec 5, 2016 5:03 am
Last Updated:Dec 12, 2016 12:29 am

Someone asked me recently if I had ever been "out into nature naked" and although the short answer is no, (it isn't often warm enough round here, and although I am not shy about my body, somehow it isn't something I ever really think of doing, ) there was one time I did get naked in the Great Outdoors, and as I blogged the story once, long ago when no one we know here now other than Zandi, Ama, and The Girl Who Read Everything was reading, I thought I would re-post it here for anyone who might be interested. Also it gives an idea of what my blog was like back then, when I was feeling more sentimental and had aspirations to be a more romantic/erotic writer..........

None of what follows is made up

It was summer. Not the hottest of summers, but sunny, at least on that day. It was a very long time ago, and it was almost our first time. Our very first time will never be written about, it was just for us, and always will be, even today. But this time was not so very long afterwards.

Our parents approved of our relationship, I think they knew we loved each other, but they would not have approved of us having sex. It was separate bedrooms for all visits during the holidays. But like teenagers everywhere we found ways....

My long square ended flat-bottomed fishing-punt lay in a friend's boat house a short walk away on the banks of the river Thames. What could be more innocent than a picnic on the river?

I cleaned the boat thoroughly two days before. I lined the bottom with off-cuts of carpet from the attic, and I added old cushions and, secretly, a couple of pillows and a soft blanket. And when Lizzy arrived that morning I announced to my mother that I was taking her out on the river.
"Very romantic," she told us with a smile, and we blushed and looked embarrassed. But Lizzy shot me a glance which went straight in at my eyes and grabbed me somewhere else altogether. She knew without being told what I had planned.

If you take a boat out on the middle Thames, somewhere between Reading and Marlow, you will find yourself in another world. There may be pretty Berkshire towns and villages at intervals along the banks, interspersed with open flood-plain fields of grazing, and millionaires' houses here and there. London may be only forty-five minutes drive away along the old M4 motorway, and the traffic of life may be bustling about you away from the river banks, but on the water all is serene. Even the pleasure-boats and gin palaces, which would look more at home anchored in Miami harbour, just drift slowly by from time to time, working at a different pace of life from the rest of the world.

I rowed past trees and houses, an island - overgrown and uninhabited in the middle of the river - and we relaxed and talked about the things teenagers talk about when they are together alone. I no longer remember what that was. In a while we came to a place I felt as if only I knew about. A back-water, off the main river, only wide enough for a small narrow boat and overhung on both sides by trees and brambles. I had discovered it years ago as a boy out looking for secret places to go fishing. It had never produced the goods then, but it was going to now, and Lizzy began to look at me with those eyes. She was so sexy. The old idea that nice girls didn't had gone out of my head completely, right from the very first time eighteen months earlier that I put the palm of my hand on her breast and she had made a noise that sounded like "Mmmnnnnnnn," and had told me not to stop.

I poled the boat down the narrow channel with an oar until the stream widened slightly and a larger tree overhung the water. Dappled sunshine played on the glassy surface of the river and we tied the boat either end to a convenient low branch. We were completely hidden from the world.

She wore a starched white business shirt, probably one of her father's, and a flowing flowery skirt with a white lace hem which was the fashion of that year. She lay back on the cushions as I put the oars on the bank and knelt in front of her. I put a hand either side of her head and kissed her, the way we had kissed so many times before. For eighteen months we had learned every way to have sex together except one, but for a month now, she had been taking the contraceptive pill and today she wanted me to come in her. It was not going to be your average teenage first time. For one thing, as I said earlier, it was not our first. But for another we had learned from each other already most of what we were ever going to learn about sex, and she kissed me with a hunger born of the anticipation of ecstasy.

I looked into her dark eyes, shining with love and desire, her slightly full lips so soft and kissable and I felt my self falling into a world of tongues and teeth and fingers. I unbuttoned the crisp cloth of her shirt and freed her breasts from the bra they did not need, my lips roamed from her neck to her nipples, bringing all her senses awake. She breathed deeply in contentment as I followed a path I knew would lead her towards what the French call the little death. I wanted so much to please her before I went any further but after a while she took the lead, unbuttoning my jeans and saying gently,
"Just do it_____" (She said my name, as I wasn't called Dreamer then,) and pulling me towards her. I took my time, it was difficult not to come much too soon, but gradually I worked my way gently into her. She lifted her hips and helped me, searching for the angles which would ease me in and make her thrill to the feel of me, but which neither of us knew much about yet. At last I was inside her, I felt as if I was part of her. The feeling we all know was so new to me then and I gasped as I pulled out a little and then pushed all the way back in.

She knew my face well enough to know what was about to happen, but rather than asking me to hold back, perhaps out of desire, perhaps to reassure me, she looked straight in my eyes and whispered, "Come for me now," and I did, months of passion bursting out of me suddenly, making her as smooth as silk inside, and I rocked in her, both of us gasping happily and holding each other, finally knowing we were alive.

We re-arranged our clothing. It turned out to be not a moment too soon as about five minutes later two canoeists paddled by. For all we knew they could have been selling tickets earlier - I don't think we would have even noticed. We ate our picnic, drank a baby bottle of champagne she had bought and cooled in the river, then we slowly rowed back to the boathouse and drifted home hand in hand. My mother welcomed us with tea in the garden.

I'm sure we both thought that to the world we looked completely innocent. But to me she looked like the most wonderful woman on the earth, her face glowed with satisfaction and pride, I couldn't stop grinning, and under my jeans the white skin of my buttocks was already beginning to sting from un-accustomed exposure to too much sunshine!
Or Has Time Re-written Every Line?
Posted:Nov 29, 2016 10:13 am
Last Updated:Dec 2, 2016 7:34 am

Neuro-scientists working with the latest brain scanning technology have theorised that memory does not work quite how we used to think. It may be that when we experience the feeling of remembering something, what we are really doing is recalling the thoughts we had the last time we remembered that event or information. In other words, like saving a document to your computer, what remains as current is only an updated re-write of what was there before.

Or to put it another way, you might accurately save a new file which is identical to the original, or you might save it with some amendments, large or small. But on any subsequent re-opening of the file, unless a note explaining that the content had been altered were included in the re-write, the information contained in it would, to you, appear to be fact.

This might explain a lot. How two honest people can remember the same event differently. Why older people believe that their memory of event from their youth has improved with age -as they do less, they may spend more time "remembering" events from long ago, so details get filled in. Why the winters were warmer, and smiles were......bright.

But, referring back to my earlier post on memory (strangely titled "I don't like reggae" although I can't remember why, ) this worries me. For example I know some of the memories I have previously written about, often introduced with the words "nothing that follows is made up" may have been embellished for the sake of the story. Nothing was made up, but perhaps not all the tiny details are accurate. How can I now know? I know I tired to remember everything that mattered, and tell the story for real. But over twenty years those stories have played over in my head many times. The events are now as written.

We spend a lot of time learning to trust and understand our feelings, but now am I to believe that my memories can mislead me?

What's too painful to remember, we simply choose to forget.

But this can't be the whole story. Sometimes something happens which triggers something which hasn't been in the front of my mind for a long time. Like the photograph of that tree on the Scottish island. Those memories were fresh, but have I now addend something to them?

Perhaps it is a good lesson. Memories can be good or bad, but whether they are traumas which haunt us, or happy times we long for, they are never what drives the present. And the present is the only moment we can actually inhabit, the only time we can change. I'm not always so good at remembering that.
Dream Sex Folied by Rampant Lesbians
Posted:Nov 21, 2016 9:26 am
Last Updated:Nov 28, 2016 1:01 pm

I'm really not at all happy with the Rainbowsox.

Let me set the scene. A party. Not one of those full on wanna-be nightclub parties, not a dinner party either, but one of those easy-going-get-together-but-nothing-formal type evenings, with loads of people who all know each other. Food, some music and some people dancing, but the music not too loud, plenty of chance for conversation too. And imagine my surprise where there at the party I meet my long lost and all time most gorgeous ex girlfriend, known to anyone who has been reading my blog all these years as The Lioness. Looking as cock-throbbingly amazing as ever, steely blue eyes and perfect tits and all. Plus, she is coming over to me with a big hug, as hot as a volcano, and taking me aside to sit and chat. It turns out she has been having relationship troubles, is now single, and thinks maybe we should be seeing more of each other again.

I am utterly gob-smacked. But she says we should just stay in touch and "see what happens."

However, as the evening goes on, neither of us seems to be talking to anyone else very much, and by the time people are drifting away and the party is winding down, I am perfectly certain that if I want to sleep with her we can. And of course I don't need to tell any of you that this strikes me as a seriously good idea. The woman understands me almost telepathically, is as much fun as a day out at Disney and has a body which fits mine in a way which suggests she was purposely designed to my exact specifications by the world's best sex doll manufacturer. She comes like a nymphomaniac librarian and sucks cock like a velvet vacuum.

So there you have the scene. I take her by the hand and lead her to my bedroom. And there, on opening the door, I find, under the covers in my bed, E and H making love like a couple of bi curious Chicago cheerleaders. "Go away Dreamer" one of them says and kicks the door shut.

At this point the scene changes. Suddenly I am in a darkened narrow street, broken bottles and wet cardboard all around. A sinister figure comes down the street towards me, and I don't hand around to see who it is or what they want. Except my legs feel like they are stuck in some kind of gluey mess and when I try to break into a run I can't.

I know that feeling really well, and a dim message in the background is trying to get through to my brain. "What happened to The Lioness?" I think to myself, and then the message gets through. I am dreaming of course. Dreaming I was going to have sex with The Lioness.

And I would have as well if it hadn't have been for those meddling Rainbowsox !
Fuck Buddy - Miracle or Myth?
Posted:Nov 17, 2016 4:01 am
Last Updated:Jan 24, 2017 2:46 pm

I had another post planned, but a good blogging friend had a post which touched on the allure of the fuck buddy, and after posting my comment I found myself once more thinking about this long standing question. (I was going to say conumdrum, but then I found I didn't like that word, and I wasn't sure if I could spell it either. )

How often does the arrangement - whether expressly agreed, or naturally occurring - of Fuck Buddyship actually happen, and/or work satisfactorily?

Have you ever had one that worked?

The words "that worked for both sides" must I think be added here, because many men, and particularly women, will have experienced the gradually gut-sapping condition of feeling that they are really just a fuck buddy to someone with whom they would like to have a more conventional relationship. You put up with it because you like the sex, you like being with them, and you hope maybe it will change. But actually, it isn't going to change, because the reason you put up with it is because you love them, (or think you could ) and the reason they keep it like it is, is because they don't.

I have a good friend who has lived most of his adult life moving from one fuck buddy to the next, and mostly it works for him, but the reverse side of this is that even though he is always very open about what he wants, it hasn't really ever worked very well for the women who have agreed to it with him. I know a few of them, and mostly they end up feeling a bit used. I never want to do that to anyone. (He doesn't either to be fair to him either, and his girl friends do keep on agreeing to it! ) The truth is that generally, though perhaps not always, although they accept it when he says that he doesn't want a committed relationship, secretly they think he will change. He hasn't yet.

But it remains an attractive concept for some reason. Perhaps firstly because to be a fuck buddy, someone has to really get you sexually or it wouldn't happen.

And for me at least, unless there was some close affection and understanding, I don't think I would be interested in keeping it going. I couldn't just do it for sex, or at least not for very long.

I often have dreams of having a really good quality fuck buddy. I had a dream not that long ago about meeting four AdultFriendFinder bloggers at a party and one turned out to be my fuck buddy. I was going to write it as a post, but time moved on and I never bothered.....you know how it goes.... And for many years I have had dreams in which one particular fuck buddy girl turns up at intervals and totally understands what I am all about.

I suppose I did once have something like an FB relationship with an ex, a long time ago, and it worked really well for a while, but then I guess we both moved on. The only other time I thought I had one it turned into an all encompassing full on life-changing affair. Amazingly worth it, but it ended in sadness all round.

And this is where I always find I end up when I ponder this subject: I think if ever I meet a woman who strikes me as FB material, and I like her, and she wants to have a sexual relationship with me, then I would probably fall in love with her. It has happened before.
Talking to a Hottie
Posted:Oct 26, 2016 2:38 pm
Last Updated:Oct 31, 2016 3:24 am

Dreamer: Hey, you know this checkout girl's name tag says she's called "Hottie."

Me: You're crazy, that can't be her real name.

Him: Well then she must have made it up. That's sexy. It's her way of telling us she's hoping to meet a sexy man who will ask if he can come back and take her out later when her work shift finishes.

Me (looking closer) : Dreamer you're an idiot - it says "Hollie."

Him: Ahh, that makes more sense. That's a shame. She is one though.

We leave together, fortunately without having asked the checkout girl for a date. He would you know, if I let him. At least I think he would, but maybe he plays up a bit, relying on me to be the sensible one and keep him out of trouble - even he probably knows he couldn't get away with that kind of behaviour. You have to love him though, he lives in his own little fantasy world and it helps to make the day to day tasks more interesting.
I don't Like Reggae
Posted:Sep 28, 2016 3:08 pm
Last Updated:Nov 28, 2016 1:01 pm

I love it.

Of course my question in the previous post was a rhetorical one in some ways. Perhaps that is why so few people answered it.

Or it may be my blog has lost its cache, whatever that is. Or was. Anyway, as many of you know, I see nothing wrong with being a skank, in fact I have sometimes wished I could be one. Or at least be with one, ha haaaa.

But that isn't what I was going to write about. I seem to be suffering from wild enthusiasm swings lately. There is no pattern and seemingly no reason for it. One day I am all fired up and mad keen to get things done, change my life, earn lots of money, paint the house, write a book, go on a six week fishing trip, buy a new car. And then the next I am like oh bloody hell I can't be arsed I'm just going to veg out in front of the TV like Richard Gere and Julia Roberts. Only without Julia Roberts of course.

Maybe if I had Julia Roberts kicking around with her massive wide grin and hypnotic eye contact I would feel more enthusiastic. I really like her character in Notting Hill.

One thing I hate is the way I quite quickly forget things which have happened. Yes, I have some very deep memories of things which really affected me, but generally speaking I have a memory span of about two years, back before that most things are a bit of a blur really. This has been the way all my life. I first remember noticing it when I was about eighteen. (okay smart arse, yes, I can remember that. )

But it means that old, life-long friends are incredibly important to me, because they remember things. Although I have to be careful not to get too sentimental with them, because many of my friends are the quiet undemonstrative types. I play the part of the emotional one. Which with good friends seems to be fine with them, but still I have to be careful not to overdo it or all but the very few who really understand me can find it a bit too intense. Or too long winded, a bit like this post.

But sometimes someone will say something like, "remember when we went to see that band in Southampton and the singer fell off the stage and broke his arm?" and I say, "no, when was that?" And they say "you must remember Dreamer, it was in the middle of a cover version of "Nellie the Elephant" by the Toy Dolls and you jumped up on stage and finished the chorus for him." And I say, "No? Really? Are you sure that wasn't somebody else?" But then a dim memory surfaces and I suddenly go "OH YES! I remember: Gibbo Adams got so plastered he threw up in the bass bins and the whole PA shorted out" And then we all have a good laugh about the good old days. The head of the herd was calling, far far away, they met one night in the silver light on the road to Mandalay.

I was driving on a wild mountain road on the way back from the far end of nowhere I had ever been before in the north west of Scotland a week or so ago, and I drove past a pretty roadside loch with a beautifully evocative stand of pine trees on an island just off the shore and I suddenly thought, "I have been here before. On my own. When the hell can that have been?" It was like deja vu, only I knew I had definitely been there before, and I suddenly remembered I had taken a photograph, and when I got home I looked out the photograph, and it is definitely the same place, but I have absolutely no idea when or why I had driven down that road. It has gone forever. When there are important things or moments which I don't remember well, this upsets me. Although I have got used to living with it.

I find listening to HeyKelsey makes me feel nostalgic for the time when she first wrote "The Boy I love" even though I didn't even know about her songs and videos back then, and it is as if I have forgotten something, and the song reminds me, but that can't be true because I am sure I only first discovered her a couple of years ago. Everything looks perfect from far away.

I don't know why I am writing this. It all seems connected somehow, but I can't remember why.

I hope you are reading this Violette, it was pure mental free flow and I learnt it all from you, you gorgeous wanna be skank.
Why is it wrong to be a skank?
Posted:Sep 26, 2016 3:15 pm
Last Updated:Nov 17, 2016 10:40 am

Olympic Hand Job
Posted:Aug 9, 2016 1:50 pm
Last Updated:Sep 27, 2016 1:37 pm

"If she can clean it she'll jerk it - just checking her grip on the shaft."

I think they were talking about the weightlifting; I wasn't really paying attention at the time.

It's amazing how quickly the Olympics seem to have come round again. As you may remember I am a bit of a one for fantasising over athletic women. I currently have my eye on a Dutch hockey player and a German gymnast, but really it's an endless parade of sexy, breathless physical perfection and prowess.

Meanwhile, in other news, the kitchen garden at Dreamer Hall is hopping with small frogs, newly making their own way in the world after a summer tadpolling in my pond.

I love my life.

To link to this blog (hotdreamer1000) use [blog hotdreamer1000] in your messages.

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