Is it all right to dream about people and our ideas about them and us if we ever had the chance? My eighteen-year-old daughter had a visitor recently, a lifelong friend. I have always thought her beautiful with her not traditionally pretty but interesting face and a smile that lights up the world. As she sits chatting to us both I find it hard not to imagine peeling the figure-hugging top from her body to reveal the tiny bra that struggles to contain her magnificent rounded and perfectly proportioned breasts.

I have dreamed of the softness of her skin on that firm flesh and how her pink nipples would feel in my mouth as I suckle one at a time. Her firm athletic stomach is flat and perfect. I think of slowly lowering the loose-fitting stylish tracksuit bottoms to a point where the thong that is nestled between her perfect cheeks and is hugging her no doubt shaved pussy comes into view and it causes me to salivate. My mind wanders to where she is laid before me naked, legs spread wide, chest heaving, and I can luxuriate in the wetness between her silken thighs with my tongue.

Is it also all right to dream of one of the delicious younger T-gurls that I enjoy looking at on this site? The attraction of firm male flesh is strong nowadays and I delight in the sight, particularly video, of such creatures. Often dressed as young women but sexually equipped as strong young men with beautifully soft hairless skin, delightfully firm rounded bottoms, shaved balls, and magnificent stiff cocks. Then with just a hint of breast too, they make an alluring sight to my aging eyes.

I had the pleasure of enjoying the bodies of young women in my younger days but now such stimulation fades and my interests are elsewhere. The idea of laying between the legs of a naked young man, his cock stiff and expectant with the merest hint of precum at the tip, my tongue and mouth aching to pleasure him to the point of orgasm is frequent but sadly remains unfulfilled.

Is it all right to wave almost daily at the woman near my home who walks with her dog? She is maybe fifty years old, strong, and seemingly independent. She has a pretty face and a ready smile that broadens whenever we meet by chance. She seems to always dress in the same style and I am often treated to the thrill of spotting unsupported breasts with nipples that fight against her tee-shirt when there is a chill.

How I wonder, would it be to lift that tee-shirt and slowly drag my tongue across her chest? How firm would those pert breasts feel cupped in my trembling hands? She never wears skirts so I yearn to know if she wears anything beneath her loose trousers. I long to unbutton her camos and let them drop to the floor so I can inhale the musk of her pussy as she leans back against a tree in the woods where we have met. Where could it lead? Nirvana for us both?

Is it all right to wonder about the tall, fit man of forty-something where I sometimes work? The man who from the first was so friendly and chatty. Was it just me or is he the same with everyone he meets anew? Did he feel the strange pull that I experienced the first time I saw him, an unfamiliar attraction to those strong features and slim build?

Does he sometimes lay in his bed wondering, as I do, how it would be if we should by chance meet in a bar one evening, chat, accidentally touch a thigh and linger maybe a little too long but not mind? Does he wonder how it would be if his offer of a coffee after the bar led us to his home and our eventually tumbling into his bed together, naked, to explore each other’s bodies? Does he wonder how it would feel to have his cock slowly penetrate me with my full and joyful encouragement?

I believe it is all right to dream. Why should we not? Are your dreams similar to mine? Do tell.