Don’t ask, I won’t tell

The other night, I dreamt I was staying at…, well let us just say the house of a certain female. And in this dream, in the middle of the night, she crawled into my bed; naked and glorious!
(I know that’s redundant. All women, when naked, are glorious. But I digress.)
Warm, and wonderful, I remember her pretty face. The warmth of her soft, smooth skin; the feel of her ample br...in my hands.
(okay, maybe not quite as ample in real life, but this is a dream.)

I was thinking about the dream, as I walked the dog this morning. This is one of those things that you just don’t tell a person. Especially her. For I am certain that if she knew I had a dream where we…, well she would probably spend the next few hours trying to scrub off the imaginary taint of where I might have touched her.

What is most amusing is that she was the subject of a dream. For in real life, it would never happen. I am just not her type. But that’s okay. It’s better that way. We know who we are. We know and respect each other’s personal boundaries, know which lines we will never cross. And is because of them, we can be friends. Friends without all that sex stuff getting in the way.

Which means we can be friends for a long time.