My Sexual Fantasy

Recently, Dorkys Ramos, over at Dry As Toast had an intriguing post on "Tips for Sharing Your Sexual Fantasies."


That's my car under that lump of snow. I think we got about 16-18 inches of new snow. Now, being snowed in gives me time to fantasize. Of course, as some of you know, I struggle mightily to keep this blog rated PG, so this will be a little ... different.

Without further ado, here you go, Dorkys! :)

A big glamorous motor coach pulls down the street and silently glides to a stop by the curb near my mailbox. The door opens and a beautiful blonde woman steps out followed by about fifteen strapping, muscular guys with snow shovels. The guys quickly get to work and soon clear a narrow path through the deep snow to my front door – where the blonde rings my door bell. I open the door to see Heather Locklear smiling at me and asking if she might come in.

I stammer and gulp, and nod my head affirmative, and she strides in closing the door behind her while sensuously unzipping her arctic parka to reveal a lacy white nightie. She softly whispers into my ear, “I’m yours, do what you want with me.” I stare at her, absorbing her loveliness, inhaling her sweet scent, and run my fingers through her silky hair. I suggest a small glass of wine and she agrees, so I go to the kitchen and fumble about with the bottle and corkscrew.

It takes my trembling fingers five minutes to get the cork out of the wine bottle, and then I need to wash, rinse and dry the glasses as they haven’t used in to long as to be covered in a thick coat of dust. Finally, the bottle and glasses are ready and I take them to bedroom where Heather waits impatiently. She smiles up at me from the bed as I pour the wine. I nervously hand her a glass and make a quick toast, “Salute!” and we sip the bargain basement special that cost less than seven dollars a bottle. I think I see her wince but she quickly covers it with a brilliant smile that melts everything inside me.

Just then, there is a loud knock on the door, the fifteen strapping muscular guys have finished shoveling my driveway and its time for Heather to leave – so she quickly dons her arctic parka, the fur-lined hood framing her beautiful face, and she says, “Good bye, Iggy,” as she enters the motor coach and it speeds away trailing a small cloud of diesel smoke.

I sigh in satiated pleasure, my driveway is clear of snow.