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I could still feel my cock engulfed in a tight hole. I could hear the girl in my dream moaning as if she were right there. Maybe I had remembered the night’s events incorrectly? Did I somehow get home that night? Was I possibly in my own bed? Even possibly having sex with my wife? I was afraid to risk waking up and ending the dream. On the other hand, I would have to miss out on actively having sex if this happened to be real. I decided to chance it and wake myself up. I opened my eyes slowly, not sure if I was going to see my wife on top of me or an empty room. I shocked when I saw neither. Directly in front of me was a pair of unknown, but quite large, milky-white breasts. I looked down the silky smooth stomach and watched as the woman’s hips straddled my own and moved rhythmically back and forth over my pelvis; my penis buried deep in the woman’s womb. I looked back up the body. Her arms were extended with her hands in the middle of my chest for support. Her back was arched. Mrs. Foster was happy to cook and clean for the family every day while Mr. Foster, now retired, sat around reading his newspaper and smoking his pipe. I sat all day long on the sofa devouring novels I had brought over from Europe. We made quite the old-fashioned family in many ways, but I knew it couldn’t last forever. Today was Christmas day. Mrs. Foster had invited a couple to dinner that she and Mr. Foster had known for many years, and a friend that they called Uncle Joe. Joe wasn’t really an uncle, at least not to them. He was Mrs. Foster’s sister’s boyfriend, although many years younger than her, and he had been coming to Christmas dinner for the last eight or nine years since Mrs. Foster’s sister, Mary, had died in a tragic accident on a ski lift. I had met Joe once before while we were touring the region. He lived in an isolated cabin on the side of a nearby mountain. We had stopped at his place for a couple of hours for refreshments and he had asked me loads of questions.
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