But it hasn't happened. If anything, I'm more besotted than ever with her.

I lay in bed for over an hour last night, playing with myself and fantasising about her. In my dream she came over to me in the pub and started chatting to me. I get the impression she is a completely self-confident person, and as I dreamed she took the lead in the conversation, easy-going and relaxed. She began asking me personal questions: do you have a boyfriend? (no); girlfriend? (no, blushing); looking for someone? (yes, aren't we all?); anyone in mind? (possibly); male or female? (pause, ahem, female); anyone I know? (gulp, yes); is it me? (yes, eyes downturned coyly, it is). I played out this conversation over and over again, with her chatting me up, leading the conversation, gradually introducing a sexual element to it.

I pictured her inviting me home and without much fanfare guiding me to her bed. She undressed me slowly, carefully, planting kisses on every expanse of flesh she uncovered. Shoulders and arms fell under her siege, as she kissed her way down them to my hands, then sucked on each finger individually. Sitting on the bed she kissed my stomach, wiggling her tongue deliciously inside my belly-button, making me squirm, raising goose pimples all over. Pulling down my skirt she tracked her tongue up and down my thigh, hand stretched sensuously around my arse cheek, stroking my silk knickers. She eased my bra off and began to fondle my breasts, rubbing my aching, taut tipples. As I pictured it, I began to mimic the scene I was inventing, stroking my own breasts, tweaking my nipples, scratching my nail against my areolae.

My dream lover began to suck on my breast, drawing it exquisitely into her mouth and using her teeth to graze almost painfully against my nipple. As she did so her hands splayed out against my thighs and she started to ease my knickers down. Imagining myself standing before her, pussy exposed to her gaze, I lay back on my bed, legs stretched apart, and began to stroke myself. I thought of her tongue stretched towards me, seeking out my moist slit, and my fingers began to mark out a regular rhythm, first and third fingers stroking at my lips, while my second finger saw to my engorged clit. I fancied that my fingers were her tongue, lapping gently at me, slowly transporting me to a paradise of the senses. Fluids were streaming from me, my fingers slick and wet as they darted in and out of my pussy.

Beautiful Simone laid me on the bed and continued to minister to my tensions. As I lay my left hand on my thigh I imagined it was hers, stroking, caressing, loving me. My finger pressed hard against my clit and I moaned, as a climax began to develop inside me. Simone, Simone, Simone. Her very name was electrifying. Flashes of her face appeared before my eyes, then disappeared, that beautiful face, that nose, oh magnificent nose, imposing themselves on my mind. My fingers began to pulse in and out, up and down, stroking myself to satisfaction. As I felt my climax approach, rushing towards me in a frenzy of lust, I pressed hard against my clitoris, rubbing either side of it, enclosing it between my fingers, exposing its sensitive nub to my excited touch. In my mind I pictured Simone's head between my thighs, her face hovering above my pussy, tongue stroking fiercely at my lips and her heavenly nose pressed hard against my needful clit. And that did it. The image of her nose pressing against me, rubbing, provoking, tempting, delighting, was enough to send me over the edge, and as I sprawled on the bed my vision of Simone brought me to an almighty climax.

And so, as you can see, I haven't overcome my obsession with this delightful person. Tomorrow I begin my search. I must find her again.

On to next story: May 27th