What does your ideal day look like?
Should I be realistic? Should this be a completely fabricated fantasy?
With everything going on in my real life, I cannot have an ideal day. It’s literally impossible. I would have to be living in a different house in a different place with a whole different set of circumstances. And *I* would have to be different, too. So, realistically, I cannot have an ideal day. (Although today, this helped. Thanks, SM.)
I should just stop now because I’m not feeling very creative. But I will give realistic fantasy a shot. And by realistic fantasy, I mean complete fantasy, far removed from my real life, but with real-life elements. Like, I’m not a fairy or a wizard. I’m still human.
Unreal Realistic Fantasy.
I would wake up early because fantasy-me likes waking up early. I might even wrap myself in a cozy blanket and walk out onto my bedroom balcony to watch the sunrise while my hot-as-fuck husband sleeps a little longer. But he’ll notice I’m not in bed anymore, and he’ll get up to find me. He’ll stand behind me, wrap his arms around me, and kiss my head. I’ll smile and turn around to kiss him.
After some steamy hot morning sex, we would shower and go to work. (See? Realistic—fantasy-me has a job.) Fantasy-husband would be off to the city to his tech company that he started when he was 22. And I would go to the center of our quiet, beautifully peaceful town (I might even walk there since it’s a beautiful, sunny day). I’ll head to the bakery.
It’s not my bakery. I’m content to bake all day without the responsibility of running a business. But the owner is my fantasy-best friend. On fantasy-day, we laugh as she teases me about how dreamy-eyed I was the day I met my future fantasy-husband right there in the bakery. You see, he politely requested meeting the baking genius who made the perfect cinnamon rolls he tried (but usually failed) to resist on a daily basis. When I emerged from the kitchen to find fucking Adonis waiting to see me, I grew weak in the knees.
Fantasy-bakery is there. I promise. Use your imagination, people.
After a day in the bright sweet-smelling kitchen at the bakery, I head home, knowing my fantasy-husband won’t be home yet. He works so hard. And he’s so smart. And funny. And sweet, but never cheesy. And tall. And did I mention hot-as-fuck? But when I arrive at our beautiful two story craftsman home, he is there.
I find fantasy-husband in our beautiful kitchen cooking dinner. I offer to help, but he insists that I sit and relax while he cooks. I change into something comfy and curl up on the sofa with a book. I can smell dinner and it’s making me hungry. And I can see fantasy-husband and he’s making me hungry.
We have dinner. And we have dessert. Both kinds. And finally, we snuggle in bed and talk while I lovingly run my fingers over his chest and abs. I look up until I can see his eyes, and he smiles for me and tells me he loves me. I do the same. After a few goodnight kisses, I drift off to sleep in his arms.
Maybe one of these guys is fantasy-husband. Today, I’m feeling hot-as-fuck man number two. (Or I wish I was feeling him.)
p.s. — I am not having as much fun as I was hoping I would with these prompts. But that may be due to my real life falling apart.