So, I find myself in this strange factory place – I must have a job there I conclude - which is located along a cliff in an unhospitable part of the United Kingdom, though I’m not sure how I ended up there.

Anyway, I decide to go out and explore the area because it’s new to me, maybe find the nearest town. See what it’s all about.

I exit the factory - there’s no one around which I also find a bit strange – and make my way along the cliff path. It’s quite a cloudy day, chilly and has just started to drizzle. A few hundred yards in front of me I see a fellow in a long dark raincoat who gets to the end of the path before appearing to descend. I decide to follow him as he looks like he’s familiar with the area. When I get to the point where it looks like he’s gone I see a very steep set of crude steps cut into the cliff face. In fact, they’re so steep I fear that if I risk going down them, I’ll probably slip and fall a long way down, possibly to my death. Looking around I see that there is no alternative route and feeling defeated make my way back to the factory.

I open the heavy steel door back into the factory, a factory from which no sound of machinery is emanating incidentally, and start to trudge up a metal staircase, when a strident and bossy female voice says: “Where do you think you’re going, Mister Triewly?”

I turn round and see this woman with a wide face and flattish features with intense blue eyes (quite pretty, I guess) with her hands on her hips. She’s on the short side and a little overweight and her hair is reddy-brown, straight, neat and cut fairly short too. She is wearing a grey long-sleeved tunic. Her age is probably in her late thirties but because she is pale skinned, she maybe older than she looks. Nevertheless, she’s still about half my age.

She then adds seriously: “You could be in a lot of trouble, Mister Triewly, sneaking off like that, but as you’re new you’d better come closer to me so I can give you a good telling off…”

As I move closer to her, she breaks into a broad smile and puts her arms around me and before I know it, I’m French kissing her, gently running my tongue inside her mouth.

I’m a bit bewildered at what is happening – I’m an old fat plain guy with thinning hair - but then she suddenly pushes open another door into what looks like a storeroom and drags me by the hand with her.

I’m kind of taken by surprise as to how events are unfolding so quickly. I’m also thinking: should I warn her that I’m virtually impotent nowadays. But I decide not to - cross that bridge when I come to it, and because I feel quite aroused it may be a bridge I don’t need to cross.

We suddenly fall against a wall and in one move she pulls her tunic over her head before throwing it on the ground – she is naked now in front of me. I noticed immediately that her breasts are small and firm though her nipples are quite protuberant with a slight hint of ginger that red heads often have. Her flesh is pale as ivory and very lightly freckled and on her left torso is a tattoo of a Chinese dragon outlined in thin blue ink.

I kiss her again before dropping down and tracing my tongue around her nipples, teasing her…

“Is that nice?” I say.

“God, it feels so good.”

She then adds: “I have to tell you this: I never had a father when I was young…”

So, this is a ‘father’ thing, I conclude.

At this point I also realize that I’m married and in love with my wife and as minor guilt feelings start to kick in, a little voice in my head says: ‘No point in feeling guilt till you’ve done something to feel guilty about – it’s a waste of an emotion.’

She is breathing heavily now and her mouth is half open with her eyes almost glazed so I drop down to my knees, savouring her trimmed auburn pubic hair, and run my tongue from the bottom of her slit up to her clitoris – I expect to torment her deliciously even more but all she does is rebuke me: “NO… NAUGHTY… VERY NAUGHTY.”

I pull back and make the decision to penetrate her before noticing that there is sticky red gel on the upper side of her left thigh. I also see that the red gel is also on the wall, and I can’t work out what it is: blood or juice or jelly.

Then out of the blue a middle-aged woman bursts through the door: “GET OUT YOU FILTHY VERMIN, YOU MAKE ME SICK WITH YOUR DEPRAVITY AND LACK OF MORALS!”

At this point the dream ends, and I wake up with a massive stiffy.

*

It was a weird dream but what is odd is that I don’t recognize the woman in the dream, and in real life she probably wouldn’t be my type. I wonder what Freud would have made of it.