I've never been the kind of guy who was getting so much sex that he could pick and choose his partners. I don't believe that many guys like that exist. But I definitely have predilections, and a good-sized chest was something that I favor, should the opportunity arise. While Amy wasn't the kind of woman whose breasts introduced themselves before she did, it didn't take long to sense another "presence" in the room. For me, it was a short hop from acknowledgment to outright desire.
And, at the risk of making Amy sound slutty, it was not a long trip from that initial desire for her breasts to my first opportunity to play with them. Within hours of our introduction, after a fascinating and complex evening of events (a story that may be expounded on another occasion), we lay on the futon on the floor of her bedroom. Her fuchsia t-shirt was pulled up over her tits, revealed in their supple, succulent glory to my hands and lips for the first time. Her hands were simultaneously inside the pair of shorts she had loaned me earlier that morning, getting acquainted with my own equipment.
We were in our mid-twenties, and we thoroughly enjoyed those first months of simultaneous love/lust in a most cliché way. We spent every spare moment together, essentially cutting out the rest of our friends (and family too) as we obsessively experienced every aspect of each other. I'm speaking mostly sexually here, let's be honest. She had heard from a mutual friend how much I enjoyed extended sessions of eating pussy. She showed herself equally talented when it came to oral exploits. Which was a nice change for me from my previous girlfriend, who seemed to begrudgingly fellate me. Amy helped me make up for lost time.
We jokingly kept track of orgasms for probably the first fifty or so. We slyly played with each other in public settings like movie theaters and restaurants. We shared music, books, and rug burns. We cooked for each other. We would find ourselves overcome with emotion for how lucky we were to have found each other. We made our rug burns much worse in a typically twentysomething effort to express said emotions.
Our lives were not solely defined by sex, but there is no denying that it was a huge part of those early years. Simply put, we loved fucking.
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Amy and I are now in our forties. We are married. We have children. And like so many other couples who have walked a similar path, we chuckle with a vague yearning about how free those times in our twenties seemed. In so many respects, we are happy where we are now. But -- and trust me, I know how cliché this aspect of our relationship is as well -- the amount of sex has lessened dramatically. By cliché I mean "normal." A dropoff is to be expected for the vast majority of relationships that follow our trajectory.
We are struggling to find that balance between work and family, and somewhere in there we also need to nourish the needs of the primary relationship, the one between Amy and me. Intimacy still plays a major role, though now it seems to be defined more by its elusiveness.
Libidos have fallen out of balance. Mine seems as strong as ever, but the demands on Amy are such that she frankly is not as interested. This is not to say that when we do make the time that she's not an enthusiastic and thoroughly pleasing lover. But there is no question that I am the initiator in 95% of the encounters -- which themselves seem few and far between.
This blog is not meant to be a place for me to complain; that would be so deadly dull that even I wouldn't read it. But I am hoping that I might garner a readership of men and women in similar circumstances, and that my thoughts (and yours) might help us explore the issues that grow out of the aging sexual relationship.
Though there will probably be a certain amount of analysis and self-study, I am hoping that this blog will titillate too. I enjoy writing erotica, and I plan on discussing, in frank and usually prurient language, Amy's and my past and future encounters, as well as our fantasies.
Not unlike the way my marriage is a balance between my needs and my wife's, I will try to counterweight my exploration of our relationship's sexual psyche with my (imagined?) audience's desire for a little arousal. On the day that I'm writing this, I have no earthly idea if I'll be able to pull this off. It'll be fun trying, though!