15 March 2007

Her, Um, Cup Runneth Over.

Against our better judgment, here we were on another late night — it was 1:00 a.m. — with a kid still not sleeping well, and we were starting something. What the hell were we thinking? A night or two in a row like this can ruin Amy, putting her off her game for several days. She really, really needs her sleep. Apparently on Sunday night, she also needed better judgment.

"Think we can each have orgasms in less than ten minutes?" Amy asked. I promised. This would have to be shorter than Friday night, which had put us both at a point of major exhaustion for the rest of the weekend.

So in the name of brevity — and in keeping with my personal vow to make sure she got "Ye Olde Big O" this time (no more of that feinting orgasm bullshit) — I quickly established a good, rhythmic melody on her clit with my tongue. It's empowering to me that, when I want to, I can bring Amy off very quickly. Sure enough, in very little time, her right hand was down by my face, her middle and ring fingers rubbing against her pubic bone in quick circles, not unlike my tongue. There was no equivocation this time when she went up and over the top: Her whole body shuddered, and she "tossed" my head with her involuntary hip thrusts. My neck was gonna be a little sore the next morning. I'll take it, thanks.

I came up and kissed her. She was feeling too tired to go down on me, so she suggested we fuck. "But be warned, my sexual energy isn't very high right now."

"Maybe we shouldn't?" I asked. If she's not gonna be into it...

"No, it's okay," she insisted. "Just ... I need to move down. I'm tired of my head hitting the top of the bed."

I did her one better: I stood up next to the bed, grabbed her legs, and yanked her all the way across, until her hips were on the mattress edge. Her legs up in the air, my cock pushed into her.

"Easy, easy," she coaxed. I was a little excited ... carrying enough sexual energy for the both of us, I suppose. The position was great, because two feet behind me was a wall. I could brace my feet against that, giving me fantastic leverage as I fucked her.

And then I found ... The Angle. That one slight tweak to my position that sent my cock up and against her g-spot. I had flipped a switch: She was ON now, fucking me back. Even throwing in a few "Oh-yes-yes" breaths along the way. This ride had suddenly gotten good and bumpy and a helluva lot of fun.

Shortly, my legs locked, my butt stiffened, and it was my turn to shudder, a rock thrown in the middle of me, rippling outward until even my toes and fingertips were tingling.

Short, but very intense.

"That was ..." she started.

"Nice," I said.

"Yeah, that works...."


The next night: Amy is lying on top of me, on the couch. We're watching an episode of The Black Donnellys and waiting for our caffeine fix out in the kitchen to finish steeping.

"The only problem with the IUD," she says, apropos of nothing, "is that with you not wearing a condom ... You're all free and everything, and coming everywhere. And for the rest of that night, and all the next day, I'm ..."

Oh God, I thought. She's not going to discuss this out loud, is she? We can usually talk about anything, but this kind of thing ... Well, it kind of kills the romance. Ya know? An ex-girlfriend — the one that introduced me to Amy, as a matter of fact — would talk quite openly about bodily functions and fluids, even sometimes in the midst of sex. This is the definition of buzzkill — look it up in the dictionary. I guess I should be grateful that at least Amy had the wherewithal to wait 24 hours or so before bringing up "the juice."

Still, I had to head her off. While she lingered to find just the right word to finish her thought, I offered up something innocuous:

"You're ... dabbing?" I suggested.

"Yeah!" she agreed.

Okay. We avoided that one. Now, moving on....

Well, no. She kept going.

"I'm walking around, and I'm just ... all soupy."

This conversation isn't happening. This conversation isn't happening. I'm not here.

"I wish there was a way to get all this out ..."

Think happy thoughts. Ummmmm ... Baseball season is almost here! ... Ummmmm ...

"What I need," she continues, "is some ... post-coital ... soup ..."

Aw, hell. I can't resist: "... Removal?"

"Yes!" she exclaims. "Someone should invent a way to remove it."

Really, where is this going?

"We could start a business!" She's on a roll now. "Post-coital soup removal!"

"No way."

"We'd make millions!"

I don't want to encourage this. Really. And she senses my ambivalence.

"Well," she says, sensing my ambivalence (transmitted through my uninterrupted focus on the television screen — though for the life of me, I have no idea what I was looking at, I was just trying to make this conversation go away), "at least it'd be a great band name."

"Now, that is a great idea!" I concede. And what we do is just call ourselves 'PCSR' —and let everyone try to figure out what it stands for."

So, there you go. Maybe we can get Hole to open for us.


LadyXandria said...

PCSR... I love it! You guys have definitely stumbled onto something there. Women everywhere would thank you.

la fille mariée said...

Lord, Denis. You need to get over thinking that conversation is a buzzkill. I think the idea of her walking around oozing your juices is incredibly hot. Almost like marking territory or something. Mmmm. Nice. It's like swallowing cum and not brushing your teeth right away. Such a huge turn on.

Or is it just me?

A Pervert Looks at 40 said...

LOL! Well, it'd have gotten me slapped, but I would have suggested we find someone to, ahem, remove the "soup" from her, orally, while I watched.

Bekah said...

That was too funny. I am guilty of the same, discussing things that aren't exactly romantic and killing the mood sometimes. We don't mean too, and why are you guys such wimps about these things anyway?

Denis Connor said...

ladyxandria: "Women everywhere would thank you." I thought they already did. *cough*

LFM: You know I love you, so I can say this to you: After getting to know you quite well and having some deep discussions and plumbing the depths of your psyche, I can say with reasonably expert assurance that: It is always just you.

Pervert: Don't kid yourself that the thought of offering up my services as a cleaner didn't occur to me. I'm just not sure that Amy's very into that, so I — showing the social sensitivity that she was sadly lacking *grin* — chose not to share that tidbit with her.

Bekah: We don't mean too, and why are you guys such wimps about these things anyway? It's not so much wimpishness as just not wanting the moment destroyed. And yes, I understand that in this case the moment had been almost 24 hours beforehand, but ... I was still living in that moment. (Hell, I was still composing the blog entry about it!) I just didn't want that pleasant memory messed with by pointing to the sad reality of "vaginal leakage."

Oh, fine. I'll try to get over it.

Gillette said...

Ha..so funny Mr. Perv and I had the same thought. I kept waiting for you to begin the discussion of how fun it was.

Personally I love my lover's cum oozing down hours later..or feeling a small gush. Yum. Brings it all back in a rush.

la fille mariée said...

Thank you, Gillette! See, Denis? It isn't just me! You think you know me soooooo well, Mr. Smarty Pants.

Well, okay, it is just me (and Gillette, too). And, of course, you know what I'm thinking about your "plumbing the depths" reference, too. Damn you, Connor.

Tom Paine said...

There's nothing quite like an "Afternoon Delight," especially since the visuals are so good in the daylight....

Anonymous said...

An actual solution that I find works quite well is a menstrual cup (I use a brand called Diva Cup). Made of silicon, so it's flexible and easy to insert and remove, and forms a perfect seal. Not just for periods anymore! :-)

LadyXandria said...

A menstrual cup??? I'm gonna have to google that.

Denis Connor said...

Gillette -- You wrote: Personally I love my lover's cum oozing down hours later..or feeling a small gush. Yum. Brings it all back in a rush. You see, now? That's sexy! *whew* Is it too much to ask that my lover worship my semen? Well, okay. It probably is. But every once in awhile, if she could just give me the occasional: "Please, St. Denis, either let me guzzle the essence of your soul about to emanate from your staff of life, or let me hold it within my temple for as long as God and my pubococcygeus muscle will allow." Now, do you think she could deliver that line with sincerity? Could any of you manage that? Step up to the mic!

Denis Connor said...

LFM -- Okay. It's not just you. But I have a feeling you're in a ... well, let's not call it a "minority" ... let's call it an "elite club."

Anonymous writes: "An actual solution that I find works quite well is a menstrual cup ...."

I'm not reading these comments. I'm not reading these comments. I'm not reading these comments. I'm not reading....