13 March 2007

Just Needed A Warm-Up

We had gone almost two weeks without sex, 'til last Friday night.

It may surprise you that, for someone who claims to be as undersexed as I do, I had never really kept track of how much sex I was (or wasn't) getting, or how long between fucks, until I started this blog. I made a decision that I would document all of Amy's and my sexual encounters here1, and a side-effect of that decision is that I'm now more aware of when I need to ... um ... look for other topics to write about.

So, yes, I knew that it had been a fortnight, but I didn't say this to Amy. Truth is, a lot of recent stress had led to a slight dampening of my own superlibido. That would take some serious stress. I've been sledgehammering at a wall of work in the office, and nighttime freelancing deadlines seemed to entrain with daytime deadlines. So everything has been coming to a head at once. And then there have been "money fears" (thus the moonlighting), which led to a couple of pretty major fights. ("Major" for us, anyway. Probably most people would find these squabbles to be miniscule, but we so rarely fight that it seems like a big deal when it happens.) The arguments dug deep, lingered long. Basically, the last two weeks have been a recipe for an effective anaphrodisiac.

But as we led into last weekend, I began hinting (almost unconsciously) at an encounter. These not-so-subtle moments come in the form of ogling Amy in ways in which she would notice, or stealing a grope, or under-the-breath suggestions of what I'd like to do to her. It might grow out of a totally innocuous comment, like the "mommy sandwich" thing that came up recently. Sometimes my heavy-handedness can add to stress as the night approaches, because she knows the time is coming to either fuck or beg off. As often as not, she's not in the mood and chooses the latter.

On this particular night, she surprised me: Around 11:30, she yawned and, with heavy lids (from sleep, not seduction), announced: "I'd be up for you going down on me. Would that be okay?"

Meaning, Would you be okay if that's all you got tonight?

"Of course that would be okay." It's hard to stress how little dead air there was between her question and my answer. "That would be more than okay. I've been craving going down on you." A fact.

"You wanna do it out here?" she asked. Meaning our living room.

"Nah. Let's go to bed." I was thinking about how nice it would be to just fall asleep afterwards without having to move again, considering how exhausted we have been. "We'll just have to be quiet so as not to wake anyone up."

It was quite awhile before we finally actually made it to bed, and the reason for the delay was probably the biggest point of stress in our lives right now: One of our kids has not been sleeping well. Neither of us can remember the last night we slept through an entire night without having the kid joining us in bed. And true to form, on this night, almost as soon as Amy and I had "negotiated the terms of our engagement," we heard the kid rustling.

"And that's why we're not having sex," said Amy wearily as she walked toward the bedrooms.

+++

Honestly, I thought it was off. But God bless Amy, she actually didn't bring the child to bed; rather, she hung in there until the kid was back asleep again. I was waiting, warming her side of the bed, when she came in and changed to her pajamas. This is usually a sure sign she doesn't want her tits messed with. She climbed in beside me, another sigh. I almost felt bad for pushing this now — it was clear she wasn't energized. But before I could sheepishly suggest that we rain-check it, she leaned over and gently, sleepily, kissed me. Maybe it was out of a sense of duty .... a need to keep her "promise" ... or if she really was looking forward to a good muffing.

In any case, a makeout session commenced, languid and loving. I thought the tone had been set for the evening. But after a few minutes, with a subtle change in her body position, she had "coaxed" me into a more dominant attitude, my mouth coming down directly on top of hers. I heard heavy breaths changing into moans. A spark had caught, apparently. I wondered if she was surprised too. She took my hand, slipped it under her shirt, and encouraged me to play with the breasts I thought were off-limits this evening.

The repositioning continued until I had a leg over hers, my weight on her leg, my hard-on rubbing against her thigh. The moment I let go of her breast to slide a hand down inside her pajama bottoms' elastic band, she was hiking up her top.

"Suck on my tits while you rub my pussy," she whispered. Welcome to second gear, ladies and gentlemen.

The kisses became more intense, and the mouths spread to earlobes, necks, chins, and even armpits. (One of my favorite erogenous zones, in case you're keeping score at home.) My cock, formerly against her thigh, was now in the midst of full-scale frottage, and we both simmered in the tease — until we simultaneously reached a level of frustration that caused us to pull apart and rid ourselves of boxers and pajamas.

I spread her legs wide, and while it was certainly tempting to plunge into her right then ... I wanted to partake in a favorite activity: Sliding the underside of my cock back and forth along her cunt. A most wonderful tease, it stimulates both her clit and my glans. I could do this for a long time. On this particular night, Amy was into it too. Her hands slipped down to her pussy.

"That's right," I encouraged, "play with yourself." One hand continued down there while the other came back up to her tits, twisting a nipple, caressing a swell. She was moaning. "Feel my cock," I continued. "My cock is a tongue." She moaned louder as I continued the tease-rub. The furrow I was plowing was getting slicker. Finally, she pulled my head into hers and, after a deep soul kiss, announced: "I want your mouth."

"Really?" I said. "Where?" Amy only likes teasing to a point. Apparently I'd passed that point: With a sigh, she roughly pushed my head down to her cunt.

Oh. That's where.


Kneeling, I held her legs together, straight, toys pointed to the ceiling. I gently bit her heels, and then slowly kissed and licked my way down her calves ... stopping briefly to suck on that soft, warm area on the back of her knees. I continued holding the legs tightly together when I got down to her pussy. I love the way it seems so secretive, hiding behind the thighs. Partly buried treasure, but reachable with a long enough tongue-reach. Which is exactly what I did. This never fails to tickle her, so I didn't do it long. Instead, I started long licks up and down her pussy, soaking it, driving her crazy. She started pushing her legs apart, but she was working against my hands as they used as much strength as necessary to hold the legs together. She finally won (or maybe I let her), and the thighs were parted. My prize, my flower, awaited, humid and heady.

As I settled in to the serious work, I purposely kept from maintaining a rhythm. (I was a frustrating little tease tonight, apparently!) I got her a little worked up, then backed off, letting things build. Normally, this annoys Amy: When she wants her orgasm, she wants it. Tonight, she humored me somewhat. I finally settled in, though, and worked her clit hard with my tongue, the way she likes, flat and fast, finally getting her to a the point where she pushed me away. That was one, I thought, but I was hardly done — I hadn't eaten nearly enough pussy yet. She seemed to be in agreement, because I looked up at her silent figure and laughed out loud when I saw that she was furiously giving the American Sign Language sign for "more" — a holdover from the days our children learned ASL when they were pre-verbal.

Not to disappoint, back down I went, with more purpose this time, a better sense of rhythm, with only occasional forays away from the clit. I got her to the same place again. I rested my head on her stomach ... for about 15 seconds ... and then went back in for a third time. Again, she came to the point where she was writhing and couldn't stand my tongue there anymore.

I rested my head on her thigh. Her foot went snaking around, in search of a cock. "I need this," she said as she tried to grip it with her toes. Apparently, we had forgotten this was supposed to be a quick gobble-and-goodnight. She pointed to her pussy and said: "I need it right here."

I warmed the lube in my hands. One hand coated my cock, the other rubbed against her cunt. My dick slipped in. All my weight on one elbow — a favorite position, it leaves one hand free to caress wherever I want while still being able to thrust. Tonight it was long , slow strokes, intending for this to last. Amy's eyes were mostly closed, but occasionally she'd open them and "catch" me staring at her. God, I love this woman, and it's hard sometimes not to freak her out with my intensity when I watch her getting fucked. I would feel myself getting close to coming, and again, I'd break my own rhythm to make this all last as long as possible.

I pulled out and rolled her over on her side, pushing her top leg up for better access. I slid back in, and pushed deep. Heavenly. I fucked her for awhile like that, but it's never long before that position gets awkward, so we continued the roll until she was on her knees, legs together, making her feel tighter, my knees on the outside. Something about doggy-style — what is it? — that always turns the situation into serious fucking. I started pistoning hard now, and it was intense. Mindful of the sleeping kid, Amy pushed her head into the pillow, minimizing her sounds. I tried to control my breathing as I grabbed on to her hips a little harder.

All that messing about earlier with the rhythm, trying to stretch things out ... I paid for it now. Now I felt a long way from anything resembling an orgasm. This planned sprint suddenly had the potential to turn into a marathon — and we both knew that we should probably be sleeping while we could. What I really needed was some good dirty talk, but in this room, that wasn't really an option. I asked her to turn back over so we could be face-to-face, mouth-to-ear, and hopefully do some dirty talk a la pianissimo. Unfortunately, after we started in missionary again, Amy realized that her pussy was too downright sore to continue.

"Let me go down on you," she said. She swiveled around and started an enthusiastic blowjob, pausing briefly to look up at me and suggest: "You're welcome to imagine that you're fucking Atia." (Yes, we had once again been watching Rome earlier that evening, an episode that was jam-packed with beautiful British actors shedding togas and gettin' busy.)

I laughed and remarked, "I'd rather imagine Mark Antony fucking you ... while I I lie next to you, watching ... and maybe fucking Atia too."

At one point, she pulled off for a breath, and I suggested she just do me with her hand. It wasn't long at all when that started. My load of cum was testament to how long it had been since we had done this.

"Huh," she remarked with a tone of surprise. She always feels incredibly incompetent when she tries to masturbate me, and she hadn't expected the results.

"I'm not surprised at all," I admitted. "I've never been obsessed with this in the past, but now all I can think about is you giving me handjobs. When you started doing that, I was done for." Let's hope she noted that remark and is eager to "manipulate" more in the future.

Amy admitted that she hadn't truly come that night ... She said they kept hiding or passing her by. I felt a little bad with all the teasing I'd done ... apparently I'd messed with her "orgasmic path" in the same way I'd made it difficult for me to come. I vowed to myself to be more kind and direct next time.

I was astonished to discover how sweaty I was afterwards. And especially sticky the next morning. The kind of stickiness that I never mind, that I almost regret showering off. But plenty of elements of that night's sex lingered with me long after.

--
1 I'm beginning to have mixed feelings about this decision. The con: For all the wild fantasies and dreams I have about Amy's and my sex life, the fact is that it's pretty fuckin' vanilla sex over and over again. Short of going all Nicholson Baker on ya and getting into the minutiae of every moment, I'm not sure I can keep the writing about it fresh. (Of course, the actual sex always seems fresh to me, but then I'm a stereotypical horndog.) The pro, as far as I can tell: The blog exists as a sort of anthropological document of a typical (?) American couple's sex life ... or at least my perspective on it. I like this idea, because it helps to couch the vanity of a sex blog in a more scientific realm. Even if that is total bullshit. [Return]

4 comments:

Fat Controller said...

I do so admire your honesty, and I can identify with a great deal of what you describe. Stress and work worries are notorious passion-killers. I'm glad your little 'quickie' developed into such a memorable session and you could both let your tensions go for a while

A Pervert Looks at 40 said...

First, nothing wrong with it being vanilla. You've written plenty of things of interest besides the descriptions of your encounters.

Second, I'm a little envious. One of the problems in our sex life is that when my wife gets tired, she starts yawning. And her yawning during sex absolutely *kills* it for me. So basically, once it gets late, I know that an orgasm that night is going to be self-induced. You guys at least can do something together when it's late.

Bekah said...

It seems like you have a very healthy sex life...when you can. Kids do take it out of you though, it's so hard to work around them when they aren't sleeping through the night. It gets frustrating, but it's just a thing you guys will get through. No worries.
Thanks for the read, I'm ready to go home now... haha.

Denis Connor said...

Controller (I can't bring myself to refer to you as "Fat!"): The honesty is tough for me. So easy on a blog like this to want to "sculpt" your character to be something greater than you are. And of course, I am doing a fair amount of that. (Aren't we all?) But I do force myself to be as honest as possible, even when I look like a doofus in the process.

Pervert: Thanks for the vote of "vanilla" confidence. I suppose it has more to do with how well you write about it. A good writer can make anything interesting. It's just that it gets harder each time to find a new aspect of it to write about.

You wrote: One of the problems in our sex life is that when my wife gets tired, she starts yawning. And her yawning during sex absolutely *kills* it for me. Damn. Well, that would kill it for me too. I've actually never heard of this before. I can understand being tired during sex ... but actually yawning while doing it? *sigh* Hang in there, buddy. But while we do occasionally do something late, understand that we've had some really bad fights about sex initiated past the witching hour. (I guess it then becomes, what, the bitching hour?) If I know what's good for me, I keep it on the early side.

Bekah: Thanks for the kid sympathy. I sometimes feel envious for the couples with no kids — just briefly, mind you — or for the couples whose kids are older and more independent. But we'll get there eventually. I just hope Amy's still interested in sex! (I think it's a given that I still will be....)