God bless grandmas — especially the ones who offer your children an occasional "sleepover." Only one of our two kids was out of the house Saturday night ... but that didn't stop Amy and me from tacitly agreeing that it would be a night of raunch.
One problem: The kid taken off our hands was not the one lately having trouble sleeping. It was past 10:30 before Amy and I were the only conscious humans in the house. The bedtime process exhausted us. I assumed Amy was beyond "recovery" for sex, but she surprised me by asking to be woken up with an episode of The Black Donnellys. ("It is St. Patrick's day, after all," she explained.)
"I'm sorry this evening isn't turning out the way we'd hoped," Amy said after the show. She was stroking my head in her lap.
"What were you hoping for, exactly?" I inquired.
"Oh ... I was thinking we'd watch a porno...."
We stared at a muted television playing some South By Southwest band I had lost interest in. I debated internally whether to reveal my fun secret.
"Well ..." I started, "I do have something on my computer that I've been saving to show you. It's the greatest blowjob I've ever seen filmed."
I always feel weird about revealing to Amy that I've been looking at porn, even though she's totally cool with it. She knows I masturbate a lot, and that I use "educational materials" accordingly. Still, it feels a little ... seedy.
"Okay," she said, sounding genuinely interested. "But ... You shouldn't have that stuff on your computer."
"I know. This is the only thing. I just put it on there for you to see, and then its gone."
"'Cause you don't want someone finding that by accident and being forced to fire you."
"No, you're right. It's gone after tonight. So ... You want to see it?"
"Oh yeah, sure," she said. She went to get a snack while I opened the laptop.
The video is a semi-amateur thing — meaning that the women in it are probably in the industry, either as dancers or as low-level porn actresses, but this is an improvised, small-time, Internet-only cheapie, shot with a single handheld consumer camera in a nondescript bedroom. The cameraman talks way too much, making inane smalltalk and frat-boy comments. Most of the videos I've seen by this guy is ruined by his bullshit logorrhea.
But this one video transcends his blathering.
The stars are two (naturally) large-breasted women. ("So it's a real departure for me!" I explained to Amy.) They spend the first one-third of the video playing with each other's breasts, adeptly incorporating baby oil, hands and mouths. I skipped this part for Amy's viewing and cued it to the point where the male is introduced. The women give his (large and very nice) cock a tandem blowjob. Both women are then fucked in numerous positions while they continue to kiss or play with each other's tits or go down on each other. It concludes with a money shot on their tits.
Pretty basic, vanilla stuff. Except ... Except for that blowjob. You see, these two women have sizzling chemistry. I'm not a huge fan of girl-girl, but what these women essentially do, as the guy is reclined on his back, is have an incendiary makeout session ... and the guy's dick just happens to be perched between their mouths. Their kissing is wet, wild, slow ... almost longing. They savor each other. And ... yeah, there's this huge cock that, almost as a side-effect, gets sucked.
The moment this video becomes worth every penny (even if I did download it for free) is when both men — the one in front of the camera and the one behind — unconsciously cease their nonstop chatter. Suddenly, there is silence, except for the moist sound of lips sucking on lips ... lips sucking on cock ... under-the-breath alto moans. In the span of fifteen seconds, these two lovers instantly own the room, the camera, the cock.
Two minutes later, they break with a nervous giggle; they sense the sea-change. "How's that?" One of them asks. The cameraman/director, clearly caught off guard, is almost speechless, outside of a couple of "Holy fucks." He says that he has filmed probably 1,000 scenes, and this is easily the hottest blowjob he has ever witnessed. I've probably watched that many scenes, and I don't doubt for a minute that he's right.
Amy, watching, clearly agreed. The video is broken up into four files, and this amazing head (later continued with the two women on their knees and shot from the suckee's point of view) happens in the part two. When it ended, I asked Amy: "You wanna keep going?"
"Yes!" she said, enthusiastically.
"You know," I added as I get part three open and running, "if you ever want to set something like this up for me...." She laughed.
We continued watching the whole thing, through all the fucking (both of these women have larger-than-your-usual-pornstar asses — it makes it that much better when they get fucked from behind), right up to the payoff. Just for good measure, the women have one last passionate soulkiss as their cum-covered tits rub together.
(For those interested, I've provided a link to the teaser page for this video in the comments section of this entry.)
The video over, Amy wordlessly popped off the couch and walked around the living room, dining room and kitchen, turning off lights. "After that, you probably want the lights on, though," she considered.
"There's plenty of light," I said, knowing outside ambient light would cast the room in a nice, cool blue wash.
Amy sat down on my lap, straddling me, and began a passionate kiss. Shortly, her top came off. "You get to enjoy my new bra," she said. Few things are hotter than a really well-fitted bra. I played with her covered tits until she popped the front closure and pushed a nipple into my mouth. I'm not sure if it was the focus the video put on my predilection for tit-play or if she was just that turned on, but the she was making tonight about her breasts. She and I shared one of her nipples for awhile, semi-recreating the makeout blowjob we'd seen, with a nipple in place of a cock.
She slid down off my lap, pulled off my pants. So typical of Amy: She never takes my pants off and then my underwear — they always come off together, getting her to the "prize "faster. She rubbed one tit, then the other, up and down my shaft. Finally, her mouth enveloped me, and she primed me with wetness and warmth. She wrapped her breasts around my cock and absorbed my hip thrusts. She seemed to want me to fuck her tits, but she kept coming back to sucking on my dick. At one point, she slowed down and tried her best to re-create a solo version of what the young ladies earlier had accomplished. "I'm imagining you teaming up with someone else as you do that," I suggested.
She stood up, pulled off her pants, straddled me again, pressing her wet cunt against my dick, and sliding up and down. "Am I catching your clit?" I asked her. She moaned in the affirmative. "Use my cock," I encouraged. "Use me to get yourself off." She tried, but what Amy really wanted became obvious when she stood up on the couch and pushed her pussy in my face.
I went to town. So did she, rubbing her cunt all over my mouth, and finally collapsing sideways onto her back — but taking care to keep my mouth in full contact with her clit through the fall. From this position, I brought her to an intense, bucking orgasm.
After a short rest, I asked, "More?" hoping to get to eat her out again.
"More with something else," she said.
I got up on my knees and pushed into her, starting slow and building a rhythm.
"Tell me what else you liked about that video," she ordered.
"I loved their asses," I said. "Nice, big asses, made for fucking."
Amy giggled and kissed me. "How come you never see a video where women are lusting after a man with a big ass?" I had no good answer to that. I was laughing too hard anyway.
I continued: "I have to think it was a good thing that guy didn't fuck 'em in the ass."
"He was huge," Amy said, stating the obvious.
"And I know they're passé, but I loved the one woman's back tattoo," I said. "It's so ... slutty."
Amy laughed. "Don't put too fine a point on it!"
"I'm serious!" I said. Our hips were starting to pick up speed. "You know, you can get temporary tattoos like that," I said, remembering the image of Penelope on her and Odysseus' blog. "You should try one sometime. Then you can be my whore." We both laughed, and things ratcheted up into another gear. I reiterated: "I would fuck my whore." She moaned and pushed back against me harder.
I pulled away and said, "Let's try reverse cowgirl, so I can watch your gorgeous ass."
"I love the way you call it by it's 'official name,'" Amy said with a roll of her eyes.
"What? That's what it's called!"
"I know," she said, straddling my legs, lowering herself onto my cock. "But .... Mmmmmmmmm."
This was a very good position for Amy. She really started getting vocal now. But her thighs weren't holding up; she had to beg off long before either of us wanted her to. Instead, she took up on her hands and knees, on the couch. I took a moment to admire the view before sinking into her once again.
At some point, I found the right spot. "Oh yeah," she panted. "Right there."
I really wanted some talk tonight. "This the way you like to be fucked?" I said.
"Yes!"
"I can tell. Come on, fuck me back." Her rocking became more punctuated. Then I held her ass still while I pulled out, just the tip still in her folds ... and I slammed home.
"Oh God, yes!"
Well, that worked. I tried it again.
"Uhhh. Yes!"
I gathered my strength and fucked her hard with those same long strokes, but faster. And harder. I wanted to hear how loud I could make the hollow clap of my hips hitting her ass. The sound competed with her rhythmic screams. I could tell she was on the verge of new territory. I upped the ante, measuring my palm against her ass, and I came down hard with a slap.
"You know where I'm gonna come?" I hissed.
"Where?"
I slapped her ass again. "I'm gonna come all over your tits."
"Yes, please come on my tits! I love your come on my tits!"
That was the last thing she was able to say. This was just about my highest gear. The only reason I hadn't already come was because I had become momentarily preoccupied with the thought of how incredibly sore my already-wobbly legs were going to be on Monday. Amy brought me back to the moment with sounds I'd never heard before — simultaneously guttural and high-pitched. Was this it? The closest she'd ever been?
Her seeming transcendant state put me over the top. I laughed as I shot my load deep into her: There was no way I was going to pull out of her for the promised breast cumshot. My cock needed to be buried right where it was.
And after we'd come down, our panting the only sound in the room, I realized: I would have been hard-pressed to pull out at all. My hard-on was in a vice grip.
"Jesus, Amy ... You're pussy is holding onto my cock."
This never happens. I mean, she doesn't work to keep those muscles toned. But something had happened.
"I can't relax," she said. Funny, because at that moment, she was probably more relaxed than she'd been in ages. Just ... not her cunt muscles.
We finally were able to disengage, and she fell back into my arms, her eyes closed, her hands searching for my face, her lips devouring mine.
I asked: "Did you actually come?"
"I think so," she said. "If not, it was the closest. For the first time ever, I was able to lose myself and let a door open that I never let open before."
"Damn," I whispered. "Let's work on keeping that door ajar."
"It's funny that, after 16 years together, we're still searching for the ever elusive orgasm-while-fucking," she observed.
"I think it's pretty great," I said, "that we still have a goal like that after 16 years. Most couples have played it all out by then."
We hobbled to the bedroom, leaving all our clothes and the couch pillows all over the living room floor. If we'd tried bending down to pick that stuff up, I doubt we would have been able to get back up again.
Showing posts with label tit-fucking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tit-fucking. Show all posts
19 March 2007
02 March 2007
You're So Dirty When You're Clean.
In the shower, your lover's skin feels entirely different.
Soap up your hands. Run them over her. Slick, light, wanton. A thin sheet of soapy water between palm and chest. Slip behind her. Feel her head loll against your shoulder, catching hot rain from above, wet hair spreading, sticking to your skin. Your arms under hers. Try to hold her breasts, slick, escaping, all the more stirring. Run your slippery hands over them, make her moan softly in your ear. Wonder if this could, in any conceivable way, feel as good to her as it does to you.
On your knees. Newly soaped hands. Massage up one leg. Smooth ... She shaved this morning, she had her suspicions about tonight. Slowly up a thigh, hand-over-hand. Linger near the top, then switch legs, starting at the ankle again. This one will go much faster because, let's face it, your patience is wearing thin. Your cock so hard it barely bobs as you move. You want to grab that cunt. It's the point of water's egress, the rivulets running off and around her breasts, flashflood through the valley, cascading past her stomach, compelled to the same place you want.
The side of your hand slipping along her pussy lips. Her laugh, a mix of I-knew-it and do-that-more. She's wet, but you wonder if she's wet. Look up at her: Water bouncing off her head, with light, making a halo. Smile back at her. Turn her sideways, and now both hands work, one plays in the furrow, one slides in the crack of her ass. Wonder if spending this much time on her ass gives away your intentions. Wonder how much you care if you give yourself away.
Standing again, slick erection pressed against her back. Maybe more shampoo than you need in the palm of your hand, but this is not a moment for economy. Work fingers through her thick curls, deep into her head. From the forehead, work backwards, many fingers pressing many circles, moving to the side of the head. Again. This time, from the base of the neck, up through the thicket, too dense to reach the forehead. More. Above the ears, working hands to the queen's crown until fingers interlace. Once more. No one ever, ever follows the bottle's instructions, but tonight you will most definitely Rinse and Repeat. Hell, you may even do the conditioner twice.
Your slow pace is not sped up in any way when she reaches behind her and plays with your cock, her touch distracted, her intentions anything but.
"What about you?" she finally asks. "Don't you want to get clean?"
You are sure you look smug when you lace your fingers behind your head, spread your legs a bit, lean against the shower wall, and wait for her service ... but you go with it. After all, it's that sense of humor that caught her in the first place.
She rushes to get to your cock and balls, and then spends a lot of time there. Then one hand works underneath, between your legs, back, to your ass; she has to stoop down a little to reach, and she smiles wickedly as she does this. She wraps her arms around you, soaping your back, into scratching your back, into embracing, pushing her chest out and against you. Wet tits against soapy chest. Almost no friction at all, just silky wetness. Softer than the twined tongues.
It's a sensory banquet. Never enough. But you know it's already late. If anything else is going to happen, you'll need to get a move on.
***
We had used the guest bathroom for the shower because it's further from the kids' bedrooms. For the same reason, we moved to the guest bedroom, wearing only towels. Amy tossed off hers when she jumped in the bed. I stood on it, straddling her and instructing her to remove my towel. In no time, my knees were against her armpits and she was hungrily sucking my cock, her hands placing mine on the back of her head, an indication that she wanted me to fuck her mouth. I obliged. "Beautiful," I said. "You suck cock so well. So beautiful."
She pushed my cock between her breasts. Something she's been doing a lot recently. Not that I'm complaining. Tit fucking is one of my favorite pastimes — just like baseball and campfire songs! — and I'm fortunate to have a lover whose tits were made to be fucked. I like to linger on the upstroke, let her take the head back in her mouth, a little added lubrication, before I pull back through her cleavage again.
At some point I couldn't stand it: I had to kiss her deep, experience that hot, shower-softened mouth, lips further swollen from cocksucking, a vague taste of dick and precum. I stretched my legs out, lowered down on top of her, rubbing my cock against her cunt as we chewed each other's lips, lost in lust.
"Where do you want me to go?" I whispered. I wasn't even sure what I was asking, honestly, it just sounded good at the moment. She rolled over, offering me her ass. Really? Down I went, devouring each globe. Nipping, kissing, licking. Working toward the crack, and then away. A rush, a feint. A charge, a bluff.
We were on the verge of new territory here. I was so hungry to eat her ass, I can't even describe it. I wondered if I could control myself. But I knew there was still an uneasiness for her. I made one more move, my lips approaching her asshole. She was surprisingly relaxed. Still, I paused.
"Are you game?" I asked, my lips still partly pressed against her ass.
She laughed, and then let out an overly dramatic, nervous moan. "Mmmmmmmmmmm ... Probably not tonight, I don't think."
"No worries," I said. I masked my deep disappointment well.
"Sorry," she said between kisses, back up beside her again. "I probably gave you a mixed signal when I turned over like that. I'm not sure why I did it."
I whisper in her ear, "We won't do anything you're not ready for." And then I can't help to add: "But something tells me when you finally let me do it ... you're going to love it."
I reached behind me for the bottle of lube.
"Awwww, you came prepared!" she said.
"Slipped it in my pocket earlier tonight." I hoped I didn't sound too presumptuous. I dribbled the lube on her pussy, worked it into her lips with one hand. I encouraged her to show me how to masturbate her. "Is this too soft?"
"A little," she whispered. After a moment: "Now, too hard."
"In between that," I wondered aloud.
"Not hard, but with purpose," she said. An instruction that came off too enigmatic for me in the heat of the moment. Instead, I ask for one of her palms, fill it with lube, and put the slickened hand on my cock.
"I've been thinking a lot about you jacking me off," I said. It was true. Handjobs haven't really interested me in the past. For some reason, I haven't been able to get the image out of my head. I think it's the exhibitionistic/voyeuristic aspect of it: Handjobs, unlike most blowjobs, are delivered with eyes open, and I love when she watches me come. We continued to masturbate each other.
I hooked my arm underneath her knees, and lifted her legs. Pushed my cock into her. From that position, I could watch her almost as a third person. I encouraged her to play with herself while we fuck. She obliged, a breast in one hand, the other frigging herself. The pace was slow. Sometimes, she'd use her heels against my ass to push my cock deeper.
And the sight, the sound, the feel ... it was just too much tonight: I came very quickly, a low-key climax, where she's not even one-hundred-percent sure it really happened. She asked. "Yep, I sure did," I sighed, making no effort this time to hide disappointment.
"Well, you're going to have to go down on me and give me mine," she said. It took me by surprise — both for her bluntness, and because ... well, of course I was going to go down on her. Did she really think I'd miss a chance to eat her out?
After, as she came down off her climax, Amy asked, "So, you really don't mind going down on me with all that lube and cum?"
"You're kidding, right?" I punctuated that with another deep thrust of my tongue.
"Of course," she said. "What was I thinking. You're the guy who eats everything."
Soap up your hands. Run them over her. Slick, light, wanton. A thin sheet of soapy water between palm and chest. Slip behind her. Feel her head loll against your shoulder, catching hot rain from above, wet hair spreading, sticking to your skin. Your arms under hers. Try to hold her breasts, slick, escaping, all the more stirring. Run your slippery hands over them, make her moan softly in your ear. Wonder if this could, in any conceivable way, feel as good to her as it does to you.
On your knees. Newly soaped hands. Massage up one leg. Smooth ... She shaved this morning, she had her suspicions about tonight. Slowly up a thigh, hand-over-hand. Linger near the top, then switch legs, starting at the ankle again. This one will go much faster because, let's face it, your patience is wearing thin. Your cock so hard it barely bobs as you move. You want to grab that cunt. It's the point of water's egress, the rivulets running off and around her breasts, flashflood through the valley, cascading past her stomach, compelled to the same place you want.
The side of your hand slipping along her pussy lips. Her laugh, a mix of I-knew-it and do-that-more. She's wet, but you wonder if she's wet. Look up at her: Water bouncing off her head, with light, making a halo. Smile back at her. Turn her sideways, and now both hands work, one plays in the furrow, one slides in the crack of her ass. Wonder if spending this much time on her ass gives away your intentions. Wonder how much you care if you give yourself away.
Standing again, slick erection pressed against her back. Maybe more shampoo than you need in the palm of your hand, but this is not a moment for economy. Work fingers through her thick curls, deep into her head. From the forehead, work backwards, many fingers pressing many circles, moving to the side of the head. Again. This time, from the base of the neck, up through the thicket, too dense to reach the forehead. More. Above the ears, working hands to the queen's crown until fingers interlace. Once more. No one ever, ever follows the bottle's instructions, but tonight you will most definitely Rinse and Repeat. Hell, you may even do the conditioner twice.
Your slow pace is not sped up in any way when she reaches behind her and plays with your cock, her touch distracted, her intentions anything but.
"What about you?" she finally asks. "Don't you want to get clean?"
You are sure you look smug when you lace your fingers behind your head, spread your legs a bit, lean against the shower wall, and wait for her service ... but you go with it. After all, it's that sense of humor that caught her in the first place.
She rushes to get to your cock and balls, and then spends a lot of time there. Then one hand works underneath, between your legs, back, to your ass; she has to stoop down a little to reach, and she smiles wickedly as she does this. She wraps her arms around you, soaping your back, into scratching your back, into embracing, pushing her chest out and against you. Wet tits against soapy chest. Almost no friction at all, just silky wetness. Softer than the twined tongues.
It's a sensory banquet. Never enough. But you know it's already late. If anything else is going to happen, you'll need to get a move on.
We had used the guest bathroom for the shower because it's further from the kids' bedrooms. For the same reason, we moved to the guest bedroom, wearing only towels. Amy tossed off hers when she jumped in the bed. I stood on it, straddling her and instructing her to remove my towel. In no time, my knees were against her armpits and she was hungrily sucking my cock, her hands placing mine on the back of her head, an indication that she wanted me to fuck her mouth. I obliged. "Beautiful," I said. "You suck cock so well. So beautiful."
She pushed my cock between her breasts. Something she's been doing a lot recently. Not that I'm complaining. Tit fucking is one of my favorite pastimes — just like baseball and campfire songs! — and I'm fortunate to have a lover whose tits were made to be fucked. I like to linger on the upstroke, let her take the head back in her mouth, a little added lubrication, before I pull back through her cleavage again.
At some point I couldn't stand it: I had to kiss her deep, experience that hot, shower-softened mouth, lips further swollen from cocksucking, a vague taste of dick and precum. I stretched my legs out, lowered down on top of her, rubbing my cock against her cunt as we chewed each other's lips, lost in lust.
"Where do you want me to go?" I whispered. I wasn't even sure what I was asking, honestly, it just sounded good at the moment. She rolled over, offering me her ass. Really? Down I went, devouring each globe. Nipping, kissing, licking. Working toward the crack, and then away. A rush, a feint. A charge, a bluff.
We were on the verge of new territory here. I was so hungry to eat her ass, I can't even describe it. I wondered if I could control myself. But I knew there was still an uneasiness for her. I made one more move, my lips approaching her asshole. She was surprisingly relaxed. Still, I paused.
"Are you game?" I asked, my lips still partly pressed against her ass.
She laughed, and then let out an overly dramatic, nervous moan. "Mmmmmmmmmmm ... Probably not tonight, I don't think."
"No worries," I said. I masked my deep disappointment well.
"Sorry," she said between kisses, back up beside her again. "I probably gave you a mixed signal when I turned over like that. I'm not sure why I did it."
I whisper in her ear, "We won't do anything you're not ready for." And then I can't help to add: "But something tells me when you finally let me do it ... you're going to love it."
I reached behind me for the bottle of lube.
"Awwww, you came prepared!" she said.
"Slipped it in my pocket earlier tonight." I hoped I didn't sound too presumptuous. I dribbled the lube on her pussy, worked it into her lips with one hand. I encouraged her to show me how to masturbate her. "Is this too soft?"
"A little," she whispered. After a moment: "Now, too hard."
"In between that," I wondered aloud.
"Not hard, but with purpose," she said. An instruction that came off too enigmatic for me in the heat of the moment. Instead, I ask for one of her palms, fill it with lube, and put the slickened hand on my cock.
"I've been thinking a lot about you jacking me off," I said. It was true. Handjobs haven't really interested me in the past. For some reason, I haven't been able to get the image out of my head. I think it's the exhibitionistic/voyeuristic aspect of it: Handjobs, unlike most blowjobs, are delivered with eyes open, and I love when she watches me come. We continued to masturbate each other.
I hooked my arm underneath her knees, and lifted her legs. Pushed my cock into her. From that position, I could watch her almost as a third person. I encouraged her to play with herself while we fuck. She obliged, a breast in one hand, the other frigging herself. The pace was slow. Sometimes, she'd use her heels against my ass to push my cock deeper.
And the sight, the sound, the feel ... it was just too much tonight: I came very quickly, a low-key climax, where she's not even one-hundred-percent sure it really happened. She asked. "Yep, I sure did," I sighed, making no effort this time to hide disappointment.
"Well, you're going to have to go down on me and give me mine," she said. It took me by surprise — both for her bluntness, and because ... well, of course I was going to go down on her. Did she really think I'd miss a chance to eat her out?
After, as she came down off her climax, Amy asked, "So, you really don't mind going down on me with all that lube and cum?"
"You're kidding, right?" I punctuated that with another deep thrust of my tongue.
"Of course," she said. "What was I thinking. You're the guy who eats everything."
18 February 2007
King's Night
What's the best thing about The World's Softest Pajamas™? When Amy straddles me and slowly, seductively unbuttons the oversized buttons on the top.
This was a King's night tonight: my chance to lie back and enjoy being "tended to" by my wife. Amy's was "out of commission" for another couple of days, but that didn't stop me from asking her if she would blow me before we went to sleep. As she slipped on those pajamas, she surprised me with a "Sure," considering how late it was.
I liked that she was putting a little thought into it, notjust going for the standard-issue, get-him-off-fast head. Or, perhaps she's smart enough to know that playing the seductress gets the job done faster in the long run, thus getting her to sleep faster.
Regardless, here we were: My wife, now hovering over me, her breasts peeking from behind the opened front of her pajama top, going for a full, soul-exploring kiss while grazing her fingernails over my chest. She silently started to move down toward the bottom of the bed, pausing to suck on a nipple, and then driving me absolutely wild via warm, wet kisses on my sides. (I've never told her what this does to me, by the way. It seems like an odd area to set off such erogenous feelings ... yet it isn't quite strange enough to earn the classification of "kink.")
There is that moment, before she takes me in her mouth, when the anticipation can make me giddy. Some nights, as she did tonight, she kisses around my cock. Or she goes further down and kisses my thighs. Or her nipples trace along my legs, causing her hair to inadvertently tickle my dick. I am in awe of expectancy. This is the moment, if she were on top of her game, when she would ask me for something I might not be giving her. (As if there were ever anything I would give her!) Note to the authorities: If I'm incarcerated and you need the information I've been withholding, bring my wife in, get me to this point, and then ask your most probing questions. I am putty.
Luckily, she didn't stop there. She slipped just the head in, suckled the helmet for a second, and then began the "lip walk" down the shaft. I wish I had a recording of the exhale that escapes me; I'm sure that breath sounds unlike any other I take during my entire day.
There are times that I honestly think I could have survived my entire life without ever having fucked someone, as long as I could give and receive oral sex. On this evening, Amy brought out her A-game: nibbling and sucking up and down the side of the shaft, tonguing my balls lightly, consuming them at times, with an involuntary grunt. Working hard and fast ... backing off slow, seeming to savor my cock. And at some point in the process, that cock always manages to find its way between her breasts, squeezed and massaged, lubricated with her saliva. Groan-inducing, indeed.
It's hard not to sound cliché after a blowjob like this, but I can't help it: As she lies back next to me again, and I feel the fresh deposit of cum on my stomach and dripping down my softening member, I kiss her deeply and say with as much import as I can muster: "God, do I love you!" It always brings a laugh, and I'm probably playing to the humor ... but I do truly mean it. I'm a lucky man.
***
Note: It's been a ridiculously busy couple of weeks for me, and the pressure of keeping up with Real Life and still blog as much as I wanted was too much. The timing was awful, seeing as the Sugasm thing last week increased visitors to this blog tenfold — literally — and then, just as suddenly, new original content seemed to stop. So it goes.
The funny thing is, at the same time that my life got all packed, Amy and I actually had sex three times in a seven-day period. Not an amazing thing for many of you, but for us, it was a truly remarkable feat. Of course, two of those can be attributed to Valentine's Day. But something else has happened, too — something in Amy's mind. You'll get to hear about in an upcoming post. I know I'm champing at the bit to write about it. Until then, you'll have to put up with the above vignette from last Sunday's encounter.
This was a King's night tonight: my chance to lie back and enjoy being "tended to" by my wife. Amy's was "out of commission" for another couple of days, but that didn't stop me from asking her if she would blow me before we went to sleep. As she slipped on those pajamas, she surprised me with a "Sure," considering how late it was.
I liked that she was putting a little thought into it, notjust going for the standard-issue, get-him-off-fast head. Or, perhaps she's smart enough to know that playing the seductress gets the job done faster in the long run, thus getting her to sleep faster.
Regardless, here we were: My wife, now hovering over me, her breasts peeking from behind the opened front of her pajama top, going for a full, soul-exploring kiss while grazing her fingernails over my chest. She silently started to move down toward the bottom of the bed, pausing to suck on a nipple, and then driving me absolutely wild via warm, wet kisses on my sides. (I've never told her what this does to me, by the way. It seems like an odd area to set off such erogenous feelings ... yet it isn't quite strange enough to earn the classification of "kink.")
There is that moment, before she takes me in her mouth, when the anticipation can make me giddy. Some nights, as she did tonight, she kisses around my cock. Or she goes further down and kisses my thighs. Or her nipples trace along my legs, causing her hair to inadvertently tickle my dick. I am in awe of expectancy. This is the moment, if she were on top of her game, when she would ask me for something I might not be giving her. (As if there were ever anything I would give her!) Note to the authorities: If I'm incarcerated and you need the information I've been withholding, bring my wife in, get me to this point, and then ask your most probing questions. I am putty.
Luckily, she didn't stop there. She slipped just the head in, suckled the helmet for a second, and then began the "lip walk" down the shaft. I wish I had a recording of the exhale that escapes me; I'm sure that breath sounds unlike any other I take during my entire day.
There are times that I honestly think I could have survived my entire life without ever having fucked someone, as long as I could give and receive oral sex. On this evening, Amy brought out her A-game: nibbling and sucking up and down the side of the shaft, tonguing my balls lightly, consuming them at times, with an involuntary grunt. Working hard and fast ... backing off slow, seeming to savor my cock. And at some point in the process, that cock always manages to find its way between her breasts, squeezed and massaged, lubricated with her saliva. Groan-inducing, indeed.
It's hard not to sound cliché after a blowjob like this, but I can't help it: As she lies back next to me again, and I feel the fresh deposit of cum on my stomach and dripping down my softening member, I kiss her deeply and say with as much import as I can muster: "God, do I love you!" It always brings a laugh, and I'm probably playing to the humor ... but I do truly mean it. I'm a lucky man.
Note: It's been a ridiculously busy couple of weeks for me, and the pressure of keeping up with Real Life and still blog as much as I wanted was too much. The timing was awful, seeing as the Sugasm thing last week increased visitors to this blog tenfold — literally — and then, just as suddenly, new original content seemed to stop. So it goes.
The funny thing is, at the same time that my life got all packed, Amy and I actually had sex three times in a seven-day period. Not an amazing thing for many of you, but for us, it was a truly remarkable feat. Of course, two of those can be attributed to Valentine's Day. But something else has happened, too — something in Amy's mind. You'll get to hear about in an upcoming post. I know I'm champing at the bit to write about it. Until then, you'll have to put up with the above vignette from last Sunday's encounter.
07 February 2007
Black Tie Optional; Cleavage Required.
"How are the contacts?" I asked Amy as we drove to the birthday party last Saturday night. She doesn't wear them very often -- they're often more bother to her eyes than they're worth.
"Fine. Of course, I can't see very well at night...."
"Then, you're not driving tonight," I ordered. "Which means you get to drink all you want tonight. Go for it."
Though she was looking out her window, I could tell she was smiling when she commented, "You just want me to get loose."
"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind," I insisted in mock shock.
Many impure thoughts had been crossing my mind for much of that afternoon. We had gone dress shopping for this event. Specifically, it was a friend's fortieth birthday, and the invitation said, very prominently: "Black Tie Optional." While it's rare that we go to grown-ups-only parties at all at this point in our lives, it's unheard of that we find ourselves at a party this formal. So Amy and I had spent a few hours at an upscale department store. We had narrowed it down to two dresses, both of which showed off her cleavage beautifully. It had been so long since she'd worn something like this, I had to keep checking in and making sure she was really comfortable with appearing in public looking this ... well, sexy.
"Well," I said, talking to Amy but raising my eyebrows at the saleswoman who had been helping us all afternoon, "you can bet I have no problem with it." The sales associate laughed, only slightly embarrassed. I'm sure she'd heard worse.
She decided on a flashy teal-and-brown number, with some sharkskin-like shimmery material highlighting in places, and some colorful beading. Her final touch, added just before we left for the party, was a necklace I had given her a couple of Christmases ago: a silver chain, with a second silver strand attached, and a black pearl dangling from the end. It worked beautifully, though Amy pointed out that the necklace essentially pointed to "the obvious" below. I noted that it wasn't likely that people were going to miss that cleavage, necklace or not. She didn't dispute me. I'm sure she also knew that I was going to enjoy the view all night. She had even assigned me the responsibility of letting me know if the dress had shifted, showing the strapless bra during the night.
"We should have a code phrase," I suggested.
"Just tell me, if it's alright, that you just checked in and 'the girls are fine.'" Perfect!
I dropped Amy off at the party and went to park the car. The first person to greet her was the birthday boy's wife, who instantly said: "Wow, you've got great cleavage. I'm so envious. I could never pull that off." When Amy told me this upon my arrival, I mentioned: "You have to figure, if the women are commenting on it...." She just smiled, but with an underlying boldness. She was gonna be fine.
As it turned out, cleavage was in no short supply at the party. One woman had been so daring as to wear a very nice navy pant suit with the coat buttoned up to only partially hide a red push-up bra. It sounds more slutty than it actually was ... she pulled it off nicely. Another woman, most definitely falling under the category of BBW, was working her benefits to the best of her advantage as well. But -- and this is a completely unbiased opinion here -- no one had pulled off the "revelation of the bosom" with as much class and flair as my wife.
The party was a low-key affair, held in a space inspired by 1920s France, with wall-to-wall red velvet, period fixtures, and Folies Bergere posters galore. It felt opulent, decadent. Though we knew hardly anyone there, Amy's outgoing personality attracted a couple, Adam and Maria, to our table, and we spent most of the night getting to know each other. They were about four years our junior, and really quite the gorgeous couple.
An astrologer had been hired as part of the entertainment, and Amy and I signed up for readings, as did our new friends. Amy got her reading first while I looked on. She was accurate on all the insanely general things ("You're feeling some stress in your life right now") and pretty wrong every time she tried to narrow in on more specific information. But at least she had a lovely British accent.
She asked Amy if she had any specific questions, which caught us by surprise. ("I didn't know we had to study for this test," I commented.) That gave me time to figure out my questions, and when it was my turn, I was prepared. My question about the health of a family member flustered the astrologer a little bit. (She wisely disclaimed everything she said by saying, "Of course, I'm not a medical doctor.") But then I really did a number on her when I looked over at Amy and said, "What I really want to know about is how my sex life is going to be in the future." Everyone at the table laughed, the astrologer most nervously.
"I want to know that too!" exclaimed Amy.
This emboldened me. "Okay! That's what I want to know!"
The astrologer, with a silly grin, couldn't stop giggling. All she could do was shake her head. She wasn't gonna go there. What a wuss! I asked some vague question about my job, and of course I was assured that everything was going swimmingly but that "there would be some change" coming. (Ya think?) We wrapped things up.
Later, as songs from the celebrated gentleman's birth year played over the P.A., we compared notes with Adam and Maria about our silly astrology readings. Conversation moved on to culture, work life, parenting. It was hard for my mind (helped along by two glasses of wine, a Tom Collins, and probably too little food) not to wander away to thoughts of us with this couple. Maria had these girl-next-door good looks, a natural beauty that looked slightly uncomfortable in this more formal setting. (I surmised she would have been happy to get out of her dress, and I was betting that Adam and I would be only too happy to oblige.) Adam had those chiseled features that reminded me of someone, and at some point during the night, I figured it out, bent to Amy's ear and whispered: "Sting!" She nodded agreement without breaking her conversation. I wondered if Adam's thoughts had wandered at all, courtesy Amy's, um, necklace.
In the car on the way home, Amy was feeling hungry. "Cheese fries sound decadent and amazing," she suggested. "Don't they?"
I slowed down -- we were just about to pass the exit we would need to take to get the best cheese fries in town. "That's a possibility," I said. "Another option would be a big bowl of buttered pasta after I'm done having my way with you tonight."
Amy half-smirked; she knew that overture was coming sometime in the evening. "That sounds good too. I can't decide. It all sounds good. Fries, pasta ... Either is fine. Regardless of your having your way with me." My zooming past the exit made the decision for us: Pasta it would be.
We arrived home after midnight, and I ran the babysitter back to her place. By the time I returned, I passed through the kitchen and saw a pot of water already heating on the stove. Amy was on the couch, still wearing her dress. "I thought we shouldn't delay getting the water going." I turned the burner down to simmer and proceeded to the living room, kneeling next to her. "I left my dress on. I figured you wanted to remove it."
"How astute."
She stood up and I turned her hips so that she faced away from me. Zipper down. Straps off shoulders. Dress sliding past the waist. Legs stepping out. I pressed my cheek against the small of her back as I reached up and cupped her tits, still clad in her strapless. I felt this internal release. Almost as if it was a relief to be here again. A hunger about to be sated ... finally. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Years?
And what the hell was that bra doing still on? Away it went.
Amy was feeling tired from the long day and asked to lie back down on the couch. We continued kissing as I rubbed her nylon-clad legs. Her neck was deliciously warm, and tucking my face in there, I felt like it was a favorite secret place. I noticed that as we kissed, Amy was doing something she doesn't normally do at this stage in the evening.
"You're really playing with your tits a lot tonight," I whispered. She was kneading them with both hands, rubbing them with flat palms. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about these tits rubbing against you...." she moaned. "Your chest ... Your cock...."
"Show me."
She sat up. "Lie down."
Once I was on my back, my wife kissed quickly down my chest while undoing my belt. Soon the pants were history, and she rubbed her face against my cock and balls. Somewhere in there, as if by magic, my cock was deep in her mouth -- and then, just as suddenly, feeling the air again. And then quickly enveloped by her tits. It wasn't a tit-fuck so much as it was a breast attack ... rubbing all over, with intermittent cock-sucking to keep things lubricated. When she didn't have her mouth full of cock, it was full of words.
"I'm thinking about another man fucking me," she hissed, "while I suck this cock."
"God, yes," I encouraged. "I'd love to see him drilling you back there."
"He's filling me with his hard dick," she moaned.
I had to hand it to her, she was giving it her all. Maybe too much for her, in fact: She seemed almost restless, rushed. She stopped after only a short while, insisting: "I need to really get fucked." She stood up long enough to inside-out the pantyhose, and then she was straddling me. Without further "ado," she shoved my cock into her cunt. No lube, no other prep.
I'm losing count of how many times recently she has become the aggressor. And for the first time -- just for a moment -- I was a little bothered by it. In my version of how things would go tonight, I had imagined that I would be the one in control. Yet, here we were again, with her fucking me. Not that it was difficult to adjust my expectations! But just for a moment, I wondered if she was using the control as a way of keeping something else from happening, something she didn't want. For the life of me, I can't imagine what that would be.
Was this a case of getting what I had asked for? I had wanted her to be a little more aggressive in bed, to tell me what she wanted, to take it rather than always waiting for it to be handed to her. On the grand scheme of things, this is an extremely minor issue, not even rising to the level of "complaint." More an observation, something to be aware of.
Meanwhile, the fucking continued, hard and fast, but again, not for long: She popped off of my dick and moved up the couch until her pussy was pressing against my face. I caught her oh-so-subtle hint and went to town on her with my tongue and teeth. Her pussy was delightfully soft, tenderized by the frantic fucking. She ground hard against my mouth as I worked her pussy to an orgasm that temporarily tensed every muscle in her body. The tension was followed by a sigh, a balloon slowly, soundlessly releasing all of its air.
Aware that I hadn't gotten mine yet, Amy laid down in the opposite direction on the couch, sort of curling herself around my dick and beginning some serious oral with intent. I encouraged her: "That's right ... nice and sloppy. Let me hear you sucking my cock. Suck your husband's cock 'til he shoots his come all over." I tried playing with her pussy a bit as she blew me, but she nudged my hand away.
When I got close, I told her I wanted to come on her tits, and her approval came in the form of a moan that moved me quickly to the goal. Soon she was pushing my cock between her breasts as I squeezed out a few shudder-accompanied spurts. "Sorry the angle wasn't better for getting it all over my tits," she said.
"No need to apologize." I pressed her against me, feeling my cum on her chest, now on mine as well. "It's not like I was going to take the time to reposition us just for a money shot." At least not this time.
She snuggled up against me. "So how about that pasta?" she asked.
"I'm on it," I said. But I didn't move, and shortly we had both fallen into a light slumber.
Some time later, we roused, and Amy asked, "Do you still want the pasta?"
"Not really," I said. "I'm feeling pretty fulfilled at the moment." She still wanted something, so we settled on a grilled cheese sandwich, which I prepared in the nude. It's not the safest thing in the world, but if I'm not, say, cooking bacon, I love cooking in the nude. And it's not something I get to do too often anymore.
Amy was sore the next day -- not using lube turned out to be a slight mistake. But it did lead to her making a comment as we drove to work Monday morning: "I'm sorry we're not having sex more often ... But you have to admit that it's pretty amazing when we do."
Yes, I guess I do have to admit that. And hardly begrudgingly.
"Fine. Of course, I can't see very well at night...."
"Then, you're not driving tonight," I ordered. "Which means you get to drink all you want tonight. Go for it."
Though she was looking out her window, I could tell she was smiling when she commented, "You just want me to get loose."
"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind," I insisted in mock shock.
Many impure thoughts had been crossing my mind for much of that afternoon. We had gone dress shopping for this event. Specifically, it was a friend's fortieth birthday, and the invitation said, very prominently: "Black Tie Optional." While it's rare that we go to grown-ups-only parties at all at this point in our lives, it's unheard of that we find ourselves at a party this formal. So Amy and I had spent a few hours at an upscale department store. We had narrowed it down to two dresses, both of which showed off her cleavage beautifully. It had been so long since she'd worn something like this, I had to keep checking in and making sure she was really comfortable with appearing in public looking this ... well, sexy.
"Well," I said, talking to Amy but raising my eyebrows at the saleswoman who had been helping us all afternoon, "you can bet I have no problem with it." The sales associate laughed, only slightly embarrassed. I'm sure she'd heard worse.
She decided on a flashy teal-and-brown number, with some sharkskin-like shimmery material highlighting in places, and some colorful beading. Her final touch, added just before we left for the party, was a necklace I had given her a couple of Christmases ago: a silver chain, with a second silver strand attached, and a black pearl dangling from the end. It worked beautifully, though Amy pointed out that the necklace essentially pointed to "the obvious" below. I noted that it wasn't likely that people were going to miss that cleavage, necklace or not. She didn't dispute me. I'm sure she also knew that I was going to enjoy the view all night. She had even assigned me the responsibility of letting me know if the dress had shifted, showing the strapless bra during the night.
"We should have a code phrase," I suggested.
"Just tell me, if it's alright, that you just checked in and 'the girls are fine.'" Perfect!
I dropped Amy off at the party and went to park the car. The first person to greet her was the birthday boy's wife, who instantly said: "Wow, you've got great cleavage. I'm so envious. I could never pull that off." When Amy told me this upon my arrival, I mentioned: "You have to figure, if the women are commenting on it...." She just smiled, but with an underlying boldness. She was gonna be fine.
As it turned out, cleavage was in no short supply at the party. One woman had been so daring as to wear a very nice navy pant suit with the coat buttoned up to only partially hide a red push-up bra. It sounds more slutty than it actually was ... she pulled it off nicely. Another woman, most definitely falling under the category of BBW, was working her benefits to the best of her advantage as well. But -- and this is a completely unbiased opinion here -- no one had pulled off the "revelation of the bosom" with as much class and flair as my wife.
The party was a low-key affair, held in a space inspired by 1920s France, with wall-to-wall red velvet, period fixtures, and Folies Bergere posters galore. It felt opulent, decadent. Though we knew hardly anyone there, Amy's outgoing personality attracted a couple, Adam and Maria, to our table, and we spent most of the night getting to know each other. They were about four years our junior, and really quite the gorgeous couple.
An astrologer had been hired as part of the entertainment, and Amy and I signed up for readings, as did our new friends. Amy got her reading first while I looked on. She was accurate on all the insanely general things ("You're feeling some stress in your life right now") and pretty wrong every time she tried to narrow in on more specific information. But at least she had a lovely British accent.
She asked Amy if she had any specific questions, which caught us by surprise. ("I didn't know we had to study for this test," I commented.) That gave me time to figure out my questions, and when it was my turn, I was prepared. My question about the health of a family member flustered the astrologer a little bit. (She wisely disclaimed everything she said by saying, "Of course, I'm not a medical doctor.") But then I really did a number on her when I looked over at Amy and said, "What I really want to know about is how my sex life is going to be in the future." Everyone at the table laughed, the astrologer most nervously.
"I want to know that too!" exclaimed Amy.
This emboldened me. "Okay! That's what I want to know!"
The astrologer, with a silly grin, couldn't stop giggling. All she could do was shake her head. She wasn't gonna go there. What a wuss! I asked some vague question about my job, and of course I was assured that everything was going swimmingly but that "there would be some change" coming. (Ya think?) We wrapped things up.
Later, as songs from the celebrated gentleman's birth year played over the P.A., we compared notes with Adam and Maria about our silly astrology readings. Conversation moved on to culture, work life, parenting. It was hard for my mind (helped along by two glasses of wine, a Tom Collins, and probably too little food) not to wander away to thoughts of us with this couple. Maria had these girl-next-door good looks, a natural beauty that looked slightly uncomfortable in this more formal setting. (I surmised she would have been happy to get out of her dress, and I was betting that Adam and I would be only too happy to oblige.) Adam had those chiseled features that reminded me of someone, and at some point during the night, I figured it out, bent to Amy's ear and whispered: "Sting!" She nodded agreement without breaking her conversation. I wondered if Adam's thoughts had wandered at all, courtesy Amy's, um, necklace.
In the car on the way home, Amy was feeling hungry. "Cheese fries sound decadent and amazing," she suggested. "Don't they?"
I slowed down -- we were just about to pass the exit we would need to take to get the best cheese fries in town. "That's a possibility," I said. "Another option would be a big bowl of buttered pasta after I'm done having my way with you tonight."
Amy half-smirked; she knew that overture was coming sometime in the evening. "That sounds good too. I can't decide. It all sounds good. Fries, pasta ... Either is fine. Regardless of your having your way with me." My zooming past the exit made the decision for us: Pasta it would be.
We arrived home after midnight, and I ran the babysitter back to her place. By the time I returned, I passed through the kitchen and saw a pot of water already heating on the stove. Amy was on the couch, still wearing her dress. "I thought we shouldn't delay getting the water going." I turned the burner down to simmer and proceeded to the living room, kneeling next to her. "I left my dress on. I figured you wanted to remove it."
"How astute."
She stood up and I turned her hips so that she faced away from me. Zipper down. Straps off shoulders. Dress sliding past the waist. Legs stepping out. I pressed my cheek against the small of her back as I reached up and cupped her tits, still clad in her strapless. I felt this internal release. Almost as if it was a relief to be here again. A hunger about to be sated ... finally. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Years?
And what the hell was that bra doing still on? Away it went.
Amy was feeling tired from the long day and asked to lie back down on the couch. We continued kissing as I rubbed her nylon-clad legs. Her neck was deliciously warm, and tucking my face in there, I felt like it was a favorite secret place. I noticed that as we kissed, Amy was doing something she doesn't normally do at this stage in the evening.
"You're really playing with your tits a lot tonight," I whispered. She was kneading them with both hands, rubbing them with flat palms. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about these tits rubbing against you...." she moaned. "Your chest ... Your cock...."
"Show me."
She sat up. "Lie down."
Once I was on my back, my wife kissed quickly down my chest while undoing my belt. Soon the pants were history, and she rubbed her face against my cock and balls. Somewhere in there, as if by magic, my cock was deep in her mouth -- and then, just as suddenly, feeling the air again. And then quickly enveloped by her tits. It wasn't a tit-fuck so much as it was a breast attack ... rubbing all over, with intermittent cock-sucking to keep things lubricated. When she didn't have her mouth full of cock, it was full of words.
"I'm thinking about another man fucking me," she hissed, "while I suck this cock."
"God, yes," I encouraged. "I'd love to see him drilling you back there."
"He's filling me with his hard dick," she moaned.
I had to hand it to her, she was giving it her all. Maybe too much for her, in fact: She seemed almost restless, rushed. She stopped after only a short while, insisting: "I need to really get fucked." She stood up long enough to inside-out the pantyhose, and then she was straddling me. Without further "ado," she shoved my cock into her cunt. No lube, no other prep.
I'm losing count of how many times recently she has become the aggressor. And for the first time -- just for a moment -- I was a little bothered by it. In my version of how things would go tonight, I had imagined that I would be the one in control. Yet, here we were again, with her fucking me. Not that it was difficult to adjust my expectations! But just for a moment, I wondered if she was using the control as a way of keeping something else from happening, something she didn't want. For the life of me, I can't imagine what that would be.
Was this a case of getting what I had asked for? I had wanted her to be a little more aggressive in bed, to tell me what she wanted, to take it rather than always waiting for it to be handed to her. On the grand scheme of things, this is an extremely minor issue, not even rising to the level of "complaint." More an observation, something to be aware of.
Meanwhile, the fucking continued, hard and fast, but again, not for long: She popped off of my dick and moved up the couch until her pussy was pressing against my face. I caught her oh-so-subtle hint and went to town on her with my tongue and teeth. Her pussy was delightfully soft, tenderized by the frantic fucking. She ground hard against my mouth as I worked her pussy to an orgasm that temporarily tensed every muscle in her body. The tension was followed by a sigh, a balloon slowly, soundlessly releasing all of its air.
Aware that I hadn't gotten mine yet, Amy laid down in the opposite direction on the couch, sort of curling herself around my dick and beginning some serious oral with intent. I encouraged her: "That's right ... nice and sloppy. Let me hear you sucking my cock. Suck your husband's cock 'til he shoots his come all over." I tried playing with her pussy a bit as she blew me, but she nudged my hand away.
When I got close, I told her I wanted to come on her tits, and her approval came in the form of a moan that moved me quickly to the goal. Soon she was pushing my cock between her breasts as I squeezed out a few shudder-accompanied spurts. "Sorry the angle wasn't better for getting it all over my tits," she said.
"No need to apologize." I pressed her against me, feeling my cum on her chest, now on mine as well. "It's not like I was going to take the time to reposition us just for a money shot." At least not this time.
She snuggled up against me. "So how about that pasta?" she asked.
"I'm on it," I said. But I didn't move, and shortly we had both fallen into a light slumber.
Some time later, we roused, and Amy asked, "Do you still want the pasta?"
"Not really," I said. "I'm feeling pretty fulfilled at the moment." She still wanted something, so we settled on a grilled cheese sandwich, which I prepared in the nude. It's not the safest thing in the world, but if I'm not, say, cooking bacon, I love cooking in the nude. And it's not something I get to do too often anymore.
Amy was sore the next day -- not using lube turned out to be a slight mistake. But it did lead to her making a comment as we drove to work Monday morning: "I'm sorry we're not having sex more often ... But you have to admit that it's pretty amazing when we do."
Yes, I guess I do have to admit that. And hardly begrudgingly.
27 January 2007
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