Once more, with feeling

River, who is one of my lurkers, mentions that I should write more about my feelings. How do I feel when she has a toothache, when she drops a giant book on the floor, when she says "Hi you" as I get into bed. My feeling is that's a really good idea and it makes me happy to have her make a suggestion like that.

Thinking, reading, and rolling

I was thinking about it on the way home. How the sex dice have been really great for taking the pressure off me as the primary initiator and rejectee. Being rejected wasn't so bad, but it got old always trying to balance my libido against River's, not trying to seem too greedy, contemplating "seize the moment" versus delayed gratification. Maybe I was over thinking things but if I hadn't I'd be pressuring for sex every five minutes which doesn't work as well as it should. Especially when we just fucked five minutes ago.

But then being the one who was always bringing the dice over to River got old. Instead of pressuring for sex I was now pressuring her to roll the dice to see when our next fuck would be. At least I didn't have to do that every five minutes.

So I was thinking about that on the way home. Wishing River would bring the dice to me. And she read my mind. We're on for tomorrow morning.

Girl on film

A few years ago I got myself a digital SLR for my birthday. I wanted to show River what she looks like to me. I think I’ve been successful.

Today I’ve pulled it out after our shower while she’s dressing. She’s gotten used to that. So have I. “It looks better when you’re pulling your panties down instead of up.” She obliges. I take a few and show her. “Do you have a worthy crop?” No, not to hit her with. To show her. “This is nice. It would look better if you stood up straight.” “Or just had bigger boobs. Not too big. Just back to where they were. Actually the boobs don’t look too bad.”

That’s the nicest thing she’s said about my favorite boobs in a long time. I like it.

Happy travels

Is today, the day before Thanksgiving, still the biggest travel day in the US? Even if it isn't, as you fly over don't forget to wonder how many people down there are fucking. And hopefully the answer will be "at least two".

Taste

Disclaimer: This post didn’t quite turn out like I hoped. I’d hoped to focus on eating River’s pussy, particularly how she watched and how tasting her helped get me hard. Although those elements are present, they are not as prominent as I intended.

“I want to eat your pussy.” “I was thinking you might.” We’ve been to the ballet. Put the kids to bed. Poured a glass of something pink and bubbly to share. River pulls her shirt over her head in the dining room. Her nipples blaze enticingly on her bare tits. Her skirt falls away. She sits naked on the black wood of the chair, a gold chain curving sinuously above her breasts. “I feel overdressed.” “Le déjeuner sur l’herbe.” “Yes.” “You are overdressed.”

On the bed. River at the edge. A pillow on the floor for my knees. Her legs cascading down with her feet resting on my legs. Her pussy spread before me. Dark fur. Dark fleshy lips. My tongue flattens. Slides over them. Teases them. Parts them. My cock feels her tangy taste in my mouth, smells the scent lingering on her bush, and begins to harden.

River sits up to watch. I put on a show for her. My tongue walks up her lips to her clit. “That’s a long tongue.” I plunge it straight into her pussy, my mouth on her opening, and fuck her with it. My cock likes it. River likes it. She grinds against me, her clit against my circling tongue. What did she just say about the good part? I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s all good part tonight.

My cock wants more of her taste. Where is it? I push my tongue in deep. Have I licked her clean? Deeper. Curl the tip up. Side to side. Deeper than ever before. My lips surrounding hers. There it is. Tangy. My cock responds.

I stand and slide into her easily. And we fuck. Hugging. Writhing. Gasping. Her legs together. My hands crossed on her tits. Her feet on the bed lifting her ass while she fucks me with her cunt. My juice or hers? I don’t know. I don’t care.

I hold off. Orgasms have gotten easier. Hold off again. Fold her up into jackknife. Sit up and run my fingers over her skin. I love how she fucks me from underneath, arching and sliding her pussy up and down my rigid cock. I fuck back. “This time.” She fucks me. I let myself come. She makes me come. Groaning. My toes tying themselves in knots. The exposed feeling of my nuts being pulled up inside me. I push her back into jackknife and bang deep. Deeper. Pubic bones grinding. Come filling her. The way we like it.

I soften and she squeezes my cock out. My fingers take its place. “You feel more box-like to my fingers.” They squish inside her warmth. Find the ridge. The walls. The g-spot. I pull them out. She asks to see them. Slick and glistening. I put them in my mouth. I taste her. I taste me. I taste us.

River is sweet

River is sweet when she gets up. Not that kind of sweet, unfortunately. “Do we roll the dice for back rubs now?” “You didn’t say anything.” “Didn’t you like that?” See, there’s the backlash. She recognizes it and leaves. She’s smart. And she pulls us out. Says I haven’t seemed antidepressed enough for about four days. It’s true. Sits on the kitchen floor and kisses me. Says she likes me. And tells the kids they’ve got about 15 minutes until it’s time to leave for school. “That’s enough time.” She doesn’t get it. That’s ok.

It doesn't happen

River came to bed kind of late. "What happened to our plan from yesterday?" "I can give you a back rub." We don't roll the dice for back rubs. I feel backlash. I don't say anything because I hate it when she non-answers. I don't even move.

We almost didn't snuggle last night

We almost didn’t snuggle last night. The sex dice said we were on, but River mentioned we’d have to be creative since a rather heavy period just started. Her idea of creative is backrubs. My idea of creative is a blow job. Or why not both? Because she got up early, had a busy day, and has to get up early tomorrow. That’s fine. But she’s also been complaining about her jaw hurting after some dental work last week, and taking ibuprofen. Neither of which is sexy. And the last thing you probably want to do with a hurting jaw is give a blow job.

So I was thinking about blow jobs. We don’t do very many. River says she likes to do them. I guess it’s me who prefers hand jobs. And we both prefer fucking. I feel a bit sheepish asking for blow jobs. How can I want River to ask to have her pussy eaten, when I have a hard time asking for a blow job. Maybe it would be different if River told me she wanted me to ask for blow jobs. But she hasn’t.

At least I can no longer claim that River has never asked me to eat her pussy. Last week she planted it firmly on my face while we were on the futon, and said she was into it. And she was. It was everything I was hoping it would be. Except the angle didn’t work so well.

The thought crosses my mind that maybe River doesn’t want to have me write about getting a blow job from her. No, she would just tell me not to.

Periods, tiredness, pain, and not fucking are hardly reasons not to snuggle. But on top of that we had a conversation about something during which I got kind of riled up and confrontational. I’ve got an unfortunate tendency to do that. Still not all that big a deal. Our relationship can easily handle a bit of that.

It was black gravity. That’s what depression feels like to me. Black gravity sucking me down. And it felt nice. And comfortable. I missed it. It didn’t take me all the way down, but far enough that I could feel its seduction and almost wanted to go further. I was feeling envious, things were unfair, I was feeling sorry for myself.

River comes in and I’m in bed already. She’s surprised. She doesn’t know about today’s black gravity. She thinks I’ve gone to bed in a huff over our discussion. I haven’t. I just turned out the light and got in bed because I was done doing what I was doing. She stays on her side of the bed. This has happened before. She’s probably not sure what to do. Has she forgotten she can always snuggle me? Neither of us says anything. I know we have to snuggle.

“What are you doing over there?” I’m not sure which of us invented that line, but it’s a good one. We’re back.

We end up snuggling to sleep. In the morning I think of how stupid I’d be feeling if we hadn’t.

Maybe we’ll fuck tonight. Or something creative.

What else could we be doing?

I like waking up with River in the morning. This morning I’m next to her, thinking my usual thing. I’m on this antidepressant and they can apparently mess with your libido, or your performance, usually in the wrong direction. But this one I’m on doesn’t seem to make much difference one way or the other. Just makes it harder to orgasm, and makes the orgasms a little less orgasmic. But I can live with that. And so can River, most of the time. Sometimes I think she even likes it.

This morning we're in bed and she’s talking about nursing school. And it’s really interesting stuff, for sure. But does she know what else we could be doing while she talks? “I’m thinking about blogging about how I want to fuck you.” “That’s good to know.”

“I love you”

I like to talk while fucking but one thing I don’t really say is “I love you”. I say it all the time in other situations. Going to sleep. When River does something sweet. Or just out of the blue. But it’s always seemed a bit insincere to say “I love you” while fucking. So I don’t. I don’t like feeling insincere.

Recently, River and I were talking about it. While fucking. And it turns out she doesn’t have the same take on it. Which isn’t surprising, because as compatible as we are we tend to be extremely different about many things. But she doesn’t say it either, even though she says “I love you” in plenty of other situations.

So I try it. We’re fucking, face to face, and I say “I love you.” It’s kind of nice. And it’s sincere. At least when we’re face to face.