Morning pillow talk

I woke up this morning and snuggled on River and started crying. I was thinking about something she recently wrote to a mutual friend. A few years ago she could see our relationship was dying. If we hadn’t had a family together she would have left. I told her about that and wanted to share what we said. A lot of the time it's not important who says what in our snippets of conversation. But this time it is. I'm talking first here. “The same friend asked me what I feared the most about our relationship, and I said fucking it up. If that kind of thing happens again, let me know.” “I will. Of course. I don’t think that kind of thing could happen again.” “I almost messed it up with my first antidepressant experience. You had to put up with a lot of shit. I’m your number one stressor.” “But we came out of it a lot stronger.” “I love you.” “I love you.”

I don’t really want to dilute that one, but what came next was too good to pass up: “You felt so amazing snuggling on me last night. Warm and toasty. Fitting nicely to me. A nice shape. Me in my dreamy sleepy state. I was angling for our old stick-in, face-to-face, but when you rolled over I eventually thought I’d take advantage of things. In my dreamy sleepy state. How’s your butthole?” “Fine.” “I love you.” “I love you.”

Every other time

I’ve only been coming about every other time lately. Sometimes every time, sometimes every third time, sometimes every other time. I’m getting used to it. It’s actually kind of nice. I like the feeling it leaves me with. Like I’m on a hair trigger. A pleasant pressure in my balls. More easily arousable. A good feeling for a guy with some ED.

We had a nice afternoon fuck a few days ago. We were 19-year old guy on experienced woman. I came easily, for a change. In character. The next night I was wanting more but River was sleepy. Around 1am she gets up to pee. I snuggle on her when she gets back. She falls asleep quickly. I slowly get hard. Very slowly. My cock brushing her leg should be enough. But I reach down. Feel my rubbery glans with my thumb. Pull the shaft. It helps, but not enough.

She’s wearing panties and a cute black nightie. Unusual. We normally sleep naked. Her period may be about to start. I feel for a pad. Nothing. I finger her through the cotton. The soft ring of her asshole is my landmark. Up to her labia. I’ve got visions of slipping her panties out of her crack and slipping my cock in. The thought should get me hard. But I’m still just halfway there. My fingers work the fabric aside. Feel for her wetness. Her labia thwart me. Delicious and thick. But thwarting. Is this why some women get labia reduction surgery? I’ll take delicious and thick, thanks. They feel nice. They look nice. Especially from behind, under her ass, her legs slightly parted.

There it is. Wet. My finger circles through the varying textures. Smooth. Soft. Firm. Rough. My cock stiffens. I sit to position myself. River wakes up. Rolls onto her side. I’m adaptable. She lies. I sit. Her hand pulls her panties down over her ass. My finger guides my cock into her. I push. But it won’t go. Thwarted again. She reaches down, spreads her lips for me. Accepts me. And we fuck.

Or I fuck. Fuck her. She moans and pushes her ass back against me. I breathe deep and push in, the head of my cock popping in and out of her pussy opening. Right where it feels best. My hands and fingers slip under her nightie, trace over the silky skin of her back and ass as we fuck. I pull her against me. Build up and fall back. Her ass pressing against me as my cock humps into her, between her softly fuzzy lips, into the wet.

I won’t finish. That’s ok. I’ve gotten used to it. I still like it. Like having a sweetie to fuck. Like how it feels, emotionally and physically. Love and pleasure. Before, during, and after.

A few places

The house we're staying in is not a house I grew up in. It’s pretty much the opposite of our house. Carpeted floors, electric wine bottle openers, 3-car garage, illogically-placed light switches, bleeping kitchen appliances, jetted tub, TV in the bedroom. The list is endless. At least there are a few places we’ve put to good use.

Frequent fucking

We've been doing it rather a lot lately. We haven't even been using the sex dice. I'm wondering why. There are a couple reasons I can think of:

• River has been on bupropion, specifically to increase her libido. She says she's liking physical contact even more than usual.  She's always liked it, but only to a certain point it seems.  We've been having some really great smoochies and grinding hugs.
• She's on break from school for about a month.
• We've been away from home recently.  Being in a new environment seems to make her more amenable. That seems odd because in the past she's been puzzled about how I'm always wanting to have sex in various places. I've always thought that must be more of a guy thing.
• My SSRI makes it noticeably harder for me to orgasm, so I don't always. She may be feeling like we have to get back to it and finish.  Or she might be liking how long I can pound her without coming.  She can wear me out making me fuck her.
• We just did a bathroom remodel and we're doing a kitchen makeover.  Maybe that's making her feel the way she needs to feel.

I like frequent fucking, but I'm starting to wonder if it will become too much of a good thing.  I hope not.

Update, four days later: River says it's the school break. And I say it's not too much of a good thing.

Who would do that?

River skipped her shower this morning. She knows what that's going to get her. “I want to eat your pussy.” “You might not like the taste.” Is she kidding? Why wouldn’t I like the taste? “I wiped it with an anti-smelly wipe.” I can't believe it. “Who would do that to a perfectly good pussy?”

Is that what I think it is?

We’re at my parents’ house for a few days. They’re gone. I’m in the shower. Unaccompanied, unfortunately. “I have to get my coffee,” says River. “I thought you were going to say ‘I have to get my cock.’” “I already got that.” Indeed she did. Her cock. My cock. Same thing.

So I’m in the shower. It’s a stall with a shower head on each side. Takes all the fun out of showering together, we agree. Well, not all of it, I guess. I look up and see something hanging from one of the shower heads. OMG. Is that what I think it is? It's triangular and has a strap. It looks like a filter mask. For breathing. Is that for when they fart in the shower? Whose side is it on?

Oh. It’s just some kind of body washing device.

Analogies

Today River says she only likes doing it, by which she means fucking, because she likes me. I sort of knew that, but today I’m thinking about it. I’m not sure quite how I feel about that but my first reaction is that I don’t like it, and it doesn’t make me feel too good.

I think I’d rather have a sweetie that likes doing it and likes doing it with me best of all. It’s kind of depressing to think of her happily not doing it for the rest of her life if I suddenly snuff it.

She says she likes it, and she certainly seems to most of the time, but rightly or wrongly what she says gives me this feeling that she only likes it because it placates me or something. No, she says she wants to have a full relationship with me that includes sex. But when I’m dearly departed she’ll be happy not having that kind of relationship with anybody. And not having sex with anybody.

I always look for analogies to try to understand things better. So I think, that’s like me saying I only like drinking wine because I like her. That doesn’t help at all because it’s true that I really have no use for drinking except it’s something I like to do with her. If she bit it I would happily live the rest of my life without drinking. Well, I wouldn’t be happy at all if she bit it, but not drinking wouldn’t make it worse.

So how about, I only like remodeling the bathroom because I like River? I’ve only got two analogies but I’m noticing a pattern here. River looks at sex the way I look at remodeling the bathroom.

I was right. I don’t like that at all.

Now I wonder if people look at our new bathroom and think wow, Reed and River must have some pretty great sex.

In the middle

“You’re right. Fucking without having an orgasm is still quite nice.” This after a long and somewhat exhausting session for both of us. “I’m glad you’re getting to find that out.” “But now we’re still in the middle of a fuck. I was thinking that during Thanksgiving dinner -- ‘We’re in the middle of a fuck.’” “Cute.” “And then I wonder how many other people are in the middle of a fuck.” “Ha ha.”

Both of us were happy

A friend writes, “Last night we had a really sweet fuck, both of us came, and both of us were happy.” This morning River and I had a good time in the bath. River tried out the new shower head. I enjoyed a good long show while the tub filled and her vulva slowly submerged and I rubbed her g-spot, and I got to try my hand at using the shower head on her. Afterwards I enjoyed the squeaky friction of her watery-wet pussy, which isn’t usually my favorite but this time there was just something different. Neither of us came. “A morning taster,” River called it. Both of us were happy.

Why do these words sound so nasty?

“Cunnilingus. Or some ridiculous word like that.” “It is pretty ridiculous.” “But not as bad as fellatio.” “What’s wrong with that?” “It sounds all hoity-toity.” “Just think of it like this. Fella. She. Oh.” Her mouth forms the shape. Where did she learn that? In the church van on the way to a retreat? “Where did you learn that?” “I just made it up.” “Where have you been all my life?”

Asking for blow jobs

Asking for blow jobs is awkward for me. But I’m working on it a little.

The dice say we’re not on until Saturday evening. That’s fine. We had a very nice flurry on Thanksgiving and aftewards. Last night I was telling River how on the way to work I got harder than I remember getting in that situation for years. It usually only starts getting hard when I’m on the second day of a Cialis, or when we do it in the morning without finishing. But this time it got harder than that. If River had been with me I would have pulled over on the side of the freeway.

“What brought that on?” “I was thinking about how we slipped into that fantasy that you were a college student answering a post I put on the job board.” “What was the job for?” I make something up. “A blow job.” “I’d answer a post like that.” I like where this is heading. “But not until after my final.”