Hopefully more tonight

River and I go out to lunch today. “Didn’t you promise me a back rub a while back?” Well yeah, she can get a back rub just about any time she wants. I love touching her. We think about why she didn’t get one. Maybe she was too tired. No, that doesn’t make sense. “I was too cold.” That’s it. I put my hand on her back in the restaurant. She purrs. She wants more of that when we get home.

“Should we turn on the stove in the bedroom?” “I’d rather have it as a reward for doing my homework.” “That’s fine.”

Four hours later she hasn’t claimed it. I’m not feeling good about that. “Well I had all this stuff I had to do.” “Had to do.” She could have told me earlier, instead of letting me assume and sit here for hours. Or I could have asked, but it just seemed implied by the way she said it that it wouldn’t be too long. Still, assumptions often get me in trouble and I'm trying to learn to avoid them. “There was a bunch of other stuff I forgot about.” “So I’m just one more thing in the big pile of stuff you forgot about.” That doesn’t make me feel good. “Well don’t you forget about stuff?” “Of course I do. And I probably upset people. And I probably apologize.” “Apologies are good.” Then why doesn’t she do it.

“We’ve got 15 minutes until I have to pick up Brook.” “You should do your reading or one of those other things you have to do, and we can save it for tonight.” My problem is that she said it was something she wanted, but it seems like she’s trying to squeeze it in like something I want (which I do), and I’m supposed to be grateful.

“I want it because my back is all achy.” There we go. That melts me. I don’t feel cast aside and taken for granted anymore. I feel wanted and needed. River gets 15 minutes of back rub. And hopefully more tonight.

Priorities

It had been a while and we had a plan to do it in the afternoon. I wasn’t sure it was going to happen but River let me help set priorities and we had a nice time before dinner while the kids were doing ... something.

River did her usual nice job of getting me hard while I felt her unusually wet pussy. Which isn't to say it's not normally wet, she's usually quite nicely lubricated, with different feels for different times of the month.

We had a nice fuck while talking about this and that, which is one of my favorite things to do, and flipping through several variations of her on her back and me on my side and our legs in creative places.

I wasn’t sure I was going to come until I angled for her g-spot and suddenly there was the friction I needed, and I could tell by the sounds she was making that I’d found something good for her, too. Either that or she was just faking it so I'd hurry up and come, but I believe her when she says she can't fake it, and has no idea what she sounds like while we're fucking.

When I came she just fucked me right through it so I didn’t stop either, we just kept fucking and talking until eventually I got soft (maybe it's a good thing I get soft or I might never stop) and we did our traditional t-shirt wipe-up and had meatloaf for dinner.

(That was a strange experiment in past tense for me. I usually write in what I call "immediate tense" because it's so immediate -- more present than present tense.)

Cute butt jeans

River is wearing her cute butt jeans. Levi’s 505s. They’re all worn in, stretched out, and painted on. And her butt is in them. They definitely give me what we call a “reaction”. Or rather, River gives me the reaction. Every time she wears them, the conversation goes something like this. “Your butt sure looks cute in those jeans.” “That’s surprising. These are my most worn out, baggy, comfy jeans.” “That’s why you look so cute.”

Birthday thought

We celebrated River’s birthday recently, and of course we took advantage of our “last chance to fuck me before I’m a year older” tradition. Birthday morning I was feeling her boobs and had a sudden realization. “Your boobs aren’t as old as you are.” “You’re right. I sprouted kind of late. My boobs are probably only 30 years old.” “Mmm, 30-year old boobs.” “I like the way you say that.”

Our favorite music to fuck to

Our friends are always asking why River and I have such great sex and they don't. It's because we've got this squeezebox radio in the bedroom that plays gazillions of internet radio stations. We've also got a squeezebox duet for our stereo. It's pretty much all we ever play, aside from some vinyl.

Our favorite music to fuck to is this:

http://www.divbyzero.de/chill.pls

It's like having our own modern electroporn soundtrack.

The squeezeboxes also play Pandora stations, and our second favorite is classical guitar, in particular a station set up with Pepe Romero. I've had a Pandora membership for years because they're so cool. It has nothing to do with them having my band's music on their service. Really.

And just so you know, we don't have a TV in our bedroom, and never have, and never will. Just the occasional iPad.

Naked morning

“I don’t have to shower. I’m beautiful!” “That’s what I tell you all the time. Hi, beautiful.” She’s seen that so often she can read my lips. Or maye she’s reading my face. Or my mind.

She’s scampering all over the house. Naked. Except for her glasses. That just emphasizes the point. All the windows are bare and she doesn’t care. I’m turned on. She’s dusting. I catch glimpses of her vulva as she bends over. Did I mention I'm turned on? “You don’t even need one of those French maid outfits.” “Nope. Gilding the lily.” “I’ll gild your lily.”

The squeezebox turns on as she dusts it. Our favorite music to fuck to. “I’ve got this theory that you’re trying to get me to clean our new closet so we have enough room.” “I never thought of that. But it’s cute.”

All I have to do is dream

Here's us at bedtime: “Goodnight.” “Goodnight.” “I love you.” “I love you.” “Sweet dreams.” “Sweet dreams.” “I want to dream about you.” “I’ll try to be good.” “You don’t have to be.”

Last night I actually did dream about River. She was blowjob-giving, no-panty-wearing, letting-me-finger-her-in-public River. I’d say that was pretty good. We have a nice “fancy hug” fuck in the morning and I tell her about my dream. “You dreamed about my sister.”

SOPA

I wish I could black this page out in protest of SOPA, like some sites, including wikipedia, are doing. Well, I can, but I'm too lazy. Instead, I found a nifty "Stop Sopa" plugin that puts up the clickable ribbon you see on the upper right. If you live in the US, you want one too, don't you? Get it at http://www.bloggermint.com/2012/01/stop-sopa-ribbon-for-blogger/. Scroll down and click the "STOP SOPA Ribbon" button then click the hopefully obvious things to install it. I took a look at the code and it's harmless, nothing nasty to worry about, and easy to delete once SOPA is defeated with your help.

Update: I decided not to be lazy.  Both Reed and River Unplugged and Reed and River are Fucking will be blacking out for 12 hours on the 18th for anti-SOPA solidarity.  http://www.sopastrike.com/

The right answer

I’m still finishing my second helping of River’s delicious tacos (that’s plural, you’ll notice, which is a clue that I’m not talking about her rather singular snatch) when she comes into the dining room, sits on my lap facing me, and starts planting some really meaningful smoochies on me. And grinding. I reciprocate (that's a joke, but don't worry if you don't get it). And as usual, I have to ask. “Want to do it?” The answer comes out of nowhere. Well, not really, I know where it’s coming from, but it’s still a surprise. Because it's the right answer. “Yes.” That’s not a regular, run-of-the-mill “yes”, it’s the kind of “yes” that would go in the middle of the phrase “Hello! Earth to Reed! Yes, you slow-on-the-uptake idiot.” Then she asks where. Leave the hard part to me, why doesn’t she (if you didn't get that joke, you should worry). Remember, I’m still eating dinner which means it’s just evening and the kids are still up. So I give it my best shot: “Here.” We’ve never done it in the dining room, at least not this dining room, and it’s freshly painted in a color she picked out. And it’s been too long since she’s done me face-to-face on a chair. I look around and don’t see any kids. But I better have a backup plan. “Your studio?” She gets up and I follow her.

She doesn’t waste time. Pants down, on the futon, pussy begging for it. “With the light on? Like you like?” She knows what I like. The windows are bare and I like that, too. I stare out into the dark and wonder who will stare back in. “And I don't think we've done it with my glasses on.” She's only had glasses a few months and she's hot in them. But River would be hot in anything. Or nothing.

My pants come off. As usual, I’m bumming about how I now have to “get” an erection instead of just having one. “I’ve got to get my part working.” “Mine is working.” I thumb River’s clitoris then push my thumb up inside her. I like the fit. Warm and cozy.

The light is turned off now. River is always wary of people watching through the window. I don’t care. I wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of someone like us.

I’m turned on. My cock is nicely erect. I push into her. And we fuck.

There’s not much room on the futon, but there’s enough. We’re not big people. I like having to be creative in a confined space. As long as I can keep my knee from slipping off the edge we’re good. Very good.

We kiss while my cock slides in and out of her wet pussy. I feel her hands on me. “I like feeling your ass.” “Feeling it do this?” Pumping up and down while we fuck. Driving my cock into her and pulling it back out, poised for the next plunge. “Yes.” Good. I like having my body appreciated.

I’m not holding off this time. When I feel it, I’ll come. And I feel it. I don’t say anything, just push in deep and come, flooding her. She feels it, she feels happy to me, moans with me as I milk the sensations for all they’re worth, my hips rotating against her. I like how she enjoys my orgasms. But she couldn't possibly enjoy them as mush as I do.

“I was hornier than I’ve been for years.” “It must be nice to have such a receptive sweetie when you’re horny.” “It is.” And I have to ask. “What’s it like?”

Igor

Every now and then I want to write a knock-down drag-out “Reed and River are Fucking”-style hardcore erotica post. About wondering whether we were amusing the people in the next hotel room. About hanging out in the room naked, getting a hardon while River went pee, and having her come back and sit on it then having a queef-fest. About being in the tub with River last night, her labia floating and waving like a sea anemone. But I’m not sure I can do it any more. Not sure I have it in me. Don’t really have the time to compose it mentally, get in the zone and write it out, fix all the typos, make revisions, sprinkle in colorful description, relive the whole thing. So here's a quickie.

“I want to do two things with you tonight. Shop online for a Kitchenaid Stand Mixer. And take a bath with you.” Amazon didn’t have our favored Boysenberry color, so we went with Empire Red. Something splashy for our freshly painted kitchen. Then bath time. Something else splashy. We'll save the kitchen for another time.

I stare at River’s fleshy labia, facing me, floating in the water, gently spreading. My penis floats, too. In the unlikely event of a water landing, your penis will become a flotation device. I wave water towards her pussy, watching her lips wave back and forth, open and closed.

“I liked bossing you around. It was turning me on.” “My mistress is gracious.” “I have a reward for you. Would you like to eat my pussy?” “My mistress is generous.” But she knows she’s not a very good mistress. She shouldn’t leave it up to me. Even if she knows I can’t refuse.

I put my face in the water and probe with my tongue. It should be slipping up between her labia to her clit, but it’s always hard to get my bearings underwater. I need goggles. And an air supply. River laughs as air bubbles from my nose and mouth. Another breath. Another dive. My finger guides my tongue. That’s what I’m looking for. I rub my tongue across her clit, letting the breath slowly bubble out while my mistress laughs.

We dry off and move to the bedroom. I position a cushion at the foot of the bed for my knees and await my mistress so I can pleasure her with my tongue. She has other ideas. “Butter me.” The new body butter is creamier and not as satisfying, but I take my time working it into her skin, all over, finishing up with her ass. Unbidden, I spread her legs and tongue her pussy. I can’t reach her clit from this angle, but I push deeply into her tangy pussy before I roll her over and go to work on her clit.

“You’ve got me warmed up.” “Let me warm myself up.” My cock hardens quickly as I stroke it and suck her deliciously cool lips into my mouth and push them around with my tongue. I stand at the foot of the bed, my erection pointing skyward, and push her back, my cock easily slipping into her as I fall forward. Too much spit, but we’ll live with it. And fuck with it.

I’m all over her while we fuck. She’s all under me. Hard. Fast. Slippery. I pull all the way out and give my cock a few seconds to dry before pushing it back through her lips to her cervix. I hold off my orgasm. “Mistress didn’t tell me to come yet.” And I’m not finished with her. We hit it in jackknife and a half-dozen positions with no name. She arches and fucks onto me. And wears me out. I roll us into interlock to relax.

“Do I please my mistress?” “Very much.” “I haven’t filled your pussy with come yet.” “I didn’t ask you to. Just to fuck me.” Bad mistress. She should tell me, not ask me. Now she tells me. “Try some other voices. Maybe eeyore.” Eeyore doesn’t work so well. “Maybe Igor.” “Does meestress enjoy my haard caaawk?” “Yes. And that voice is turning me on.” Who would have guessed. We’ll have to try that again. If it pleases my mistress.

But River had worn us both out. And we’re thirsty. We call it a night, cool down, and snuggle down to sleep.

Solo?

At this hotel we’ve been staying at, there is something stuck on the bathroom mirror. Here it is:

Do you think the same thing when you see it that I think? You do? Good. I feel better. I may be a little “off”, but so are you. And I won’t even have to explain that every time I see it, with the word “Solo” on the front, I think how thoughtful it is for the hotel to provide a hand lubricant dispenser for guests who have to go “Solo” at night.

And then I think that going solo is more fun with River.

Cutting down

A few weeks back my citalopram dose was upped from 20mg to 30mg because River and I agreed that I didn’t always seem antidepressed enough. Yesterday I realized we’d gone five days without fucking which is a dry spell. And I’d gone eight days without an orgasm which is a long dry spell. So I’m cutting down to 20mg again. What’s the use of being antidepressed when you don’t even care whether you fuck or not, and when you do it’s hard to come.

After six days, we had a very nice time together this afternoon that included a fuck in the orgasm (River’s first orgasm in weeks) and a luxurious afternoon nap.

A thin green ring

We’re still at the hotel. We’ll probably be here another week. Not a sexy hotel, but we’ve got a nice big room for the whole family.

And we’re in the hotel shower. It seems like a tight squeeze after our new luxurious shower at home. But it’s a nice squeeze.

River grabs the green disc of soap. “When we have bar soap, I usually just do this.” I feel her sensuous washing rhythm on my chest, just the soap and her bare hands. I like it. At home we use soft soap and a washcloth. This is new. “I pretty much grew up without using a washcloth.” “Same here.” Although I’m sure my mom would beg to differ. Using a washcloth somehow seems more sophisticated. But there’s something about River’s bare hands all over my body.

Then it’s my turn. Kneeling in front of her, reaching up to soap up her breasts with my hands. Reaching between her legs for her ass. Her body feels nice. Smooth and slippery. By now we’ve worn the soap down to a thin green ring. I soap her bush, take my hand away, and the soap sticks to it. We laugh. Laughing is good. If you can't laugh when you're naked, when can you laugh.

Can't complain

We’ve had a good week. River can’t believe what we did in my parents’ bed. When she puts it that way, neither can I. Then there was new year’s morning on their living room floor, before the kids got up. She surprised me with that one. And I do like surprises. Especially hers.

So I really can’t complain, even though I started this post to do a bit of complaining in a “Reed and River Are Not Fucking” kind of way. I’m sure glad I didn’t. Because we sure have been fucking.