Is that a quickie?

I follow up on River’s innuendo earlier in the day. At least I hope it was innuendo. Maybe it was just a friendly feel.

“Can I bang you tonight?”
“Sure. But . . . can it be a quickie? I’m kind of tired.”
“Uuuh . . . I guess I could do that.”
“You make it sound like a chore.”
“It’s early.”
“Says who?”
“You. And besides, you’ve said less than 20 minutes isn’t worth it.”
“I can’t imagine saying that.”
“Well you did. Or maybe it was your sister.”
“I like a quickie as much as the next girl. Have I ever complained about a quickie?”

She’s got a point there. I’ve been stroking myself, feeling my favorite tits, and getting hard while we’ve been talking. As usual, River prefers to skip the warmup and get right to it. Quickie-style. I sit between her legs, rub her clit, put the tip of my cock in, then grab her legs and pull her towards me, sliding her onto my cock. “I’m being manhandled.” Like she likes. And we fuck.

Today I’m trying to stop writing there but I had a quite extraordinary orgasm. River was arching her back, pushing against the wall, fucking herself onto me. When I came we kept going, especially her. She does that sometimes, I think just to see what I’ll do, how I'll react when my spurting cock goes supersensitive. This time it almost hurts but I don’t want it to end. When we first met I used to be more vocal about orgasms then I quieted down to match her but I’ve been getting louder again and this time I really let loose. She seems to like my “aaaaauuuus” and “nnnnnngs”, knowing she can do that to me. And it's cute, she says.

“How long was that? I didn’t look at the clock.” I never look at the clock either, but I happen to know approximately when we started because I did look at it earlier when I made my “It’s early” pronouncement. “10 or 15 minutes.” Is that a quickie?

Today, or tomorrow?

“What?” River asks. In a what-are-you-thinking sort of way. How does she know I’m thinking something? Do I have some kind of look when I do that? “You’ve got a look.” Apparently yes. “I’m thinking, do we do it today when it’s only been two days, or do we wait for three days tomorrow? It’s hard being me.” I look down. The shower is not an easy place to get hard. “Well, not that hard.” I don’t want to overthink things, but the timing and frequency of sex is complicated by our upcoming trip to what is hopefully a conducive place. I don’t want to burn River out before we get there. She says every three days is good for her, but lately it’s been more like every other day. But, she’s usually all for fucking in conducive places so I probably don’t have to worry about it. I’m over-thinking it. I’ll get her input. “Today or tomorrow?” “Today.” I’ll shoot for both.

What I might tell my kids

I was recently asked what I’ve had to say about sex when talking with my kids. Not much so far. They're not that old yet. Getting there, though. River has had more opportunity than I have. She's gone well beyond answering the questions I had as a 4-year old. Not that I haven’t offered. And when the time comes, I want to listen as well as talk, because I tend to talk too much.

Maybe the time won’t ever come, but I don’t want things for my kids to be like they were for me. When I was maybe four I remember asking my mom if a woman could have a baby if she wasn’t married. “I guess that could happen.” Things didn’t go much further than that. I was left wondering how a woman’s body knew she was married so it could make a baby. And how the baby could end up looking like both the wife and the husband. My parents never did fill in that particular blank for me. The only other thing that was said on the subject, when I was a teenager, was some vagary about “sharing my body” with somebody.

Somehow I got the impression that sex was not something good boys and girls did, and that if I wanted a good girl, which I did, I would have to be a good boy. This despite all the popular culture to the contrary. I wasn’t quite tuned in, I guess.

So I was good, except for falling into bed with, then living with, a girl. She wasn't a good girl, and I didn't care. Just like a girl wouldn't have cared whether I was a good boy. Some years later we got married and, some more years later, divorced. I didn’t know any better. She did, and why she didn’t blow me off early on is a mystery, especially since I found out after we were divorced that she’d cheated on me before we were married.

So, what might I tell my kids about sex?

• Know the risks and responsibilities (this needs some elaboration). Showing some signs of responsibility by moving out first sounds good, but is probably too hopeful on my part.
• It’s something boys and girls do.
• Girls like it as much as boys.
• For some reason it’s got a whole pile of baggage and non-openness (even I’m not completely open). I wish it were more like being rock climbing partners or something.
• It may or may not be mixed up with love and/or relationships.
• But it’s a nice way to top off a loving relationship.
• Relationships are ephemeral.
• Fuck first ask questions later is fine.
• But River and I are glad we fell in love the old-fashioned way.
• Don’t marry your first girlfriend.
• No means no

Update:
And how could I forget:

• Pay attention, ask questions, and be enthusiastic.
• Give feedback.
• Ask for what you want.

Impressionable

We had a nice romp a few days back. I think I’d like to write about it but I’m really burning out on everything right about now. I’m not even sure how we got going, and to me that’s one of the most interesting things about each encounter. If I write a little bit maybe it will come back to me. For now I’m going to have to start with River in low doggy position at the edge of the bed, me doing just enough pussy licking to get hard, then standing up, looking at the edges of her lips still spread open, pushing into her spit-slick pussy, and having a nice fuck. (“We’re fucking.” “Yes we are.”) It was rear entry all the way, with a bit of 180-degree my-head-at-her-feet action where the usual hip thrust doesn’t work at all and I have to move my whole body in what seems like the wrong direction to fuck her (“I still feel like I’m being fucked”) and a grand finale in hello kitty with River doing most of the work and me grabbing her tits and pulling her nipples for the full hello kitty experience until I had a rather enjoyable orgasm. Being on an SSRI not only makes coming harder, it seems to lessen the intensity of the orgasms, but mine have been in good form lately.

After writing that, I still can’t remember how we got started. Just that it had something to do with rubbing against River’s ass in the bathroom.

But I do remember one thing. We were in doggy, she had her legs spread (she usually keeps them together) and things were extra-queefy. But that’s not what I remember. I remember putting my right hand on her left ass cheek, porn-style, I guess they do that to keep the sight lines clear or something because it's really kind of ridiculous. I’m sure most of the positions we fuck in would not make good porn. Anyway, I smacked her ass a couple times, getting a good crisp thwap. And it didn’t really seem to do anything for either of us. Smacking somebody totally goes against my nature. But for some reason I couldn't resist. I'm impressionable, I guess.

We Vibe 3, take 1

I was gonna write up a steamy drippy sex scene involving the We Vibe and River’s sweatshirt and the afternoon but it would take too long and I want to be lazy and write badly for a change(?).

So let’s just say that within about an hour of getting it we were trying it out, with some thick water-based lube that my favorite sex shop had recommended for anal but which we’d never yet used for anything and maybe never will again because with the time and effort it took to successfully squeeze some out of the bottle I almost went soft. I will probably never get used to having ED. But maybe I should get a job in the product test department of some of these companies.

We stuck it in (right way round, thanks petunia!) and fucked in flying v and River seemed to be liking it but after a while I thought I’d probably get a blister from rubbing against it even though the skin on my glans doesn’t seem to blister it just sort of ablates in a thin layer. The vibrations were neither good nor bad for me, but I really missed the feeling of the ridge of my glans pushing through the tightness of River's frill and into her vagina. That's the feeling I look for when I'm aiming to come in a hurry.

We went through a couple rounds of childus interruptus, River using it as a regular vibe, rear-entry hello kitty for blister avoidance, and poignant conversation such as “Do you want me to do anything?” “Yeah, get a boner.” Eventually the batteries ran out (we hadn’t given it much time to charge) and we fucked face to face until I came, then River took quite a while finishing herself with her hand but had what seemed to be a long, intense orgasm. Then another. “That second was better than some firsts.” Then at least two more.

Next time we try it we want to do interlock so my cock goes in sideways which might be more comfortable for me with the thing in her pussy, and I can press the vibe end against her clit with my leg, or she can do it with her hand.

Getaway observations

We recently had a family weekend getaway at a family-oriented resort. It was nice and escapist, and we'd go back.  And I had a few observations:

• There were a lot more overweight and obese people than statistics predicted, although fewer on Sunday and Monday than on Saturday.
• I had very little interaction with other families, except when I talked to a few people and had a few short conversations with kids. I was surrounded by people wearing very little but we were all isolated, doing our own thing even though we were all doing the same things.
• Throwing things away is such a way of life in our society that receptacles for doing so are ubiquitous. Maybe by the time my kids have kids we’ll look back on that and wonder what we were thinking.
• Most of the parent/child interaction I saw made me happy.  There are some fun parents out there.
• Lots of body art on display, but the only remotely memorable and interesting one was an attractive 20-something woman with a matching pair of mudflap girls tattooed on her upper back. That one made us think. It occurred to me too late that I should have asked her about them. I was in isolationist mode, I guess.
• You’d think a family oriented resort would make it easier for the parents to get a little action. Or maybe we’re just somewhat squeamish about doing it with our kids in the room. What’s up with that I wonder. We did snag some in the middle of the night.

Smells

I’ve wanted to write this up before, but I haven't. Even though I wrapped up my old blog, which was nearly pure erotica, so I could devote more time to ditties like this one. Credit my friend Anisa’s forwarding me some kind of TMI chain letter for getting me off my ass. If I don’t forward it on to any of you, don’t be offended. I’m not forwarding it to anybody. But you knew that.

Some years ago River and I were in relationship therapy. That was actually before our dry spell, which I used to call a long dry spell but which in comparison with some other people I’ve learned about was not so long. But it was long enough. And stupid. Miscommunication run amok. I’m not sure we got a whole lot out of therapy directly. My main memory is the therapist always seeming to think I was far more reasonable than I actually am. I am not reasonable. But there she was, agreeing with me, taking my side. Maybe she knew better than to cross me. Except every so often it backfired when I chewed her out for thinking I was so goddamn reasonable.

But this isn’t about therapy. It’s about smells. It came out as part of therapy that one of River’s turn-ons is nice smells. As in me smelling nice. Wearing cologne at the proper times, and such. Ok, I can do that. Especially if it will get me more sexy sex (at the time it was known as “sex”, not “fucking”). I’d do almost anything for River. Ok, I’d do anything. See how reasonable I am? And we’d even gotten me some nice-smelling stuff a while back. I just hadn’t worked up the courage to actually do anything with it. Like wear it. Or apply it, or whatever one does. In fact, I wasn’t actually sure how to do it. Girlfriends and babies and cologne should come with instructions. In retrospect, I could have just asked River what to do, because she knows everything, but I wanted it to be a surprise.

So there I was, hyperventilating and shivering with the thought of doing something really scary, and somehow my brain dredges up “put some on your neck, you idiot.” But how much? My brain left that up to me. On the basis that I could always put on more but I couldn’t put on less, I put on a smallish amount. Enough to smell, certainly. And hopefully enough to smell nice. And be a turn-on. And have fabulous sex for the rest of our lives. Which was the whole point, after all.

I ducked under the covers in the dark, expectantly awaiting my sweetie so I could surprise her.

She came into the room, peeled, and got in bed with my self-conscious self. She sniffs. And then she said it. “Did you fart?”

O. M. F-ing. G!!

I probably turned 17 shades of red in the dark. I wanted out. I wanted to die. I wanted her to die. No rock could possibly be big enough for me to crawl under. Complete humiliation. No sexy sex tonight. Or ever.

Nowadays I’d just say something like “Of course I did, but I was hoping this nice-smelling cologne I put on for you would cover it up.” But even though we’d been together 14 years, let’s just say we’ve come a long way in the last 5.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom and at some point I realized cologne does not wash off. At least not with soap and water. You put that stuff on and you’re stuck with it. For better or, in my case, worse.

I washed as well as I could and slunk back into bed. No sexy sex tonight. I guess I'd cleaned up enough because she didn’t say anything. I just laid there mortified. Maybe she still thought I was farting. At least that would explain my urgent trip to the bathroom.

It was weeks if not months later that she finally found out. “So how come you haven’t worn cologne? You know I like it.” “Well let me tell you about the time I tried it . . .” We both had a good laugh, and eventually I tried it again, and we did have some nice sexy sex.

Hello girlfriend

A nice emotional warmup day. We go shopping for clothes for River to wear to an interview. “I hope a never have to wear a suit to an interview,” she says. “You can wear a suit to an interview with me.” “Huh?” “A swimsuit.” I carry her shopping bags. “I have a valet.” “A full service valet.” There’s no direct talk, but we both know what’s going to happen tonight.

She goes out with “the girls.” That’s good. Comes back with a bit of a buzz. Not so good from my pov as a non-drinker. “You can take advantage of me.” Ok, maybe it is good.

“What would you like for a warmup?” “Rub my ass with oil.” Her ass is cold. As usual. “I need to warm it up first.” I get on top of her, face in her hair, hands on hers, resting against her ass, strangely stimulating in its coldness.

Oil her ass. Rub it with my elbow. Spend an inordinate amount of time spreading her cheeks, trying to make her pussy gap open with its wet smacky sounds. And getting an idea. “If you’re drunk, maybe I can do you in the ass tonight.” “Not drunk. Buzzed.” She didn’t say no. “Especially since I’m having problems finding your pussy.” “Let me help.” She reaches back and spreads herself wide. Hello girlfriend. The pink of her pussy gapes open, darkly mysterious, glisteningly wet. And relentlessly inviting. “I want to feel my penis inside you.” “I like it when we both want the same thing.” I get hard and push it right up her hole in one shot. And we fuck.

It’s nice how many ways there are to fuck with her on her front and me on top. I lie on her feeling her ass against my stomach. Lift myself off her and feel my cock drop into her on each stroke. Her feet curled back to push my ass. My foot on the floor. Sit up and watch my cock disappear into her. How can that feel so good. I’m always surprised that she likes it, too. Lucky us.

“How drunk is she?” I’m about to find out. Oil us both up. Press the tip of my cock against her butthole. Push. That was too easy. “Missed.” On the second try my cock head slips through the ring into her ass. “That hurts today.” Uh oh. I try again with more lube. “Still hurts. Is that different lube?” “It’s the oil. We used it at my parents’ house.” To good effect, I might add. But that’s enough for tonight. I’m not hard enough for a third attempt, and that would be beyond the bounds of good relations anyway. “Thanks for trying.” “You’re welcome.”

I go wash off. I’m now noticing that our new bathroom sink is farther off the floor than any sink I’ve ever washed myself in. I have to climb on the counter to get my parts wet and wash them.

“Now what?” “Face to face.” There’s just something about it. I run my thumb over her clit while she plays with her nipples. I like to watch that. She’s got a nice body. I’m glad she puts it to good use. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off it if it were mine. My cock hardens. I push back into her pussy, our mouths lock together, and we fuck long and hard. Her cervix is taking a real beating tonight. I can feel it, and I can tell she feels it, too. I love the extra stimulation at the end of each thrust.

I hold off. I haven’t done that for a long time. The SSRI makes it hard enough to come that I usually just take an orgasm if one comes along. But I want a good long physical ending to our good long emotional warmup day. “Was that an orgasm hold-off twitch I felt?” “No, but I did hold off. When I get to the twitch point we usually have to be completely still. The slightest movement could set it off.”

Something about this fuck is just right. My cock jumps and twitches in her pussy as I hold off two more times. It’s like old times. When I finally come it’s easy. And incredible. My balls pulling up, the heat spreading from them and reaching the tip of my cock, then my orgasm exploding through my body. I must be filling her with jizz but I’m barely noticing that part. I’m breathing so hard I suck her hair down my throat when I inhale.

Our afterfuck is long. Finally my cock softens and the head comes to rest cradled in her dark labia.

Mine's not quite as long

Since we're not fucking tonight, I'll take some time and copy-cat Liza's post where she lists her and D's firsts for the past year after they ended their long dry spell. Since River and I ended our dry spell three years ago and I hate lists, my list of firsts for the past year is much shorter.

• We were walked in on by our daughter, Brook.  If I blogged that one, I can't find it.  We've been able to dive under the covers before, but this time she got quite a view, straight up the middle.
• We fucked in River's car (first time in a car for either of us).  Next time I want to do it on the side of the freeway.
• We said "I love you" while fucking.

The Art of Happiness

I’ve been reading The Art of Happiness, ostensibly by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. I like HH the DL. He’s got a lot of good stuff to say about anger and internal disarmament. I think the Buddhists are onto something. But I’m not sure what kind of right somebody with such a bad take on suicide has talking about happiness.

But that’s not why I’m here today. Today, I found a shiny metal screw sitting on the cover of The Art of Happiness. Finding screws all over the house is one of our running jokes that never seems to get old. I send River an email: “Nice one. I’m patiently awaiting your initiative.”

Orgasms

It can be kind of hard for me to read about all you women in blog-land having orgasms every time you fuck, when River’s are so far between. At least when she has them, she usually has at least three. We counted eighteen one time. And she did have some nice ones just a few days ago.

It’s not that it makes me feel bad for myself, or about myself, like I'm not enough to get her off or something. She can't always get herself off. I feel bad for her. Even though I now get how fucking without orgasms is still intimate and bonding, creative and energetic. Ok, I do feel bad for myself. I enjoy her orgasms as much as she does, like she enjoys mine. I wish I could enjoy her orgasms more often. And maybe if she had them more often, we’d fuck more often, or she’d want me to eat her pussy more often.

She's never been big on foreplay. Likes to get to the good part. With or without simultaneous clitoral stimulation. At least she enjoys fucking, with or without orgasms.

Audience fantasy

We light candles and River gets a back massage. It’s been too long since we’ve had candle light. She looks so smooth and lush.

“You know what I want to do?” “I can guess.” “I want to eat your pussy.” We set up at the edge of the bed and I probe between her lips with my tongue and spend some quality time with her clit. “I ate fresh pineapple today. Do I taste any different?” Whenever a pineapple appears in the kitchen I’m always quick to ask, “Is that a hint?” But I’m honest. “No, you taste the same.” Well, ok, her usual tang is even tangier today. I feel my cock getting heavier.

I get a few moans, but she’s not moving back against me so when I’ve satisfied my hunger I gaze at her candle-lit pussy, finger it, get hard, rub my cock on her clit. But we both want to fuck. So I slip into her and we do it.

“It’s kind of wet down there.” She doesn’t like it when it’s too wet. We stop and I wipe her up with a t-shirt. When I penetrate her this time the friction is just right.

I’m pounding. She’s spreading her legs wide for me. For her. I know if I look to either side I’ll see her feet in the air. But I don’t look. I’m fantasizing. We’re fucking with an audience. Putting on a good show. And I like it.^*

“Here it comes.” Deep against her cervix. As usual she helps with my orgasm and makes it awesome. She likes to feel my goosebumps. “I usually enjoy your orgasms vicariously.” That’s good, because she isn’t having many lately. “But this time was different. There was a kind of physical response . . .”

I tell her about my fantasizing. “I’d do that. In a place where people expected to see and be seen.” I’ve never seen anybody else fucking in real life. I’ve never even seen another guy with a hardon.

^* Fantasizing inspired by Liza’s sex club posts.

Easter

Today I was reading about the pagan origins of Easter after the Easter bunny visited our house but it got tedious and boring. So I started remembering another Easter, many years ago, shortly after we’d moved to our new town. Out of nowhere, River said, “I bet you can’t find us a porn video today.” Where she came up with that I’ve got no idea. I think we’d only watched porn together once before, courtesy of a friend who worked in a video store. If I had to guess, I’d think it was backlash against Christianity appropriating pagan things in a “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, then kick ’em the fuck out” kind of way. “Sure I can,” I replied quickly. There was an adult video store right there in the yellow pages and it didn’t take long to get there and return with a video and a rapid heartbeat.

At an appropriate time we went into what was then the guest bedroom, which had the only tv in the house. It lived in the closet, which is a good place for a tv to live. We fired up the video, which I think was something silly about a screen that showed what people were dreaming. I want to have dreams like what we saw on that screen. Actually, I have had dreams like that. Hasn't everybody? Even some lucid dreams like that. Everybody who has lucid dreams dreams about sex it seems. Anyway, I prefer golden age porn, back when stuff was shot on film and shown in theaters and women had pubic hair and real breasts and pornographic priestess Marilyn Chambers thought she was being the new breed of serious actress by going all the way on the big screen.

I guess it’s a girl thing, but River isn’t generally turned on by visuals. So surprisingly at some point during the video she pulled her panties down and stuck her ass up in the air. I still remember asking “Are you presenting?” and her answer, “Yes.” So I got in position behind her and we fucked while watching other people fuck on the small screen, although with much larger apparatus than ours. We had more fun, though, and that's what it's all about. It was the most memorable Easter we’ve ever had.

Easter. Ēostre. Estrus. Pagans are all about fucking.

Permission

“Are you going to stick it to me in the middle of the night?” It’s been four days. Last night didn’t seem right, this morning didn’t seem right, and fucking this evening would seem like fucking just for the sake of fucking. “Maybe.” I’m not sure I’ll wake up. I’m not sure I’ll be horny. “I kind of like it you know. Especially when I give you permission.” “You do?” I guess I’ve converted her on yet another thing. “It’s like you said -- kind of dreamy.” “Next you’ll be asking me to eat your pussy.”

I wake up randomly at 12:30. Can I get an erection? Yes. Easily. Thank you, night-time. River is on her back. I push her and she rolls over. “All the way.” She keeps going into inviting with her right knee out to the side. I pull the covers down, straddle her leg, feel her body heat. Feel her pussy, waxed along the sides. Dip my fingers into her wetness. Get harder. My fingers guide my cock into her in the dark. She wiggles back against me. I push in a few inches. And we fuck.

I plant myself against her warm ass. Feel my balls sliding along her warm leg. Pull the covers up to keep the warmth in. Fuck into her warm wet pussy, deep, all the way. We both moan as my cock slowly slides in and out of her.

Sit up. Grip her ass in both hands. Feel my cock sliding past my fingers, between her lips. Feel her cervix at the end of each stroke, begging me to push deeper. Support myself with a hand pressed into her back while my other hand roams her firm ass, her smooth leg, grips her hip and pulls her warmth towards me. Slides under to feel the curls of her bush and the soft bare flesh on either side.

Her hands move to the wall as I speed up. Can I finish? Maybe. If I can’t we’ll finish in the morning. I press against her, my lips grazing her shoulder, listening to her breathe, watching her face, her eyes closed dreamily. We haven’t spoken. Long, fast, deep strokes. Shallow strokes. Hitting her g-spot. She feels very wet. She sounds very wet. The sounds, her breathing, her warmth, her softness, her wetness, the dreaminess, everything pushes me over the edge and I come deep inside her, gyrating with her as we make my orgasm last, until finally I rest against her and breathe hard and we keep fucking in my come.

I soften and pull out. My hand goes to her pussy, sliding over the orgy of our juices, mine and River's, my fingers on her wet lips, between her lips, smearing pussy juice and come over her vulva. Finally I reach for our traditional t-shirt, wipe her clean, push the cotton into her pussy and stir. She approves.

“I like it when you give me permission.” “I like it, too.”