We had sex for two minutes this morning. It was two minutes longer than I desired.
It’s funny how you can be so attracted to someone and want to touch all over them constantly yet not feel an immediate pull to fuck. That’s what it feels like for me right now.
It’s a moving target, my daily horniness rating that is On my days it ranges from absolutely nothing to a twinge of interest followed by an extreme annoyance before landing on a momentary acceptance . Occasionally I’m dying to be smothered under my husband’s masculine body and aching with the impact of each progressively deeper thrust, but it’s not as often as I’d like it to be and no where near as much as he wants.
January was a fuckfest on fire, but February, oh February, is turning into a snooze for real. But dear reader, we are getting by. I’m showing up to do my work like I promised, and my husband is doing his job too. He hasn’t yet masturbated in 2019.
He did file a complaint on me this morning before I finally agreed to put out. He tried to make love last night and I said no, then he tried again this morning before I took the kids to school. I said no then too. My no’s are rarely followed up with excuses. I’m not much into excuses of any kind or any reason. There’s no headache or tummy ache or foot ache going on with me. I just don’t feel like having sex. And when I denied access this morning without reason, my husband retaliated with a melodramatic crisis.
“You need to check yourself, Stella” he called from his anticipation spot in bed. “I’m feeling left behind over here.”
I laughed so hard I choked over my words. “Oh really?!? Says the guy who gets laid every single day of his life!” I marched into the bathroom to wash my face and apply sunscreen then followed the routine up with a bright shade of lipstick. I was definitely not going to reward his childish behavior with pleasure.
“It’s been 24 hours, and I need it more often than that,” he was practically crying at this point. But seriously, who can take this guy seriously? It’s like the fat kid crying cause he took away his second slice of cake.
So I left the room, grabbed my purse from the entry way and called to the kids to meet me in the car as the door shut.
I knew I was in for it when I arrived back home 15 minutes later and my husband’s truck was still in the driveway. “Wow, just wow.” I mumbled to myself and then again to him as I strutted into the bedroom, my goddess palace, to find him in the same anticipation spot in our bed. He hasn’t moved a muscle.
“You are serious about this.”
“Yes, I am.”
War over. I lost. Only one thing is getting him out of bed this morning and out with today’s plans. My pants were the first thing to go.
My pussy was extra tight or perhaps it was his extra thick dick. Either way, he was on top in missionary position and ever so slowly getting himself into a full fucking pose. That’s always the sweetest part of making love, the entry. It’s like a knock on the door and a delicious pause as we wait for the open. And when the door is ajar, there’s friction to widen the gap until the invite is completely extended. It took a solid minute, and we kissed lovingly through it.
Once he was in, he asked the most important question there is in this situation. “Do you want to cum, babe?”
Let me think. It’s after 8am. I have work to do and so do you and I wasn’t even in the mood and you are basically making me do this because you are a horny toad. That’s what I was thinking, but what came out of my mouth sounded like, “Nah. All you, sweetheart.”
He flipped me over and shoved himself back into heaven. I don’t even think he stroked his dick four times before I felt the most bizarre sensation. He paused completely, frozen in space. A moment passed, then another. I wasn’t sure if he was perhaps shifting a leg or scratching a foot or something, I turned my head and asked, “You ok?”
Just then I felt the faintest pulsing first in his hands that were squeezing my hips and then in his dick that was deep inside of me. It wasn’t a beastly orgasm, you know the ones that almost rip you apart. No, it was more like a dainty hand shake. I felt it but just barely. I guess he’s cumming? A manly grunt came last and then it was done. He slid off of me and climbed out of bed.
“Well, that was weird,” I stayed in position, perplexed by the quickie that just happened. It was like out of a movie or something. I think guys call it a two pump chump and use it to pick on each other for being ultra fast cummers. There was one time that my husband didn’t pump at all. We hadn’t had sex in a while and as soon as my pussy was open and his dick was in, this cum was pouring out. Contrary to what guys believe, the occasional insta-orgasm is actually sexy as hell. It makes a woman feel powerful.
And powerful is how I felt when my husband said, “Well, that’s what happens when I’m starved to death. I get desperate.”
“I just love having a pussy.” I said as cum dribbled out of me.
And just like that, he grabbed his clothes, his shoes, his wallet, and his ringing phone. Two minutes later, his truck was rolling down the street, 10 minutes behind schedule but ready to tackle the day’s heat.