“Wanna go on a boat ride in an hour?” the text read.
“Yes!” my was response.
My husband launched a little 10′ boat into the water from our RV resort property. It was rudimentary and striped down which meant I used a life vest for a seat and stayed thoughtful about balance when either of us moved positions. But it was fun!
He strolled us through the bayou and up to the river which feeds into the ocean, although we didn’t go that far. We cruised by homes that dotted the waterline and other boaters enjoying a Sunday afternoon float. Some had fishing lines out hoping to catch dinner, others blared music and sipped drinks. The weather was absolutely perfect for this.
My mouth seemed less talkative than usual. Perhaps the natural beauty enchanted me, seduced me with her perfection. The water was murky brown by the boat but slick blue paradise in the distance and the river grass hid the many creatures that dipped in and out of sight – white birds, pelicans, alligators too, although we didn’t see one. The seagulls sang joyfully forming a beautiful symphony with the whispered movement of the water and the hum of the electric trolling motor. Tranquility at its finest.
I felt beautiful in my red shorts, tight blouse, and floppy sun hat. The blue lens sunglasses made the outfit. Fabulous is what the lady at the restaurant called me later. As my husband bounced from one spot to another on the small boat testing various motors, batteries, and fuel lines, I sat like a model, comfortable yet sensual, positioning my body to show off various curves and angles. I could see my reflection in his sunglasses and the affect it was having on him in his pants. We kissed a lot.
After the boat ride, we ate dinner at our favorite burger joint. I sat next to him in a booth propping my bares legs up on his for the duration of our meal. We shared an appetizer of seafood balls, a delicious mushroom burger and a decadent cheesecake with hot praline pecan sauce. We laughed and flirted between bites. He did his best to not give into the temptation to make love to me right then and there, although my breasts were fondled half a dozen times in passing, by accident of course!
“You’re my favorite person in the world, Stella,” my husband said. “Really, you really are.”
I felt adored, and I wanted nothing more than for him to take me home and make love to me. It’s been more than two weeks since I last orgasmed, and I’m ready to explore my body in ways I’ve never done before. Is that even possible? I don’t know, but there’s only one way to find out.
He didn’t, though, deciding it best to stay out at the property a bit longer to play with the boat. I went home and waited, got the kids ready for bed, read a little in a magazine, listened to some music, took a walk. By 8:30pm he arrived and after almost falling asleep on the couch a few times made it to bed with me at 10pm ready to pick up where we’d left off earlier.
Our room was dimly lit and his body looked dark and mysterious. He spread my legs under the covers and played with my pussy with his fingers and his tongue. I fingered myself too, which was new, exploring what parts of my insides feel the best to me and when.
“I’m going to make you cum like a wild woman tonight, my love,” he said over and over again. I believed him too. I was ready to climax again, overdue really. He stepped out of the room for a moment and came back to the bed with coconut oil dripping from his hands. He smeared it all over himself and my pussy, both of them.
“No, babe, not that tonight,” I said knowing that I’ve never given him my other pussy, he calls it my girl school pussy, without rubbing my clit a lot.
“You’ll be fine. Just relax,” he said calmly in my ear. “Open yourself to me, honey. I promise you’ll love this. Relax.” Like a skilled hypnotist, he stretched relax into the next sentence with breathy perfection. I found myself actually doing as his said and enjoying some of the sensations. “See, Stella, now finger your pussy for me. Make her feel good.”
I slipped my middle finger into my tight tight opening barely having enough room to play since his dick was shoved in my school girl pussy on the other side. It felt good-ish but a bit too much for the tenderness I really needed to bring my pussy to an incredible orgasm.
“Relax,” he chanted again pushing himself deeper.
I couldn’t push down the sinking feeling that my husband needed the excitement of both pussies to keep himself awake, which was not a feeling I liked for sure. I wanted to trust him, but it didn’t seem like my pleasure was truly his focus.Why does he have no energy left for me?
Just then the pumping started. It was hard and long and forceful. “Babe, stop!” I demanded. “I don’t like it like that.” My voice lowered. “I like it to be deep and slow.”
He agreed and apologized bringing his rhythm down a few notches. It was better although not great.
We switched to my whore pussy, as he calls it, and it felt like heaven. He plunged so deep inside of me, so tenderly, that I felt the first sensation of a potential orgasm. “Oh, right there. That’s terrific. I really love that.” He stroked me once, twice, maybe three times like that before defaulting back into a full-fledge fuck fest of hard, long, forceful dick.
He tried saying things to me that usually turn me on, but it wasn’t working. He called me a whore and said how much I loved pleasing his dick. None of it stoked my fire, none of it made me tingle with ecstasy.
“Slow and deep, sweetie,” I finally said reminding him to focus on my pleasure, focus on what feels good to me.
He switched to my school girl pussy and the awkward dance started all over again. First he’d go slow convincing me that this might actually please me, then he’d pump like a raging sex addict. The entire time I tried so hard to feel something, anything, but nothing felt amazing. At best I felt comfortable. At worst I felt pain and then numb.
Back in my whore pussy, I moaned when I felt the second tinge of a potential orgasm. He dove deep into her with gusto and froze at the bottom. “Oh I love that,” I sighed. Concentrate on that feeling, Stella, don’t loose it, I repeated to myself. Don’t loose it. “Don’t stop that, babe.”
My husband kissed me on the lips passionately, “I love you, my queen. You feel like heaven.”
We did, for another moment or so until the hard, long, forceful fuck fest started once more.
“Feel that dick,” he chanted. “You like that dick, don’t you. You’re little whore pussy loves that dick and she can take it all. Your little school girl pussy can’t, but I love making her whimper.”
“I like it slow and deep, babe,” I said more forcefully this time. Why does he keep forgetting about me? He keeps fucking me the way he likes, and I’m telling him over and over what I like. I’m trying to relax and trust, but it doesn’t feel like we’re going in the right direction, and he’s ignoring my cues.
Just then he stopped everything, looked me deep in my eyes with disdain, like he couldn’t believe my attitude or lack of gratitude, pulled his dick out of my body and rolled over. A moment passed.
“I’m sorry, babe,” I whispered, “I really should have asked you if you we up to this no clit challenge. That’s really something we should have discussed.” I meant it too. We’ve been having sex with my clit for seven years and now I’m switching it all up, screwing with my pleasure and his ego. It really should have been a joint decision like our daily sex challenge was.
“It’s life, babe,” he replied solemnly before falling asleep moments later.
I dreamed of a lush forest, green with life and dense with meaning. I was riding on his back, I think. Were we flying? The wind in our hair was cool and full of vitality. I was alive!
But it wasn’t my husband, no. It was another man, a man who made me feel special, like a gift, a man who looked into my eyes like he really knew me, the real me. With him I felt seen.
He knows my dreams, my deepest desires, and seeks not to take me, but to help me. He wants nothing more than to witness the goddess I would become under his care. The man wasn’t there to use me and empower himself. He wants to experience the radiance of pure feminine magic in rapture.
The man held me with ease and played with me like I was a nymph, a fun little fairy, laughing and teasing and showing me fun things I’d never seen.
There was a mirror with gold rim hanging in the forest. I looked in it with deep anxiety trying to hide myself from him. The man came up behind me and our eyes met in the reflection. He stared at me with such force that my walls tumbled down, my heart opened and my vulnerability poured out.
He knew me, all of me, not just the pieces that he wanted, but the pieces he didn’t understand either. He felt me, all of me, not just the parts that felt good, but the parts that felt like hell. He saw me, all of me, and not just a pretty little picture I paint to prop up his ego. He was strong, patient, and focused. He had me, all of me, and I could really relax. I was as complete as I’d ever be.
My husband cuddled up behind me in bed jostling me out of my dream. He held me there for a moment before patting his erect dick on my still wet pussy. Wait, what? I laid there motionless. Of course, he needs something.
To my surprise, he gave up easily and rolled over. I heard faint noises in the night and felt slight movements. Was he masturbating? I looked up. He was. Moments later he was asleep again but I wasn’t.
Sadness engulfed me. It was supposed to be about my pleasure tonight. He told me he was going to make me cum like a wild woman. Instead he left me alone and pleasured himself, something else he promised he wouldn’t do. He didn’t have the strength to carry me or the patience or the focus. He told me to relax and trust, but for what? He doesn’t know me, he doesn’t feel me, he doesn’t see the real me. When he looks into my eyes he sees only what he wants to see. How can he ever pleasure me when he’s not trying to dig deep?
The pain burns deeper. Maybe this is why I hide. Nobody loves me enough to risk diving into the abyss of my soul for the possibility of unearthing my utmost radiance. Nobody wants to stay in the gray like a soldier in the trenches, scared for his life but committed to the win.
Is it me? Or is it him?
Am I just too scared to reveal myself to anyone or is he not that interested in going there? It feels like the man in the dream doesn’t exist. Or perhaps my negative thoughts make it so. And if so, I’m indeed in the lush, green, dense forest of exponential soul sex potential… all alone.