“Hey, My Love, can you bring me my ear plugs?” I texted my husband late last night from a downtown drag show. I’d gone with a couple of friends and was incredulous at how loud the concert hall actually was.
“Come get them and let’s fuck,” was his reply.
A male friend sitting next to me at the show read the text over my shoulder and huffed. “Well, I guess I can’t compete with your husband, now can I? I mean, just look at me. I’m skinny with a pot belly and your husband is gorgeous. And I’m a straight dude.” He paused a moment to take a swig of his drink. “Your husband is hot!”
“Yes, yes he is,” I blushed then looked back at my phone. “LOL. The show just started and it’s loud,” I typed.
“Getting out of the tub. Be there shortly,” was his reply.
The man next to me exclaimed, “Oh, and he takes baths? Really? Can you husband be anymore perfect?”
“Oh he can. He’s the best! And stop reading my texts!” I smiled and clicked my phone off.
The drag queens came out one at a time dressed in sequin gowns and long wigs lip singing their set while prancing around the dance hall taking dollar bills from drunk dancing patrons. The scene wasn’t at all what I was expecting.
I guess I thought we’d be entertained with real singing and dancing on stage. Instead, it seemed we were supposed to be excited by the shear sight of a man dressed as a woman walking through the crowd mouthing lyrics to old songs. I wasn’t. Hell, they were so close, you could see the piles of makeup on their faces and the sweat dripping off their brows, all secrets revealed, not exactly the kind of razzle, dazzle I was looking for.
So when the text came in, “I’m here.” I grabbed my purse, said my goodbyes, and left. Sex with my husband sounded 10 times better than that show!
I immediately disrobed and got into bed with him. His face was smooth and kingly and his chest was chiseled and fury. He smiled when I put my freshly painted lips on his hard dick.
“God, I’ve been missing you, Stella,” he whispered.
Our room was dimly lit and the temperature was just right, spring fresh with a hint of a gulf breeze. The moment was perfect except for one thing. I was loving him with my mind and my heart, but my body wasn’t tingly at all. I’d been noticing the difference in myself all week.
“I love fucking a horny girl, you know that, sweetheart,” he said rubbing his hands all over my naked body.
I’m not sure I was horny, though. Interested? Yes. Loving? Yes. But horny? Not really. And then the monkey mind went to work sabotaging the moment. Why are you not horny? You haven’t been horny all week? Is this a problem? Is this because you’ve been focused on your career this week? Can you be both horny for your husband and happy with your career? The questions went on and on.
“I feel weird, honey. Not sure how to describe it.” I admitted and then tried to work through it.
I mounted him and began to ride kissing his neck and feeling his dick inside of me. It felt good, but not great. My body was void of all erotic sensations and it was freaking me out. Pretending to be something I’m not is not how I roll, so I rolled off of him and onto my back to play a little in my secret love garden hoping to stumble upon some sense of pleasure.
I pushed a finger inside and played a little on my clit. She’s all but packed up and gone home. Is this the messy middle between clit orgasms and vaginal ones? Is this the purgatory of doubt, the test for the adventurers to figure out who really wants it and who just wants to have it all without a fight? Or am I just fooling myself and negatively impacting my sex life? And fuck, when will I know which is right?
My husband got on top of me and pushed himself inside.
“I want you to touch your clit a little, make her feel really good, but you can’t cum like that,” he said nibbling a little at my ear.
His dick did feel a bit better once I placed my finger on my clit and rubbed for a minute or so. She was shy but still spunky, thank God, and I enjoyed feeling remnants of bliss while we rocked in and out, fast and slow, lovingly and forcefully. You’re my whore, he kept saying.
Suddenly my husband’s dick went limp and he rolled to the side smiling like he was hiding something. Was it his knee? Was that bothering him? Was he tired? Is it me? Am I bothering him? Fuck, this sucks.
Pushing my head towards his crotch, he said finally, “Get that dick off with your mouth. You owe me one anyways from the spray tan the other night! And don’t stop ’til you taste my cum.”
A part of me was relieved to focus solely on pleasing him. I got to work stroking and licking and sucking. He moaned and told stories about the first time I swallowed cum. It wasn’t him, but a few boyfriends before him, and the story turns him on to no ends.
“Even though you’d never swallowed cum before, you didn’t stop sucking when you tasted it,” he was panting just thinking about my previous deed. “No, you kept doing your job and gulped down every single drop of his cum leaving no mess in his car. You’re such a perfect whore.”
I was jerking his dick hard at that point and stopped for just a moment to switch to my mouth when he whimpered to me, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh my God.” And a tiny squirt of his cum landed on the back of my tongue, but that was all. “Oh, Stella, fuck, babe. I was right there!”
Apparently I switched it up at exactly the wrong time and despite my best intentions to make up for my tiny mistake, his dick wasn’t having it. My husband whimpered like a little boy.
“Put your butt in the air,” he insisted and I obliged realizing my pleasure wasn’t going to be fulfilled but his needed to be.
But, dear reader, even that didn’t work! I think we’re broken or perhaps I am. After a few minutes of hard pounding, my husband backed off of me and said, “Stella, I just don’t feel like you’re with me. I don’t know where you are.”
“I told you I feel off, like there’s something wrong with me. I don’t feel yummy like I normally do,” I replied half wishing he could help me solve the problem. I know he can’t. “Should I stop this no clit business, and go back to sex the way we used to do it?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t know. Stop thinking about it. Stop worrying about it. I love you so much, my queen,” he said before falling into a soft slumber to my side.
For a few moments I laid there rolling all of my same concerns over again in my mind. Is this what faith is, I wondered, believing without seeing? Going back seems fearful but moving forward deeper into the unknown is scary too. I don’t think any of this will break us up, so ahead we’ll march.
When the day comes that I’m cumming like a wild woman simply from his dick, I’ll look back and laugh at this wild and crazy and doubt-filled farce.