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Used to Losing in Court

I cried a river yesterday.

Court and I were not made for each other, that’s for sure. I’m way too emotional in an environment of the mind. My husband should have come with me, he should have been by my side. I didn’t think about it until it was too late and the attorneys were rattling off compromises like auctioneers. I was feeling alone and overwhelmed, not sure who to trust, not wanting to fuck my decision up, not wanting to ever come back again.

A few miles from the courthouse is a deep pile of rocks that line a point by the ocean. It’s secluded and peaceful because few people brave the climb down to find it. Barefoot is how I got down with my heels in my hand. I cried harder down there, engulfed in the late February wind, the loud haunting call of the seagulls, the overcast sadness on everything and the repeating words coming from within. You lost again. You always lose to him. Your ex always wins.

Back to Fab

My husband was on his back when I joined him in bed last night. We talked like lovers do about our day, what we loved about dinner, and the sex we had the night before.

“Your face was buried in my pussy, sweetheart. It was terrific! I wrote all about it on my blog,” I said rubbing his chest up and down taking into account the length of the generally long hairs that cover his body. They are shorter now. He must have done a quick shave.

Like a Downtown Parade

He ate me out for an hour at least, licking my clit and fingering my pussy. I liked the short strokes pressing on the back side of my clit. My husband calls that the little dick guy. I don’t know exactly which of his fingers he was using, but it felt kinda like a thumb. […]

In Her Pearls

Our alarm went off and we assumed the puzzle piece position of our love. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Stella, my queen, my whore, my lover. I’m so in love with you.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day my king. I love you so much too.”

I ordered my own red, pink and white roses, and planned to make tacos for dinner. I hope he doesn’t buy chocolate hearts and dorky cards. He should know at this point I’m picky and only eat a few types of dark chocolate.

That Red Sweater

You know sometimes you just next to stay home, watch Netflix, and drink wine and let your usual yoga class slip by unattended. That was my night last night except that I also cooked dinner in my new InstaPot, red beans and rice with grass fed turkey sausage. It took a few glasses of wine before I could figure out how to use the darn thing without hurting myself.

While it heated up, I whipped up some mashed cauliflower with real mozzarella cheese. My husband loves that stuff but I accidentally ate it all between sips of my pinot. Oops. Not sure eating an entire head of cauliflower is healthy however you want to spin it. I believe that everything is good in moderation, which also means that everything is bad if taken to the extreme.

Two Pump Chump

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.

The Best… Pussy

I tore my clothes off last night and pranced across the room to my side of the bed. My husband lowered his phone and watched with anticipation his eyes aglow. I think even a whistle fell from his lips.

When I reached the bed, he was already folding the cover down inviting me to join him in the cozy comforts of our well-worn love nest. I jumped in and on him planting kisses like a happy girl. He smelled like a clean man and his arms felt solid as he wrapped them around me and squeezed. Like puzzle pieces, we fit together so well, so perfectly. But my feet, they were cold like ice and he pushed them away.

This Guy is an Animal

He licked my pussy for awhile last night, longer than he has in awhile. I should have been focused on the pleasure at hand, but I couldn’t help my mind wondering back in time to when my husband used to make me cum all of the time with his tongue.

The first time he ever experienced my orgasm was in my bed at the home I shared with only my son. He and I had yet to have intercourse, but that didn’t stop him from getting as close as possible. We kissed and touched and eventually let the passion slide south towards my honey pot.

Best Place for Sex

I swallowed his cum yesterday morning because he insisted he couldn’t leave the house before I did. It was a necessity and he promised to make it quick.

My husband tore my clothes off of me so he could gaze at my nude body while he stroked his dick in bed. And just like he said, he cam in less than a minute, pushing my face towards his crotch expecting my mouth to be open and my tongue to be out.

Spreading My Pussy Lips

He’s been telling me for days now how incredibly beautiful I am. I walk in the room and his eyes fall to me in what seems like goddess worship. He throws his hands around my waist and kisses my lips with such passion I’m left wondering if it’s the spray tan or my new hair color or a lighter breeze in the air. I love him too and find him irresistibly handsome, but I don’t say it every time I see him.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining at all about this. It’s a great feeling to be wanted, needed, desired so badly you can’t get out of bed in the morning without prying your naked body away from his desperate grip. Once I’m free, I look back to see that awful look on his face, like I took candy from a baby, like he’s going to wither up and die if I don’t get my fine ass back under the covers with him.