Fuck the Cookie

I’m not going to lie. I did not want to do my job last night, not one bit! And my job wasn’t as easy as simply opening my legs like it normally is. My job was to give my husband a mind-blowing, cum-extracting blow job. It’s his payment for bi-monthly spray tans he gives me, […]

Greeting the Day with It

My husband has got to be one of the sexiest men in the world. I think his masculinity is what does it. He’s rough and tumble with a hint of class. He’s always on a mission, making calls, building things, directing logistics, and buying materials. That’s what I saw out of the window Saturday morning.

I was sipping coffee and enjoying the fact that I’d slept in. My body was refreshed and soft like I’d been kissed by the youth fairies and could take my time starting the day. My husband was already in his weekend work attire of blue jeans, work boots, and a blue Hawaii t-shirt. I heard him through the glass tell his son something like, “When I move the truck, you need to watch this latch to make sure it doesn’t slip” and “I’ll meet you at the work site in 10.”

Trading the Old for the New

We made love for a solid hour last night. It was slow and meaningful the way unrushed kisses make you vulnerable, and he pried into my world, my inner most protection and shame through it. Sex last night was a trip down memory lane.

I think it was the whiskey that did it. My husband isn’t generally that gentle and prodding. We started with me on top talking about our wild sex from the day before. Two orgasms that day lessened my desire yesterday which factored in to the slowness of our pace.

The Treats in His Dream

He came home like a serpent yesterday afternoon, slithering in with a smile and a secret purpose. His arms tucked around me as he listened to the kids’ stories from school. He was alert and in the moment.

Something about his demeanor screamed we were about to be fuckin’, although I’m not sure exactly what it was. He kissed me sweetly and gently caressed my hand pulling me ever so slightly towards our bedroom, the goddess palace. I caved and walked with him.

Then the door locked behind me.

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.