It was Saturday. I spent the entire day dressed in red gowns filming videos for an online series, and my husband spent his day in coveralls on a track hoe clearing our waterfront property to get it ready for dirt and building permits.
Our plan is to build the office first then work on the RV spaces and boat launch, although I’m pretty sure my husband would put the boat launch first so he could begin to use to for his personal excursions.
I’m in a temporary tent, in my bathroom, naked and standing in awkward positions. My husband holds the spray gun out a foot or so from my body and directs the brown liquid onto my skin.
“Leg out,” he says then proceeds to cover my inner thigh a dark golden shade of paint. It smells like a tropical island but feels like an arctic blast. “Other leg.”
“Honey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” my husband says as he lathers his hair with soap. He’s in the shower, and I’m standing on the outside yelling in.
“Earlier when I was bent over on the bed and we were making love, why did you stop and close the curtain?”
“Because I could see the bookkeeper’s car. I knew she’d be leaving soon and I didn’t want her to see my standing their naked,” he replied rinsing his hair at this point. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day, my love,” he said grabbing me into his arms last night. My husband had just come in the door from a long day and was smelling dinner on the stove.
My son joined in the hug and asked “Oh, yeah, what were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about giving you a new little brother!” He replied with a smile and a punch to the gut. Fighting is the language of love between all of the men in our home. “Yep, he’ll look just like me, your mother, and you,” my husband continued on.
He crawled up behind me in our warm bed, slid his arms around my body, engulfed me into his protection and rested his greedy hands on my breasts.
“It’s like coming home,” he whispered in my ear. It was 6:50am and my body did not want to retreat from our cozy bed and into the cold house for the morning wakeup routine. “Your body is heaven. God I just want to be here forever with you, my queen.” He squeezed my body tighter.
I’m afraid, dear reader, that this blog is getting boring. Why? Because the passion and dissonance of our married, the very elements that make tango a romantic dance, are simmering into a beautiful, comfortable loving pie around here.
Yesterday was the second day we missed having some sort of sexual intercourse in January. And like the first time, it happened not on a day of aggravation or distance, but on a day of connection and warmth and true love between us.
The way he brushed his hand against my arm and down my back last night was tender seduction. My hand fell to the curve of his back in a graceful poetic tuck of the wrist. The middle finger grounds me to his body while the rest innocently stick out. Love permeated from our bodies as we embraced for the dance and made the first circular move with our feet.
“Five minutes of dancing,” I said a moment before that.
“Fifteen,” he countered.
It was 10pm, the kids were in bed, and both of us were tired from the day’s many activities.
“Five,” I held firm and pressed play on the music app on my iPhone. The music began and soon thereafter our feet.
We’ve hit that wall, folks. The wall where sex everyday is getting well… labored. Not that we are stale. Not at all.. but that we’re fucking so much it takes even more energy to keep it exciting. Que last night. I just returned from an overnight trip with my son, and my husband told me […]
“Good morning, beautiful,” my husband says to me this morning as we cuddle up. It’s Sunday, but it’s a different day. I’m taking my son on an overnight trip, just the two of us, and won’t be back until tomorrow evening. We need to make love now or we’ll miss another day. My husband is ready to go. “Your body feels amazing this morning. Your skin is so soft.”
He’s rubbing up and down my body. I have to pee.
On the way back from the bathroom, I smear on some coconut oil for easy fucking. Not surprising, I’m not horny at all despite the fact that I didn’t orgasm yesterday and was looking forward to having sex next.
He jacked his dick off in my mouth yesterday morning. Check (for him), but by the time I got home from a fashion show late last night, my husband was sleeping like an angel. No sexy time for me, unless you count the silliness going on at the show. Then maybe Stella Stories can take a trip outside of the my goddess palace for today to visit the people and places that make up my world.
In my world, I’m a star. There’s no bones about it. You might not know me, but I assure you plenty of people do. And most of them like me too, including my friend who runs the fashion show.
