“You have no idea how good that felt,” I told my spouse, breathless. He’d been sucking on my nipples gently, and touching them, as I masturbated. He was standing by the bed.
The pleasure was extra intense, and my orgasm was an extreme state. Like I was losing my mind. Difficult to be quiet–too much. A spiritual experience, half-wanted! Or yeah, just ridiculous.
two thousand times
When I fell in love with my spouse, we did it every day, sometimes two or three times a day. We’ve had sex hundreds of times–well, maybe a couple thousand by now! How could that be possible? Yeah, around 500 times the first year, similar the second year. And another thousand the other six and a half years. Wow–wild.
I feel really grateful for that–as much sex as I want. What a sweet gift. I’m lucky beyond lucky, for that. Thank Mother God he is sexually kind and healthy inside, and can give me what I need, emphatically, joyfully.
clean
Yesterday I had a mammogram, and it was hard to trust the machine was clean. The tech was grabbing my breasts with her blue-gloved hands, arranging my breasts in turn, on the machine. My arms and hands were touching the machine a lot, as well as my breasts, shoulders, cheeks.
I had a good attitude and remembered the tech from the previous year. Her kindness, seriousness, brusk comfort, and slight Eastern European accent that could be heard only a few times, at the ends of sentences.
So I endured the mammogram and the paperwork hell that proceeded it. Came home and needed a shower, after all that contact with the questionable machine. I made pesto for lunch and then showered. Soapy hands rubbing my cheeks, neck, breasts, tummy, arms, underarms, the outside part of my cunt, my butt.
Then I lay in bed, naked, a fan blowing on me. My feet were on a pillow, and my cunt was exposed, knees butterflied out. My spouse was sleeping in the bed. He’s having foot pain and needed to elevate.
I felt all clean and happy, which meant also amorous. I cuddled him, asked him to gently touch the hair on my cunt. We kissed and were sweet together.
Then we took a few photos. That one I posted yesterday–“We need another hand,” I said. My love suggested Bunny as camera person, but Bun never does a good job with photos.
Oh, I had dressed Bun in a black headscarf, for fun. The headscarf was a dress, for him. I made some joke about his tail. It was a pun on cottontail that I can’t remember now.
photos
So we took those few photos. I told my spouse how I’d semi-accidentally seen a picture of our friend’s dick on fetlife. “Do you want to see?” I asked. “It’s really pretty.”
Yes, my spouse did want to see the dick pics, which I was happy to show him. Our friend’s dick is large, circumcised, gleaming. Looks eager and well. We talked about the angle, the size of our friend’s dick, and I thought about camera stuff.
How we know or don’t know our own bodies. I know my body from experiencing it, but I’m clueless about how it looks from the outside. Usually I have too much empathy, but compassion fails me, there.
The dick pics set the tone of our sex. I sucked my spouse’s dick, checking in with him about how it felt. The previous day, he’d felt some pain, on the right side, on the skin. He’s better, now.
desired pain
Then he fucked me. It hurt, in a way I like. My cunt was sending me pain messages and pleasure messages mixed together, which thrills me.
I was quietly saying “no” a lot. I had tons of no-energy, which my spouse understands is not a no like, asking him to stop. It’s another kind of no, doing some inner work I can’t explain. If I needed him to hear a different kind of no, I’d say our safeword, which is safeword.
The pain got too intense, and I did ask him to stop fucking me. He paused, deep inside me, and wow, that felt perfect. A still moment, enjoying the magic of what we were doing, from a momentary calmer state.
“More, more,” I said, when I’d had enough of a rest from the pain. He fucked me more, and I was pushing up against him, feeling crazed for it, feeling how he was doing, and would he come soon.
He paused, his own choice, and I was listening to his breathing, trying to sense if he was about to come. A few times he paused, and then the fourth or so pause, he did come. I hugged him to me, very moved, to feel his dick pulsing its semen into me, deep as it goes.
Felt close to him and loved. I was saying I loved him. He was less verbal than usual, speaking only briefly when I asked him a question.
I don’t need a lot of words from him. All different ways to have sex in this world, wordy and not.
out of order
I told all that out of order–sorry. Guess I need to go to story school.
I’m at my desk, wearing a thin, too small orange tank top and purple chonies. My nipple brushes my arm, and my nipple feels super-real and lovable. I feel lucky to be alive and healthy enough to do a lot of what I want to.
Thank you for being on the journey with me, witnessing me as you do.
