Friday, March 17, 2006

Too tired tonight?

Being an 'A' class personality has its downsides. By the time you've poured your energy into your job and your family, and have maintained some minimal level of social life, there is precious little energy left over. Yet you need something for yourself and your lover. Maybe not so many knee tremblers when you come in the door at the end of the day (who knows when a little face will pop around the corner asking for a glass of water), but you need something.

"Darling, are you awake?"

This is one of the signals, a hint, gently dropped so if you have put your head to the pillow and fallen asleep, you can sleep. Its a small phrase, and lets both sides a way in or out without offence, without harm. The answer tonight?

I roll towards her under the heavy duvet. Its cold tonight, the heating's been off for a while and our old gorgeous home is cold. Under that duvet though, its warm, comfortable, home. I slip one arm under her neck, let her use my shoulder as a pillow as my other arm wraps around her back and pulls her close. Even now nothing may happen, we have fallen asleep like this, body to body, soul to soul.

My finger and thumb search out her upper back, find the knots in her shoulder. She purrs against my chest, a gentle kiss dusting my skin. That back, the bain of her existance. Her job could fill her mind, lock her for hours as she watched the feeds, played the numbers, placed bets worth millions of other people's money. Often she'd come home stiff and sore. My fingers knew that back intimately. I could see the lumps and bumps with my fingers better than my eyes in daylight.

She let me, for a while, then a soft kiss on my chest again, her fingers trailing up my side under she cupped my chin. I tilted my head down to let our lips meet. For a while, that's all we did, let our fingers explore each other's familiar bodies, our lips meet and depart, softly, slowly. The joy of knowing someone so well, is knowing what they like. How my hand, gripping her hip just so, pulling her up hard against me, then drifting away could elicit a small gasp. How letting fingers drift up between us to cup a small breast, still pert after three children, then slowly twirl a nipple gently between thumn and forefinger could gaurentee a hard kiss in return.

Ah, but the thing she liked most, the thing that would always make her growl, make her instantly wet was when she finally let her hand drift down my body. Its when her hand found me hard that was a shot of pure adrenalin into her arousal. I have no doubt she loved my cock, and finding it hard, knowing she was what made it hard, that always did it.

Sometimes that was but a landing stage, where we would play with each other more first. Sometimes that was it, the bullet to the heart that meant more, now. Tonight it was the latter.

"I want you inside me, now." Tonight, in the cold, that meant a comic interlude. Oh for the days when man wore fur and nothing else. When sex could be immediate, instant. Not tonight, it was cold, cold. We had layers to uncover first, fumblings that made us giggle. That's another thing time allows a couple, humour as a part of sex. When young a laugh can be fatal, can kill arousal instantly. Yet when you've been through life with each other, have fought off the demons, rescued young infants from a million perils, have made a home and life together, laughter is your tonic. It can be part of sex and make it love.

So we fumble, undo knots, pull down fleace and silk, roll back together true skin to skin. I find myself pushed onto my back, but don't complain. I'm feeling lazy tonight, and besides, this is perhaps our favourite position. The angles work for us, giving each other just the right level of tension and friction. The physics of sex work when The Boy is below.

She slips on top of me, the sweet friction of her skin gliding along mine. I am grasped, lifted and those slick sweet slips brush against me, open around me, slide down me. I hear her slow intake of breath, know she finds it good. For a moment she lays there, curled above me, denying herself, denying me, any more that just the sweet feel of cock deep in cunt.

Her head lowers, her hungry lips find mine. No more the sweet almost chaste kisses of before, her lips open now her tongue probing and clashing with mine. Slowly, so slowly, her lips lift, then sink. I know tonight will be slow, sweet.

And so we move, the harmony of motion bringing sensation to both of us. She comes once, fast and light, then starts moving again. Twice I pull her down against me, needing those moments to slow it down, let myself recover and not come too soon. Yet all good things come to an end. I know she's building up, know the way her body shifts and slides says she's close. Its not the speed, we're still fucking with glacier slowness, its the knowledge grown of many couplings. There's a deep core of shared knowledge between us that makes the same act, done again and again, deeply good.

Yes, sometimes I wistfully think that freshness would be good, that a nubile tight body would be a welcome change of diet. Yet, yet... the act of love, of two souls sharing sex with a knowldge of what works, what highlights, makes the familiar transendant.

I feel my own orgasm grow, I'm close, so close, and tell her. She loves hearing that, its the final sharp spice which can send her over the edge. When my body convulses, when I loose control and crush her body down to mine, hands on hips that have been known to leave bruises, she cried out. Her orgasms are laughter, almost sad laughter if you didn't know the cause. My love doesn't scream, doesn't shout, she laughs and we both come cunvulsively against each other.

Then its done, and in someways its the best part. When she relaxes down on top of me, when as much skin as we have is pressed against each other and we murmur sweet endearments to each other, that's when we're closest.


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