We almost didn’t snuggle last night. The sex dice said we were on, but River mentioned we’d have to be creative since a rather heavy period just started. Her idea of creative is backrubs. My idea of creative is a blow job. Or why not both? Because she got up early, had a busy day, and has to get up early tomorrow. That’s fine. But she’s also been complaining about her jaw hurting after some dental work last week, and taking ibuprofen. Neither of which is sexy. And the last thing you probably want to do with a hurting jaw is give a blow job.
So I was thinking about blow jobs. We don’t do very many. River says she likes to do them. I guess it’s me who prefers hand jobs. And we both prefer fucking. I feel a bit sheepish asking for blow jobs. How can I want River to ask to have her pussy eaten, when I have a hard time asking for a blow job. Maybe it would be different if River told me she wanted me to ask for blow jobs. But she hasn’t.
At least I can no longer claim that River has never asked me to eat her pussy. Last week she planted it firmly on my face while we were on the futon, and said she was into it. And she was. It was everything I was hoping it would be. Except the angle didn’t work so well.
The thought crosses my mind that maybe River doesn’t want to have me write about getting a blow job from her. No, she would just tell me not to.
Periods, tiredness, pain, and not fucking are hardly reasons not to snuggle. But on top of that we had a conversation about something during which I got kind of riled up and confrontational. I’ve got an unfortunate tendency to do that. Still not all that big a deal. Our relationship can easily handle a bit of that.
It was black gravity. That’s what depression feels like to me. Black gravity sucking me down. And it felt nice. And comfortable. I missed it. It didn’t take me all the way down, but far enough that I could feel its seduction and almost wanted to go further. I was feeling envious, things were unfair, I was feeling sorry for myself.
River comes in and I’m in bed already. She’s surprised. She doesn’t know about today’s black gravity. She thinks I’ve gone to bed in a huff over our discussion. I haven’t. I just turned out the light and got in bed because I was done doing what I was doing. She stays on her side of the bed. This has happened before. She’s probably not sure what to do. Has she forgotten she can always snuggle me? Neither of us says anything. I know we have to snuggle.
“What are you doing over there?” I’m not sure which of us invented that line, but it’s a good one. We’re back.
We end up snuggling to sleep. In the morning I think of how stupid I’d be feeling if we hadn’t.
Maybe we’ll fuck tonight. Or something creative.