Cooking dinner, or, how does she put up with me?

I convince River to let me help cook dinner. “Ok, the first trick . . .” She bends over for something in the cabinet, her ass flesh filling out her jeans in a nicely shaped way. I have to feel it. “That’s my first trick.” Mmm, River ass. “Actually, my first trick is to wash my hands.” I turn the water on. “Careful, it’s hot.” “It can’t be as hot as the ass I just felt.” I don’t know how she puts up with me. If she talked about my ass all day long I’d feel like a sex object.

“Look. I’m cooking dinner! Isn’t that sexy?” She’s said it’s sexy when I cook, so she better say yes. “Yes.” “That’s why I’m always thinking you’re so sexy. You cook a lot.” Uh oh. Now I don’t feel sexy, so much as sexist, and that’s not sexy.

“Hey, we’re working in the kitchen together.” “Yeah.” “I like doing things in the kitchen with you! Did we get that new counter installed at the right height?” “Yes.” Did she catch my angle? She’s a little slow on the uptake sometimes. She just doesn’t naturally put things together the way I do. Would she even realize that last sentence has my usual sexual slant to it?

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2 thoughts on “Cooking dinner, or, how does she put up with me?

  1. You really really fancy your wife don't you! I love it when my husband behaves in the way you have just described. After many years of marriage its delicious to feel like a sex object!

  2. To answer your non-question, why yes, I do! And I try to make it a point to let her know all the other things I appreciate about her.

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