Jump

River has promised to jump me sometime this week during her post-period horny time. But we’ve both been sick with the flu. And tonight she’s hanging out with a friend and she has to get up early tomorrow so I’m not expecting anything to happen. She needs her rest.

She comes home just as I’ve gotten Brook off to sleep, and announces that her breath may smell somewhat alcoholic, which she knows isn’t my favorite. But I put a good spin on it: “Is that a hint?” “I might jump you tonight.” I’m not going to argue with that, am I?

“I didn’t have much, and it certainly didn’t go to my head.” “Where did it go? Here?” My fingers slide through her bush, down to her lips, running beside them, teasing up to her clit. “No.” Wrong thing to say. Do I have to start writing scripts for this girl to follow? “Maybe here?” I move my hand up her smooth warm skin, cup her nice small breast, brush my fingertips across her nipple. “No.” Across to the other breast. “Here?” “No.” I could write a script with just one word, “Yes”.

River rolls on top of me. “How do I jump a guy with ED?” “I don’t know. Any self-respecting guy would have a raging erection by now.” Even with all the no’s. But lying on my back is the worst position for me to get hard in. Maybe it’s a blood flow thing. So I sit up and she spreads for me. “I consider myself jumped.”

My palm rubs over her curly bush hair, tugging the cute tuft just above her clit, pulling her lips upward. The wet smacky sounds of her pussy have the expected effect on me as I stroke my cock until it’s finally good and hard. “Are you sure it didn’t go here?” “Because it sounds so wet?” “And looks so drunk.” Pulling the skin at the top of her vulva spreads her labia, and I sink my cock into her wet pussy at the bottom. And we fuck.

“Nice technique.” We both like it when I pull all the way out, until we’re not even touching, then plunge back in and go deep. “I like the full thrusts.” I like having my hard cock inside her. “And I like the anticipation when you miss.” You’d think I miss on purpose sometimes.

We transition through any number of positions. “Are you trying to get me on top?” I lean back and pull her up. There’s her answer.

“Now, how did this work?” I reach up, trying to remember how I learned to flip her in karate. “I can’t remember it in the middle of a fuck.” And I want her to stay on top.

So I relax into it as she gives me single point, the soft grip of her pussy working me up and down. I fuck back when she puts her knees on my chest, then lowers them to the bed and bends down with her face next to mine. She sits up, rubbing her bush against me as she fucks forwards and backwards instead of up and down. It’s been too long since she’s done that one. My cock in her pussy almost feels like an afterthought as she rubs her clit against me, but it feels impossibly good.

“I don’t think I’m going to finish tonight.” Even though it’s been a delightful fuck. “And you need some sleep.” “Thanks for thinking about that. We can finish tomorrow after work.” She squeezes and slides up off me and my cock thwaps down onto my stomach. How does she do that so easily? Stopping in the middle of a fuck is one of the hardest things I ever do.

“You should get drunk more often.” “It’s more going out with my friend.” “You should do that more often. Then you both go home and fuck your sweeties.” “Yeah, I was thinking every week would be nice.” “I was thinking more like three times a week, at least.”

Time off for good behavior

We had an amazing day. We fucked after the kids went to school. River had even written it on our daily calendar/schedule in the kitchen, although as she put it, “I couldn’t just say ’Mom and Dad Fuck’”, so she left plenty of blank space. We put all of that space to good use.

She was at her computer naked when I came into the room. She undressed me, which I always like, and lay down like she was ready. Very ready. I circled her clit with my thumb while I got hard, then spread her with both hands while I aimed my cock into her pussy. It was sweet and vigorous and banging and slow and everything in between, with lots of eye-gazing and smooching and hands-on.

River was making no secret about really liking it when I’m on top. She’s the one who got me to like being on top, because she’s always been so appreciative. She still seems a little unsure on top, like I used to feel, even when I tell her just make it feel good for her, because that’s all I do.

I came so deep and so hard that I thought it would gush out her mouth. We rested together. I don’t remember dressing.

Afterwards River did her things, like getting a haircut, and I did mine, which mostly involved getting things done for work. We had lunch together at our favorite fish-and-chips place. With her haircut it was like having a new girlfriend. “This is a warning. We’re having such a nice emotional warmup day that I might want to do it again later.” “I consider myself warned.” I noticed she didn’t say no. She did more of her things, I did more of mine, but we still spent a lot of good time together. Emotional warmup.

When I get into bed she turns me down. “Remember my warning?” “Yes, but I didn’t feel anything when you got into bed.” “Would you like to feel something?” No response. “Just a little one?” I might not even be able to come after this morning. “I’ll do all the work.” That means she can just lie on her stomach. “When’s the last time we did it twice in one day?” “Probably Dover Bay.” Two and a half years ago. “I’ll give you time off for good behavior.” I don’t usually pressure this much, but we’ve had a really nice day and emotional warmup really makes me want to fuck. As I like to say, the stars have aligned. “You got a haircut. How about some before-and-after with my new girlfriend?” I’m not getting anywhere.

I can never keep my hands off her. My hand feels up and down her back, her side, her ass, up to the softness of her freshly revealed neck. I like her new short hair. I’ve been getting myself hard ever since her comment about not feeling anything, and I’m ready.

“That feels nice. You can rub my back and we’ll see where it goes.” I sit behind her ass, my semi-hard cock flopping lewdly against her. I spend a long time on her back, across her sides, the muscles of her shoulder blades, her neck, her sacrum. The occasional moan she gives me is enough to keep me going. I rub some oil between my hands to warm it, then press my palms to the female form of her ass cheeks, let them shape my fingers to their curves. “I was hoping you’d do that.” “I was hoping you were hoping.”

By now I’ve gone soft. I work my hands over her ass, left cheek, right cheek, spread, push, down to her leg bones. My thumb plays in and out of her pussy fur as I get hard. “Your fur feels nice.  But this will feel even better.” When I’m ready I dip it into position, feel the tip lodge aganst her opening. I push, she tilts and wiggles, and slowly we work it in and out, breathing and sighing until she’s fully penetrated and I’m pushing against her ass.  “Now let’s see if you fuck as well as my old girlfriend.”

She does. I stare at her bare neck, and her bare ass. I like how she feels, wriggling under me as I thrust, left, right, center, fucking together, her hands on the wall for leverage. It really means a lot to me that she’s doing this with me today. Again.

It doesn’t take long to realize that I will come. Without even working too hard. Just hit the right angle, the right depth, listen to River moan . . . I push in, spurt, spurt, inhale, fall on her, heave breaths, come . . .

“That probably wasn’t too much the second time around.” “The first one was. I wiped, and I wiped again, and it still dripped down my leg when I went downstairs.” “You get time off for good behavior. You’ll probably never realize how much that meant to me. It really makes me feel accepted.”  The crazy thing is, she enjoyed it both times, but she has a short memory.

Photographic impressionism

River knows I like the look when she wears a shirt and nothing else. She treats me to it when I’ve been a good boy. The look goes especially well with bush. I was musing about how I might have acquired such a taste, and a few pictures came to mind, Penthouse pictures that I saw when I was a kid that I still remember today. I saw a lot of Penthouse pictures when I was a kid, so these particular ones must have really made an impression on me to have survived the decades

So I went off on an internet search to find the 70s Penthouse photos I remember. I still remembered one of the models’ “name”, and it didn’t take long to find a whole trove of photos people had scanned from vintage Penthouses. Over 60 web pages worth. I could still see this shot in my mind’s eye so it didn’t take long to blast through and find it, even though I would have loved to slow down and indulge in the awesome 70s bushfest I was scrolling through. Behold, the possible genesis of my shirt-only fetish:

Juliana_van_Troost-04I had a good time with that one as a kid, once I figured out what to do with the erections it gave me.

But there’s another photo from even deeper in my past. A friend and I were collecting newspapers for a school paper drive when I was about 10 or 11. In one of the stacks of papers we collected there was a stash of Penthouses. Total score!

Of all the photos in that stash, I’ve remembered exactly one. Seared in my memory. And I’ve remembered the model’s “name”, Baby Breese, aka Lindsay Freeman. Here it is, just like I remember:

Breese3

I show it to River. “She’s 14! She’s not even full-grown!” “Well, it’s been debated whether the number on her shirt represents her age, but she modelled for several magazines for at least a decade, and it’s probably well-documented that she was legal.” I’m pretty sure you had to be “legal” by the mid-70s. That was the golden age of porn, after all. “How old is she?” “I don’t know. Probably 18.” “She’s not even full-grown.”

So there you have it. But, do I like the shirt-only look, as well as small breasts, because I was unwittingly influenced by these shots at a tender age? Doubtful.  I’m sure the rest of the models were shirtless and had a decent set of knockers because that would have been more standard fare, the kind of thing men are “supposed” to like and buy magazines for.  It seems more likely that I remember them because it’s what I’ve always liked, even before I knew it. I’m wired up to like this stuff, just like I was wired up to get an erection as a 10- or 11-year old when I saw pictures like this, despite being years from puberty and having no awareness of sex.  The “naked ladies” of Penthouse were just a forbidden fruit, and I didn’t know what was happening to my dick when I saw them.

But I can perhaps credit photos like this for one thing: I Bush.

Karotica

River and I went to karate class yesterday evening. We were the only two students in our white-belt class, which is the first time that’s ever happened. So we were partnered up. We’ve been doing groundwork a lot recently, and we spent most of the hour down on the mat together, one of us variously sitting on top of the other while the other wriggled into better position under the other’s hips, pulled her down, then hugged his head up to her chest (to avoid being hit, of course) and rolled her over onto her back while checking her arms from on top of her.

All stuff we do in the bedroom, of course. :-)

What was kind of surprising for me, and I’m not sure if it was a pleasant surprise or not although I think it was, was River’s constant stream of banter. “I’m the dominant female.” “He’s my slave.” “Here I am doing all the work as usual.” (As if!) Normally it would be me saying things like that, being the incorrigible lecher of this couple, but I didn’t want to make our poor instructor, a great guy who is much younger than us, too uncomfortable.

I have to give River credit though for setting a good example of what “older” women are like in a good relationship.

At bedtime she’s lurking under the covers. I impose myself on her the best I can. “You’re not going to let all of that warmup in karate go to waste, are you?” I move in and we have some good smoochies. But she knows the best way to put me off without rejecting me. “How about if we practice our groundwork together tomorrow and see what happens?” “Works for me.”

The Plow

We did do “The Plow” last night, as planned.  It went something like this.

We get in bed. Ever since our restart we usually go to bed at the same time. I used to stay up until 2 in the morning doing whatever and riding my bike for exercise at night when there’s little or no traffic. I’m well a well-lit cyclist.

Anyway. We get in bed. At the same time, as per our usual. “I really don’t want to get up tomorrow.” That really puts a damper on my plan of doing “The Plow” tonight, so I say “That’s not very conducive.” “Don’t read too much into that.” I am reading something into that last statement: River is in a “friendly” mood and wants to do it. Historically, just after her period is her horniest time of the month. That time is now. I’d better not blow it by getting all pouty and backlashy and inconducive myself.

So I explain. “I’m not reading into it that you don’t want to do it. What’s happening is that I’ll feel bad for keeping you up.” I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling even though it’s too dark to see it.

River comes over to snuggle on me, laying her leg over mine. Her body feels strong and limber and friendly on me. “You know, I was going to snuggle on you because I’ve got a plan. The Plow.” I describe it to her in case she’s forgotten. Her legs under my arms, my hands under her knees. “I remember.” When I sit between her legs to enjoy her body with my hands — and my eyes — I get hard quickly. I push my hard cock into her. She clears her lips. And we fuck.

We have a nice vigorous fuck followed by some slow intimate penetration. I’m not sure I’m going to get around to The Plow because it’s all so good. I feel something I like with the extra push at the end of each thrust. “My penis kisses your cervix.”

Finally I sit up, her legs under my arms, my hands under her knees, for The Plow. I’m really lifting hard, trying to get her ass off the bed while I bang her, which she really seems to like. It’s more strenuous than I remember. When men have heart attacks during sex* I now know what position they were doing. “This is strenuous.” “But stimulating.” I’m glad I’m not the only one enjoying all my hard work. I keep it up as long as I can (thank you, SSRI) but eventually have to give in and go back to our default position for the finish.

“Now I know why women go for the buff guys.” “There is something about being manhandled.” She’s said that before.

But my arms looks skinnier than normal in the mirror the next morning.

*It happens. River was working at the hospital when a guy came in with his friend after having a heart attack during sex, ostensibly with his wife. I wonder why she didn’t come in with him.