Last night when River went to bed she said she’d be awake for a while. River says she doesn’t hint, but that sure sounds like a hint to me.
I come to bed. She seems friendly. I pull her leg between mine. “I’m being manhandled.” “And you like it.” But then she rolls over and we assume our usual falling asleep position. Not quite where I was hoping things would go.
So I pull out one of my brilliant sexy lines. “Would you like to feel a penis inside you?” That’s an adaptation of something she once said that I’ve co-opted because I like the irony of a bunch of nice words ending up sounding dirty. “If it’s a nice friendly penis. Not a nihilistic penis.”
At this point I have to back up to our walk earlier in the day. After almost getting run down in the crosswalk I was musing about how the importance of life is overrated, how there’s so much life, so much human life, how life as we know it depends on death as we know it, and if my life is so valuable to other people then why don’t they save it. To me, this is just normal stuff that anybody who thinks would think about. But not to her. “Did you take your antidepressant this morning?” “Yes! I remember it well. I swallowed it without water, the way I like.”
I assure her that my penis is always friendly. “My penis would like to feel itself inside you.” “Ok then. Anything in mind?” “Something face-to-face.” “Just don’t use up all my oxygen.” She’s had a low-grade cold, and some asthma. “I might have to breathe hard.” “You can do that.”
I sit atop her. My cock getting heavy already. Sadly, that’s been somewhat unusual for a few years, and I miss it. I look at River’s face, her girlish body beneath me, a slip of a girl, a woman, press my hands down on her breasts, feel my cock brush her skin and rise up. I like it. I move her hand to it proudly, want her to feel what she does to me, how much I want her, how much my body wants her body. Her hand closes around what I hope is an astonishingly hard cock, and I enjoy the heat her fingers create brushing over the ridge of my glans. I reach behind, between her parting legs, through the flaps and folds of her labia, into her wetness, up to her clit. But enough formalities. “I think we should just get to it.” Fine with her. This time I slip both knees between her legs simultaneously. She rubs my cock up and down her slit. “I like it when you do that.” She slips it in, almost before I’m ready. And we fuck.
Slow and easy and sensual, pulling out and feeling my cock slip back into her, through her lips, through the frill of her pussy opening, leaving a tinge of rhubarb taste in my mouth, sliding through her wet friction to her cervix, savoring the sensations as I slowly pull back out, my cock gliding backwards through the velvet moistness of her pussy. Feeling myself inside her, surrounded by her, held by her. Wondering what it feels like to her, to have a penis inside her. I hope it feels as good to her. I sit up, holding her legs in front of me for a good long bang, grabbing her waist, River crossing her legs in the air, pushing against the wall with her hands to fuck me back. A good long bang. But I don’t feel an orgasm on the horizon. When I stop, it’s not to hold off. “See? I told you I took my antidepressant.” She laughs. My SSRI doesn’t decrease my libido, but it sure makes it hard to come sometimes.
“I don’t have to finish.” “Whatever you want.” “I don’t want to use up all your oxygen.” It’s been a sweet bonding fuck. I don’t have to come to enjoy it. We fuck a while longer in a friendly playful way, then River rolls over, and I spoon in behind, my penis still inside her, where she can feel it. I can feel it, too. I push against her ass for maximum penetration so my cock will stay in as long as possible while it softens. In the old days it wouldn’t soften at all, but these are the new days. “Is this comfortable for you?” “Yes.” “Me too.”
We settle in to sleep together. “I really enjoyed that.” “You were meant to.” “So were you. I enjoyed that the same way I enjoy going for walks with you and holding your hand, or giving you good luck kisses, or folding laundry with you. Just don’t think that folding laundry is a substitute for sex.”