If it’s too loud, you’re too old

River is out of town.  I get an email from her.  “I passed my test!  I might have screamed!”  And I write back: “At least something makes you scream :-).”

Because just a few nights ago, she had her first orgasm ever from pure penetrative sex.  Actually, two in a row.  She’s always needed some kind of manual or mechanical clitoral stimulation.  And there she is having her first pure penetrative orgasm, and her second, and she doesn’t make a sound.  Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.  Not in happy shock, not in crazy surprise, not even because it’s so amazing she wants the neighbors to know.  So I have no idea until we pause while I barely hold off and she says “I just came twice while we were doing it.”  Total stealth orgasms.  That’s her style.

It took some getting used to.  One partner I’d had set the bar pretty high for screaming, and gave me a taste for it.  And she inspired me to make a lot of noise myself.  But I ended up toning it down with River because I felt out of place with her being so quiet most of the time.

But I still  like it loud.

Although lately it seems like if we so much as breathe hard, Brook will be banging on our shared wall.  “We’re just breathing.”  “Well stop it!”  She didn’t do that when she was little.  She’s too old.


A well-prepared pussy

I get back in bed in the morning. Warm myself up on my sweetie furnace. Which seems to be going full blast. She’s really putting out the heat.

River shrieks and pulls back when I put a cold hand on her boob. Again on her stomach. I have to warm it up somewhere.  I slide my hand along her leg. She puts it between them, my palm on her mons, my fingers curving down to cover her labia. That’s unusual. Unexpected. But not unwelcome. I feel quite welcome. Her legs squeeze around my hand. “Cooch.” “What?” “That’s just what it feels like this way. Cooch.” “Coochy coo.”

I don’t want to overstay my welcome between her legs. I suspect she saw that as the least evil spot I could put my cold hand. Nothing more. This can’t be a come-on. We just fucked last night. A long and creative fuck, with two new positions. One I’ll call Flip Flop, where we each had an impressive view of the the other’s butthole. The other one . . . no idea what to call it. Picture us doing spoons on our left sides, then me rolling face down and putting my right leg on her left shoulder. More silly than functional. Let me know if you can name it.

And she does feel so . . . coochy down there, with her bush against my palm and my fingers nestled among her flaps and folds. I give her nice warm cooch some admiring squeezes, slide my fingers left, right, up, down, over the flaps, through the folds, across and around her clit, pulling and squeezing her lips between my fingers.

“Your hand should be getting warm.” “Yes.” “And wet.” The edges of her lips are surprisingly moist and slippery as I slide them past each other. But I haven’t checked between them yet. I fan my fingers, push a little deeper . . . and she’s sopping. “What have you been dreaming about?” “Work.” Doesn’t seem likely. I’ve never been successful at getting her to come into the stairway with me at her work. Maybe someone else has?

Long story short, and I do mean long story, we have a tremendous fuck. River’s pussy is exquisite, sensation-al I call it, from the tickling frill of her opening to the surprise party of her cervix. But her pussy is only the icing on the cake. She’s really into it. We’re squeezing together harder than ever, rocking side to side, grinding everything we’ve got until we’ve ground each other down so far we’ve got another inch of penetration. We especially like it when I sit up and push and pull her, holding still while jacking myself off with her pussy, with her whole body. When I keep up her favorite pounding rhythm she’s liking it so much and making so much noise I can only keep it up for so long without coming.

“I don’t even want to come.” “It’s up to you.” “I feel like it would be an anticlimax, after what we’ve been doing.” “You usually have a really good one after not finishing.” Last night, that is. “There’s always next time.” I can’t believe I said that. That’s her line.  I’m always about this time.

My cock flips up and thwacks me when I pull out. I like that.

“I should tell you. I had a dream and woke up with an orgasm. Then had a few more. That was a well-prepared pussy you were fucking.”

Well somebody told me

That song is stuck in my head all night. “Well somebody told me, that you had a boyfriend, who looked like a girlfriend . . .” Don’t know it? Sure you do.  I’m just not singing it very well. Here’s what I’m talking about.

Why is it in my head? I’ll get to that. First things first.

I’m coming to bed. I haven’t showered for a while. There was supposed to be hot water left for me this evening but there isn’t any. Not even warm. And I don’t smell particularly good. I can smell myself, which means I probably smell ten times worse to other people. This might snuff the carefully laid plans I told you about last time. I can’t believe this is happening. The timing is terrible.  Welcome to my life. “You’re going to have a stinky sweetie in your bed.” “I don’t mind.” Wow. The “I can’t believe it” factor just worked in my favor.  “But you could use a washcloth on your pits.” Is that all?  I can do that.

When I come to bed I’m not too bad. At least, I can’t smell myself. But that doesn’t mean anything.  I’ve had all day to get used to how I smell.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Valentine.” “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

River’s body language seems receptive. But I’ve got to check in on something. “Remember what I warned you about yesterday?” She thinks. I know she knows but I say it anyway. So she doesn’t have to.  And because saying it turns me on. “A nice Valentine’s Day fuck.” “Mmm hmm.” “I know you’ve been dreading it all day long.”  “I don’t mind.” “What would you like for a warm up?” I know what she’s going to get for a warm up if she can’t come up with something: a back rub. “Some back rub.” “That’s what I was thinking.” We’re so compatible. In most ways. The important ways.

She reaches for the oil. I straddle her and let my cock come to rest on her ass crack. We look good together.  Male and female.  Female and male.  Boy and girl.  Girl and boy.

And there it is. In my head. “Well somebody told me, that I had a girlfriend, who looks like a girlfriend . . .” I’m liking the way my girlfriend looks, me sitting behind her ass, spreading just the right amount of oil onto the vee of her back, her shoulder blades, down her sides, up her neck, onto her arms, her slender waist, around her hips, across the tan line where she got a bit too much sun in her bikini a few weeks ago . . . I could do this forever, watching the light and shadows play across her back as my fingers dimple the skin with their strokes, feeling her flesh flow under my hands, having my way with her body. Sometimes I wish she would just fall asleep while I’m doing this. Sometimes she does.

I’d love to just sit here and get hard as my balls nuzzle against her ass and pull the skin of my cock ever so slightly downwards, then slip it in and feel our connection. But it’s not happening. I can help. One hand plays more oil over her ass, kneading the right cheek, grabbing the left cheek, while the other goes to my cock, the thumb stroking up the top side with residual oil. Not too much oil. The sweet friction of River juice is all I want tonight. My cock hardens nicely as I finally allow a thumb to slip down her ass and between her legs, brushing the fur, pushing for her secret darkness.

“You have the right spot.” River wiggles back against me and I feel her lips give way as my thumb is on the verge of plunging in but lingers at her opening, circling the wetness I can feel . . . and hear. I get harder to the wet smacky sounds of her pussy, until I fit my cock to her entrance and slide forward, as deep as I can go, my balls rubbing up her legs, my body pushing against her ass. And we fuck.

She feels exquisite today. Some good River juice. Just the way I like it. Not too wet, not too dry. The built-in squeeze of this position strokes the length of my shaft nicely as I slide in and out of her, the head feeling everything from the soft wetness of her depths to the frictiony frill of her opening, and back.

I lay on top of her, my hand on her shoulder pulling us together. She’s called this “the deep position” before, and I’m going deep, staying deep, deeper, feeling the twinge of her cervix, fucking in and out of her, exquisite, our breath moaning and gasping. I lean over her, my legs spread astride her, my back arched, hips up, my cock dropping into her at a steep angle then making the sucky sounds as I barely fuck her with just the tip.

Right about the time I’ve run out of bed and put my foot on the floor for extra leverage we hear somebody tromping past the bedroom door, which is propped partway open, and into the bathroom next door. So what. River switches off her reading light and we fuck by braille. I’ve got a girlfriend, who feels like a girlfriend.

My left leg slips between her legs, then my right leg, my knees inside hers pushing her legs apart. The change in her pussy with her legs spread is incredible. Just what I needed. From the tight deep squeeze to a lush, bottomless wetness. A rain forest. An Amazon rain forest. I want more. I push my knees out, spread our legs wider. This position can be strenuous but not tonight. I push up on my hands, freeing my hips to hit every angle, my cock feeling every nuance of her, and now I feel the caress of her pussy making me want to come as I rock from side to side inside her tropical sweet spot.

But I don’t come. Yet. Too often these days I have to take whatever I can get (thanks, antidepressant). That’s why I don’t always finish lately: I don’t always like what I can get, and I’m pretty sure I can get better if I wait a day or two to finish. But this is my day to finish.  I can tell it will work out for me to hold off now; it will just make it better when I do finish.  And I will finish tonight.  The feeling is right. So I grind into her, pushing right up to the edge, River pushing back, rocking from side to side until I’ve coasted over the urgency and back down to the plateau where we can fuck some more.

Our fuck has been long and sweet and intense. I especially like how she wiggles it back into place when I slip out. “I’m close.” River is probably like it’s about time. I’m sure she knows I held off back there. I’m greedy that way. But I know it will be a good ending. “Slow.” Slow endings are crazy, creeping slowly up to an orgasm, barely moving, sometimes not moving at all when I’m so close to the edge that the head of my cock is super-sensitive and just the pressure of River’s pussy and the angle of my cock is enough to make me come, I just wait, feel it build, feel my balls tighten, feel River beneath me, then finally feel my cock lurch, feel the first spurt empty into her, flooding her, flowing around my cock, River pushing back, the second spurt has even more volume, sounding a chord in my cock, in her pussy, a deep harmony, a crescendo, overflowing with the major third, deeper, louder. Gasping. Panting. Crazy.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Well somebody told me, that I’ve got a girlfriend . . .

Unfinished etc.

Our fuck last night was unfinished, like so many of my blog posts lately that don’t get posted. I’ll do well to get this one beyond that first sentence.

River has gone off her SSRI, and her libido seems to have rebounded. A week or so ago she had a seemingly endless run of orgasms, her first of the year. I think she’s had more than I’ve had this year now. I barely got hard enough in time to fuck her in her first one, I almost told her she’d have to go solo, but I got to fuck her in her first orgasm and after that they just kept coming. Easy ones. I could rub her bush and give her an orgasm. She was still reaching down and giving herself a few more through her panties while getting dressed afterwards. She explains that at some point it’s not so much giving herself one, as that there’s one there just beneath the surface that only needs a bit of encouragement to break through. She says she may have been ovulating that day.

She also had a spontaneous orgasm while having a not-very-sexy dream. That hasn’t happened for a while.

River is also no longer using the NuvaRing she was on for a few months. It made her pussy wet to the point where she would drip during the day, and she didn’t really enjoy that. From my side, her pussy was so slippery that fucking didn’t feel as nice. We both like the feel of her usual “sticky friction”, and the way it changes during her cycle. On her best days it’s a lot like massage oil, things glide smoothly without being outright slippery.

Sometimes I would enjoy the feeling of the NuvaRing as my cock brushed past it in her pussy, sometimes I wouldn’t notice it, and a few times I speared it and pulled out to find it on the base of my cock. Fortunately her cervix will always be there for me to feel.  It’s a nice bonus sensation at the end of a long push, and River seems to like having it mashed. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to put a couple marbles in her pussy.

Our fuck last night was nice. River lay on her back with her legs resting together straight up in the air. Her snatch was its usual cute self, peeking between her legs, labia nestled in her bush. I played my thumb over her pussy while I got hard, then pushed it into her and explored her warm wetness while I got harder.  There’s something naughty about having my thumb in her pussy that I really like.

We did the stick-in in that position and fucked for a long time, with me reaching around her legs to hold myself with my hands on her breasts. When I rolled back and pulled her up on top she returned the favor, her hands pressing down on my chest, my hands on her tits again, while she worked her pussy up and down me and I almost came watching her bush devour my cock again and again.

But River had to wake up early the next morning, and I didn’t want to keep her up too late and finish just for the sake of finishing. And usually when I don’t finish we get back to it the next day, and I have a huge orgasm. So I don’t mind not finishing. I like the tension in my balls when we’re “in the middle of a fuck” like we are now. And not finishing makes me appreciate River’s point of view, where she doesn’t have to orgasm to enjoy being fucked.

I fell asleep before River for the first time in ages.


It’s been too long since I’ve written anything here. I’ve got a dozen posts in various stages of completion sitting around while I mostly co-write a NaNoWriMo novel. So I’m just popping in for a quickie.

Not so long ago, River mentioned that if she gives her pussy a thwack, it can bring on another orgasm. She went on to demonstrate.  I’ve tried it since then and it works!  Why has she been hiding that little trick as long as we’ve known each other?  I’m gonna have fun with that one, but only about once a month.


River was in the mood a few nights back. Her moods are not to be missed. But I’m not going to tell you how she gave herself an amazing orgasm in what seemed like a very comfortable amount of time, and how she writhed and moaned under me as I fucked her in it, then went on to have several more until finally it was my turn.

I’m going to tell you about a litle bit of fantasy role-playing, and its effect on me. I’d lit the candles, put on the music, and was bedding her . . . in bed. Her bed. Her choice. And somehow the whole scene put me into a Don Juan mood. I thought doing an accent might be liberating. Take me out of myself and into character where I could be free. It turned out to be embarrassing. But I did it anyway, as much as I could.

River was stunningly beautiful in the candlelight. Her skin golden, her shape enticing, her face serene and confident, the shadows mysterious as ever. I totally recommend candlelight. I almost wanted to use the phrase “making love”. Ok, I did use it, but I was in character, with the accent: “You have been made love to by thousands of men. But never by one such as I.”

And afterwards: “I have made love to thousands of women. But never to one such as you. I cannot leave you.”

So, what was the effect on me? I actually enjoyed believing that she’d been made love to by thousands of men. And had chosen me to spend the rest of her life with. I’ve had problems with that sort of thing in the past. It was liberating, being able to feel that way. Or more peroperly perhaps, a sign of my liberation from the past.

Last night

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.”