I wouldn’t say we flirted during the day. There was noticeably a little more physical contact than usual … ie more than none … and nothing much more than a passing hand on the shoulder, but that, in combination with Her wearing The Infamous Red Underwear (not that there is any reason to think She knew I knew She was wearing it) gave me considerable hope for a fuck last night.
10:30pm came.
We had both snoozed off in front of the TV.
Me: I’m off to bed.
Her:
If you’ve been around for a while, Dear Reader, you will know I have some bad habits. I can think of at least a handful of you who have called me out on one or more of them. One in particular is my habit of
In response to one of my more recent Sinful Sunday submissions, someone used the phrase dick pic. The term has come to have quite negative connotations, frequently referring to photographs emailed or sexted to unwilling recipients. Obviously, as a follower of this meme, Sinful Reader, you’re probably not offended by the sight of someone’s cock appearing on your screen, but it occurred to me that yes, when I’ve participated in Sinful Sunday it has frequently been with a dick pic.
So I’m looking for
… and unusually we went to bed at roughly the same time – my Wife just a couple of minutes before me. I already had a semi before I went into the bathroom, and as I brushed my teeth I encouraged it with my free hand. I wanted to fuck, and it might as well be obvious.
As I walked into the bedroom and undressed, my cock raised its salute.
I got into bed and Continue reading
I’d met a client in London earlier in the day. My Wife was taking a day of leave and schools had broken up for the summer, so we made a family day of it with all of us meeting up and hitting a museum after my meeting.
Relations had been strained over the last week.
On the way home we discussed supper. She offered to pick up something from the supermarket on our way home from the station. It would mean Her walking in one direction, and the rest of us going the other. Not a huge detour for Her, but not the direct route.
When She got home She proffered a Continue reading
My phone buzzed in my pocket, alerting me to a text message.
Darren’s SMS: Are we still on for tomorrow?
My SMS: Absolutely.
A week earlier I’d arranged to meet Darren to chat about helping him out on a job. When we’d exchanged emails, I’d suggested I knew a cafe just off Oxford St, though hadn’t been specific.
(Don’t worry if you don’t know where that or any other locations mentioned are.)
Darren’s SMS: Anywhere in particular? Or there’s a cool place on Warren St.
In my head: I know there is, but Continue reading
