Expect the unexpected

This weekend my Wife and I had a blissfully childless weekend away at an upmarket hotel. You shouldn’t be surprised, Dear Reader, to know that the mere thought had my jeans bursting at the fly, and in anticipation of the naked fun I was dreaming of, I made preparations for Operation Eyeball Obelisk.

I should probably be a little ashamed of myself, but in the hope of reciprocation, before we’d left home I’d taken a peek in Wife’s underwear drawer, to see if She might be wearing some of Her Xmas present: the bra and one pair of briefs were absent – a good sign, but the thong, torsolette and suspenders were still there. Not surprising, but a pity.



Having left our kid with grandparents, we drove for a little over an hour to our hotel. After a touristy wander hand in had round the town (we rarely hold hands these days), we went to my Wife’s favourite kind of restaurant, before going to a gig by one of Her favourite singers. Then back to the hotel bar for a couple of drinks – a rare and pleasant evening.

(As the staff brought us drinks, I couldn’t help but notice the couple sat across the darkened bar from us, who were in full-on tonsil-hockey mode and I was both impressed, transfixed and jealous of their blazon display of tit and crotch massaging.)

Back in our room, we chilled for a while, feet up on the bed, but there was none of the fondling I’d witnessed in the bar. There was, however, something in the air – I think a touch of anticipation mixed with trepidation. Whilst I’d had good vibes earlier, I felt them fading fast, as my new bright blue, bulge enhancing trunks went apparently unnoticed. We got into bed, but despite having waved my semi around liberally and accidentally nudging my Wife with it as frequently as possible as we curled up in bed, there seemed to be no interest and we both went to sleep.

I say sleep, but neither of us had a good night, interrupted a couple of times by rowdier guests returning to their rooms, and generally tossing and turning through to the small hours.

About 6:30 we were both awake and snuggled up together. The ever predictive thigh stroking heralded an attempted shag, and having aroused my Wife, I was encouraged to climb aboard. But my cock was no more than an inch into Her cunt, when She winced and we had to stop. Despite extremely restrained foreplay (I hadn’t touched Her slit or tits – just Her back, Her arse cheeks and barely Her inner thighs) we had somehow “missed the moment”. Intense frustration on my part, but I didn’t grump – my expectations are low these days.

The subject of Her aching neck came up and I offered to massage it. Unusually of late, this was accepted, and I straddled Her prone body, allowing my relaxing cock to rest against Her skin as often as I could. When my thumbs finally gave up, we snuggled up again, and did actually manage a fuck. I know the right kind of humping action most likely to make my Wife cum (I am a meticulous student of my art), and cum She most certainly did. We relaxed. And then we started talking.

(At this point I shall refrain from narrative, just so this post doesn’t get excessively long, and as i can’t entirely remember the order of the conversation.)

She asked if I am ever uncomfortable about sex. I nearly laughed. I am not, though She is. I corrected myself – I do feel uncomfortable about sex with Her, or but that is a direct result of Her being uncomfortable about sex.
We discussed how if She comes first, the easiest way for me to cum in Her is to just bang away, and neither of us particularly like that, as She’s not involved. She wants to cause my pleasure not just be a vessel for it.
She likes me to not hold my own orgasm back in order to get Her to cum, because then I have to bang away at Her in order to cum myself. I don’t hold back – I’m just thinking about Her orgasm. It’s more important to me than my own. She disagreed. But I pointed out that She has a lot fewer orgasms than I do – a heavy hint that I look after myself on a regular basis and a hint She picked up on. She knows I wank and thinks She should do something about it, but to use Her words, it’s easier to be lazy and let me self service.
For me, the problem is that if I don’t focus on Her and I cum first, then my cock goes limp and can’t fuck Her any more. She said that I have successfully finished Her off with my hand in the past and it’s been good. (In reality this has been pretty rare.) I said I’d love to use my fingers or mouth to make Her cum – She said finger fucking can be good but She’s still not comfortable with me going down on her. But I love doing it, and have been lead to believe I’m damned good at it! [Frustration!]
We talked about sex counselling in the context of our marriage counselling. She hinted it might be a consideration, but She needs to think about it. She’s not comfortable with sex, and not comfortable talking about sex, and certainly not comfortable talking about sex with a stranger. But She also hinted an acknowledgement that the problem is Her’s, and that She might see a sex therapist on Her own. We both want to get sex fixed before it’s too late.

She said She’d like me to not need to jerk off and want’s to be part of me getting satisfied. I’m not sure if She meant She want’s to be part of me jerking off, or more likely that She wants to be part of me getting jerked off, but whatever it is, I said I’m more than happy for Her to be part of it.

She asked if I wanted Her to finish me off, and the answer was obviously yes.

She went down on me and started sucking my cock. (I couldn’t help thinking there’s more than a little irony that She seemed happy to have my dick in Her mouth, still sweet and sticky with Her own juices, but not my tongue in Her cunt.) She commented that She didn’t know if it was working for me or whether She could blow me (Her phrase) for long enough. I assured Her that what She was doing was very good.
Her wanking and sucking was so good I actually had to stop Her to tell Her that I am actually uncomfortable with Her wanking me. But it didn’t seem to matter. She kept on stroking me.
(Every once in a while She would spit into Her hand to lube up my cock. I don’t know why but I find this bizarely erotic – it’s quite porn-star-esque. But where did She learn this? I’ll bet my left testicle and half off the right one that She’s never watched porn!)
She wanted to know what I wanted Her to do to me and asked if I just struggle to tell Her or don’t know what I want Her to do. I don’t think I answered this, though not intentionally. (I do know what I want Her to do, but I really don’t think we’re ready for me to share the idea that I want Her dressed in rubber and sodomising me with a Share XL!)
She got back to the job in hand, and it was great.I did manage to communicate that I like Her to be knelt between my legs while She tugs me off and She seemed happy to comply. I pointed out that this was the point I want to be involved – I want play with Her tits, or bury my tongue in Her cunt whilst She’s tugging me off. (My language was not quite this frank.)
As She polished my knob, I thought about a recent post I’d seen about how to give a good blowjob, and one key point being enthusiasm. I noticed She seemed to be smiling in response to my involuntary spasms of pleasure, and I asked if She enjoys wanking me? She doesn’t like the mechanics of it as such, but She does like pleasuring me. I liked Her smiling. I liked to hear She liked what She’s doing to me.
I asked Her to suck my balls, and whilst She didn’t get them in Her mouth (my sack was too tight at this stage), She ran Her tongue around them and around the base of my cock while Her hand was a blur along my shaft. It was fucking great! And She stroked my crack, though She didn’t get Her fingers in it this time – sadly this time She didn’t touch my hole. But it was all working very well.
Eventually I felt my orgasm brewing and I told Her what She was doing was just so fucking good, and not to stop.
Then I came for her.
I came lots.
And then some more.
And then yet more.
She actually stopped stroking my cock a little too soon, and I said for the record … but She interjected asking if She stops too soon. I told Her yes, and not to worry about keeping going – I’ll let Her know when to stop.

All in all this was not turning out to be the weekend I expected.
We had had good sex. I had hoped for that, but hope was all I had.
I thought it unlikely that my new underwear would be noticed and that the subject would be raised. (How She missed me donning my tiny, bright orange briefs, when I was stood right next to Her, I’ll never know.)
But more to the point, we had talked about sex, and I hadn’t anticipated that.
Nor had I expected to have made a degree of progress in us being open with each other.
As for my Wife openly acknowledging that our bedroom problems might be down to Her issues – well that was almost without president and felt like the start of our own 12 Step Program.

But I am not holding my breath just yet. We have had good sex before. We have talked about sex before. We have agreed that we need to sort things out. But to date, any forward steps have been closely followed by backward steps too. Whether we get better at these things any time soon remains to be seen, but every time progress peeps over the horizon, I feel my spirits, and expectations, lifted.

7 Responses to “Expect the unexpected”

  1. I hope that you and your lovely lady can get things sorted out. As matters that you have implied within this post is serious and shouldn’t be ignored.

    I just wish my ex was open to marriage counseling, he would have totally shut me down to suggested sex counseling.

    For me, he wouldn’t even go and get therapy. I hope you and your lovely lady have better luck. My thoughts and wishes are with you both.

    • I was always against the idea of reationaship counselling, but I felt we were heading towads breaking point, and was prepared to try anything. It certainly hasn’t been a panacea: it was good to get some things out in the open, some of the crap it dug up might better have been left buried, and there are still issues that remain unresolved – they may never get sorted.
      We expected to address our sexual issues with the counsellor, but that failed.
      Sex counseling could either be a massive Pandoran box or a box of delights. But we’re not there yet.

    • But at least you both know for sure either way. Where I fought for 5 years to get my hubby to acknowledge we had issues.

  2. I’m so happy that you had a victorious get-away!

    I think it’s adorable your expression, “polished my knob.”


    • Thanks.
      I’m not getting too excited though. If we start fucking on a weekly basis I might think of it as victorious, or even if She/we start talking with a counsellor about sex. But that may be a way away yet.

  3. Hooray AM. Yes I too have encountered “the backslide”. Good sex for a week and then nada. B has recently admitted to me that our issues in the sack are largely, if not completely, of her making. Good luck fellow traveller in the chilly land of matrimony.

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