The morning after

If you haven’t read yesterday’s news, it gives this post context.

The alarm clock broke the morning at 7am, marking the end of the holidays. Back to the office for my Wife. She went for a shower – to wash the sweat and stains of the previous night’s sex from Her body.

When She returned to the bedroom, She perched on the edge of the bed next to me. Unusually, we kissed, I put a hand on Her arse and She stroked my arm with a calloused hand. I hadn’t noticed the roughness of Her palm a few hours earlier when She stroked my face, arms, chest, balls, thighs and arsehole, and tugged my cock till I soaked the bed and my chest with hot jizz. But it was hard to ignore now.

I commented.
She suggested the rough skin must be a result of Her cycling to work and using the exercise bikes and rowing machines at the gym. (For all our mutual lack of sveltness, She does at least try to regain some level of fitness.)
Her : Should I wear those little gloves?
I paused.
I thought of the fingerless lace gloves so often worn by 1980s’ porn stars …

WPlg

… and of the medical latex gloves I keep in the garage for working on the car (and occasionally for masrurbating), and of the latex fetish driving gloves I had emailed a fetish couturier about earlier that day. I said none of this and looked at her puzzled. Realising She’d meant the small padded mitts worn by hardcore gym bunnies and MAMILs ….
Me : Ahhhh! For a moment I thought you meant during sex.
I’d love Her to wear gloves during sex. Especially rubber gloves. Though obviously not Marigold …

WPwug

… but rather long, shiny polished, rubber opera gloves. That’s another story and, for the foreseeable future, perhaps an ambition too far. But I hoped the cadence of my voice hinted, just a little, that the idea of gloves and sex appealed to me.
Was I mistaken, or was the a hint of interest in Her muffled acknowledgement?

Anyway …

Unusually, we cuddled.

She asked if We should get help? We’ve talked about seeing a sex therapist before, and She acknowledged how She has invariably found ways to make it difficult. Work commitments and babysitters have been the usual excuses. I told Her I have mixed feelings about a sex therapist, though the truth is I am very much in favour these days. I think it would help Her to discuss why She has been (to use Her own words) sexually repressed. And I want Her to know about my kinks and fetishes, and in the neutral space of a counseling room, with therapist’s questions, it might be a comfortable environment to out myself as the proud pervert that really I am.
I told Her I thought seeing a sex therapist might help, if She wanted to, and if She did I was happy to do anything to help. And I truly am.

Unusually we cuddled again.

Me : For what it’s worth, I want to send you a text. (If this makes no sense to you Dear Reader, you really should read yesterday’s news.)
She smiled.
Her : Hold that thought for 12hrs or so.
Me : I don’t think there’s much danger of not doing that.
I explained how, when We’ve tried again before, my libido has gone through the roof. My base level, as elevated as it is, and as depressed as it has been lately, is mere fraction compared to how it will be for the next few weeks. If We have regular sex – I corrected myself – if I have regular sex, my base level should settle at a higher level than it has become this year, but not so high that I want to to fuck Her every day. I’m sure I’d enjoy sex every day – I corrected myself – I know I’d enjoy sex every day, but I’d be happy with regular sex. A proposition which She seemed happy with.
Me : I can try to initiate every few days?
She didn’t want to run before we could walk. With hindsight I realised that goes back to the pressure free sex She was talking about the night before.
We agreed daily sex probably isn’t realistic, but a couple of times a week doesn’t seem unreasonable. I said from what I’ve seen and read that’s pretty normal.
Her : I think We should probably be able to manage that.

And that’s pretty much how we left it.

A twist of fate means that I am out tonight and will not be home till late, when my Wife will almost certainly be in bed, but I shall make a point of getting undressed in front of Her, not facing away from Her for a change, with the best erection I can muster.

4 Responses to “The morning after”

  1. Fingers crossed for you!

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