Take and not give

Sunday: 06:15
My sex stress has been building again over the last week and I didn’t want to engage. As I got out of bed …
Her: Morning.
Me: [grunt]
… and I hastily grabbed some clothes and left the room.

Downstairs, I got dressed, my member unusually limp for this time of day, boiled the kettle on and put a couple of slices in the toaster.
I heard Her footsteps on the stairs and my heart sank as She walked into the kitchen.
Her: How are you doing?
Me: Ok. You?
Her: I didn’t sleep well. Lying awake stressing about [redacted], life and stuff.
We’d had a conversation about [redacted] the previous night. The conversation itself wasn’t stressful, or so it seemed to me, but it’s an important topic and one on which we have significantly different opinions, and that brings its own stresses. Still, we’d gone to bed on what seemed like good terms.

Back in the kitchen on Sunday morning, She said something about sex.
Her: Have you given up again?
Me: It’s difficult not to see a pattern.
Her: We won’t change the pattern if we don’t try.
Me: I’m not sure either of us want to change the pattern enough.

What I wanted to say to Her was I don’t think you want to change the pattern enough. I bit my tongue. There was nothing to be gained from making this confrontational.
Her: I’m doing all I can.

What I wanted to say to Her was No you’re not, because if She was, we might have fucked in the last week or three, or however long it’s been.
Something else was said, I forget what.
Me: I guess we’d better find on then.
I turned the kettle off, ejected my still anaemic toast and guided us both towards the stairs. She went to the bathroom. I went back to bed.

When She came into the bedroom, She took Her night shirt off before getting into bed – a ubiquitous sign of intent – and snuggled up.
Her: I’m feeling a bit emotionally battered. I want to feel close to you.
Her hands wandered and I wasn’t interested. The sex stress of the last week or three was amplified ten fold. She fumbled, and stroked, and tickled, and massaged, and ground Her crotch against my thigh, and I struggled to find the will to respond.

Eventually I acquiesced, She climbed aboard and I fucked myself.
I think it was something Space Freedom Love had said in repsonse to Get your hands off me that set me off contemplating how I fuck my Wife. Significantly the fact that I like to make Her cum. I like to give that to Her. I’ve been analysing. It’s what I do. It’s how I think I’ve managed to keep the Women I’ve slept with happy. I watch. Analyse. Modify. Adjust. I’m an engineer at heart. I like to understand how things work, and then make them work better.

So I fucked me.
If She likes me to cum in Her pussy, that’s what I’ll do.
Blogging about pretty much every time my Wife and I have fucked in the last 3yrs has provided me with research data. I can go back and look through test results, and formulate new hypotheses. I can’t quite remember when it was but once, just once I have been able to blog about sliding my fingers into my Wife’s twat, as my jizz mixed with Her juices and lubricated their progreess.

When I’d emptied my balls in Her cunt this Sunday morning, and as my hips still bucked involuntarily under Her, sporadically pumping more volleys of salty pleasure into Her quim, She said …
Her: I like it when you cum in me. It makes me horny.
Unfortunately, that’s the last thing I felt. A song was stuck in my head. The same song just going round and round and round in my head. Not a particularly cheery song, but not one that reflected my post coital angst. I was tense. Uncomfortable. Not horny. And I couldn’t think of anything but this song.

She rolled off me, turned Her back on me, and pulled me in to spoon. She moved one hand to Her tit, and the other towards Her crotch.
Her: You can do something else if you want to.
The same song just going round and round and round in my head.
I didn’t want to.
I resisted Her urge. Not because I wanted to.
Me: My head’s really not in the right place.Her: That’s OK.
She turned back to me and we cuddled for half an hour or so, when She went for a shower.

16 Responses to “Take and not give”

  1. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been a long time reader. But I really can’t get a good feeling for her from your posts. Like I don’t have a clear understanding of what she wants from you when it comes to sex. Maybe that’s where my confusion comes from as I read.

  2. I don’t really want to “like” this. These stories remind me oh-so-much of my time with my ex-husband. It was a brutal journey for us in what was statistically considered a sexless marriage (less than once a month).

    We got stuck and were unable to get un-stuck. I see hope, however, since you are trying. You are still having sex, even if it’s not as often as you want.

    I haven’t read all of your back story so apologies if this is not accurate. But your words resonate, and I simply wanted to let you know that.


  3. Hmmmm! Although I am often called (in real life) little Dawn and Sweet Dawn and so on….I have a feeling that I am older than any of you, and, having been in a sexless marriage for over 15 years….all I feel like saying is get out of it while there is still hope for a healthy sexuality. We ain’t’ gettin’ any younga.


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