I’d forgotten how bad sex can be

When I woke, my hand was cupped around my balls, my forearm rested over my erection, and She went to the bathroom.
Blah, blah, blah … You know the routine as well as I do, Loyal Reader.

A few minutes later …
Her: We’re going to need a condom.
Yesterday She’d had the contraceptive hormone implant removed from Her arm.
In anticipation, I have been thinking about Jonnies for a few days, but I was uncertain how proactive She’d be. It turns out that I had underestimated both how soon after we were likely to fuck and diligence of Her preparation. She rolled over, delved into a bedside drawer, and through the early morning gloom came the rustle of cellophane being torn and a cardboard box being opened.

Her: Are you any good at putting these on in the dark?
I took the proffered foil packet, divested it of its contents and rubbered up with the instinctive ease of a lothario far more promiscuous than I can boast the pleasure of being.

Foreplay resumed.

All was going well, but my sense of urgency was greater than Hers, so I figured it would be good to concentrate on Her arousal. To spoon behind Her and, whilst minding to keep my hands well clear of Her pussy, stroke and fondle with a little more ease than if we were face to face. I tried to guide Her to roll over.
Her: Don’t pull!
Me: Trust me.
What I meant was Don’t worry, I have no intention of trying to finger your snatch, or go anywhere near it. I just thought it would be easier to get you turned on if I could reach a little more than your back, and one thigh. I really do want to empty my balls in you, and am all too well aware of how precarious this tryst is, so please trust me not to fuck up. It probably sounded more like a 16yr old virgin boy telling his virgin girlfriend to trust him, with all the lascivious untruths that is usually imbued. What I actually said was nothing.

She did turn over and as I spooned up behind Her, my cock nudging at Her back, I started to stroke. Nothing too forward, not the tit and pussy groping She evidently anticipated, for whenever I targeted Her legs, and my hand strayed south, it was chaperoned by Hers. Neither my intention, nor Her permission.

Me: You seem stressed.
Her: Probably.
Me: About what?
Her: Life. Work. Everything. The usual.
Me: What brought it to the surface.
Her: I don’t know.
What I was fishing for, but didn’t catch, was the acknowledgement that She didn’t want me to wank Her to arousal. But stress is stress and I wrote off sex for the morning.

We snuggled up, but pretty soon Her hands started wandering again (She’s said in the past that sometimes She needs a break mid-foreplay) and it wasn’t long before She rolled on top of me and guided my sheathed dick into Her cunt.

It felt …
Well, in a sense it didn’t feel.
Having only used the occasional condom in the last 5 or 10 years, most often to reduce the labours of cleaning my Fleshlight or Booty, I had forgotten quite how detrimental they are to the pleasure of slipping your tool into a quim. I could barely feel Her.
Literally.
OK, I could feel the squeeze of Her muscular canal, but that was it.
None of the enveloping warmth of Her body.
None of the delicious slickness of Her juices.
None of the velvet texture of Her lips.
And most surprising of all …

Usually when we fuck, I like to intermittently pull my cock out of Her, pause, and gently tease my helmet against Her slit, before slowly dip back into Her. Or drive into Her as hard and deep as I can. With a rubber on, when I withdrew, I could barely tell whether I was still in Her pussy or not. This may sound like an exaggeration, Skeptical Reader, but I am an analytical man, and I tested my horror several times before I acknowledged the hideous truth.

Robbed of so much sensation, my tool was reduced to a turgid lump of rubber, useful only to my Wife. Or so I hoped. Whereas I had wanted to give Her my pleasure, to cum in Her, (and then, if luck was on our side, be invited to finish Her off with my hands) I resolved to do the only noble thing and give Her Her orgasm.

I pumped into Her, thrusting hard at Her crotch, pushing against Her mound and grinding against Her clit. But whether She sensed my despair, or too much off Her stress remained, it was clear She wasn’t going to cum either.

Her: Are you going to cum?
Me: No. How about you?
Her: No.
Her: Was it the condom or something else?
Me: Mostly the condom. It’s a different kind of fuck. I can’t feel your heat … or your wetness. [It felt exclusively negative to say this, I wanted to say it was still good have my dick in Her. I wanted to throw Her a bone, if you’ll excuse the pun. So I added …] But I can still feel your tightness which is good. It m…

There was a creak.
I froze.
Another creak.
I hurriedly pushed my Wife off me and the bedroom door slowly opened, allowing a child shaped shadow to creep across the floor.

Two minutes later, there were two in our bed and I was stood in the shower. Curiously I stared down at my still horizontal member. I couldn’t help but notice the thin, red line, deeply indented around the base of my cock. I may not have prodigious length, but this mark confirmed my recent research on condoms that suggested a slightly larger diameter rubber might be worth considering. Well, if nothing else, that massaged me ego a little and at some point in the next couple of days I shall do some measuring.

WPmspm

After breakfast, as the patter of tiny feet had thundered off back upstairs, my Wife and I stood alone in the kitchen. We hugged.
Her: This might need a bit more thought.
Me: But we had sex and that was good. Now go and have a shower before I can’t keep my hands off you.

2 Responses to “I’d forgotten how bad sex can be”

  1. This post was sweet even if intercourse was unsuccessful. You both seem on a better track lately.

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