Expect the unexpected

The dream was just the start. A catalyst, if you like. What followed was profound, on several fronts. In my dream I walked down to a colleagues hotel room, and after I’d declined his invitation to enjoy the attentions of the two escorts he’d engaged, he tipped them generously and they left, giggling like the innocent teenagers they had once been. We then walked out into the hotel grounds where we found my Wife. Her business had concluded for the weekend, so She and I headed for our room to pack our bags. As we walked through the lobby, we bumped into one of the escorts, who cheerily invited us to the fetish party in one of the hotel’s suites. I accepted the invitation, and assured my Wife it would be fun, though She looked a little unsure, and we went to get changed. I pulled out my shiny, black, skin tight, rubber catsuit from my suitcase, but as my Wife had nothing remotely fetishistic, She just smartened up a bit. Grey tweed I think. We found the party in a mirrored bar, with high ceilings and tall arched windows, and I was thrilled to bump into Henrietta and Richard. [I know Henrietta and Richard in real life. They are about 20yrs younger than me, and Henrietta it very bubbly, and very attractive. I don’t know anything of their sexual proclivities, but from the (asexual) conversations we’ve all had in the pub, my guess is they’re pretty open minded and I’ll wager their sex life is overwhelmingly fun.] Henrietta was dressed in a scarlet latex corset, with matching stockings and opera gloves [Editor: No prizes for guessing which sordid little corner of AM’s psyche that image is founded in!] and Richard was hiding behind her on all fours, dressed just in a BDSM dog harness and muzzle. [Editor: That one might take a little more analysis.]

You can probably guess why I woke up horny, Dear Reader.

My Wife stirred and I moved my hand from my erection to Her hip. It was pounced upon by Her hand, clearly with the intent of limiting it’s progress. I managed to disentangle myself from Her restraint and got out of bed, went downstairs, and had a cup of tea and a wank. Then I sat down in front of the laptop. Not porn this morning – I had been sexually sated by then.

Half an hour later I heard the creak of feet on the staircase, and my Wife walked into the livingroom.

Me: Morning.
Her: Hey.
Me: How are you doing?
Her: I was wondering if you wanted to come back to bed?
Voice in AM’s head: That wasn’t what I expected. Does She mean what I thinks She means? Was that an invitation for sex? I’m not quite sure how to respond, not least as I’ve just tossed myself off.
Me: If you mean what I think, it might be a bit too late this morning.
Her: Oh.
She sat down next to me. I put an arm around Her. There was something in the air. I couldn’t say what it was – surprise, a sense of betrayal, disappointment perhaps – but what ever it was, it was palpable.
Me: We can still try if you want to.
Her: OK.

She stood up. We went upstairs. And in the style of a 1930s movie, we fade to black because we all know what what was about to happened and don’t need to see it.

Except to say, mid fondle / stroke / etc  …

Her: Are you sure you’re not going to cum?
Me: No.
Her: We probably do need a condom then.
Voice in AM’s head: Are you fucking serious? We probably need a condom? As opposed to sex without any contraception at all? I just told you I’ve had a wank, and whilst I did have a cursory wipe, I was waiting to give my cock a proper wash till I had a shower. Add to that you’ve got pre-cum on your hands already. You do know how this actually works, don’t you?
Me: Of course we will. It may be a bit risky already.

I got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and gave my cock and hands a thorough wash, before returning to bed.
Me: Have you got the packet there?
Voice in AM’s head: Please tell me She hasn’t opened it with pre-cum on Her hands. Please!
She handed me the unopened packet.
Voice in AM’s head: Thank fuck for that!

I tore the foil square in half and as I rolled the sheathe onto my rapidly deflating member, I momentarily had to push Her impatient hand away while I gave myself a quick, but vigorous stroke in an attempt to get hard enough to put the condom on.

Again we fade to black, sparing you the the embarrassment, Dear Reader, of being subjected to selacious detail.

Except to say She seemed to enjoy Herself, before reaching to stroke my balls – a reliable signal that She’s been satisfied [Editor: … or is bored. Who can really tell?] and thinks it’s time to focus on me. I was spent more than an hour previously, so I halted Her ministrations, withdrew, and removed the jonnie.

Her: How are you doing
Me: Good. Sorry for the ill timed wank.
Her: It’s OK. Sorry I wasn’t awake earlier.
Me: That’s ok. I try not to disturb you if you’re not obviously awake. Usually it doesn’t matter.
Her: What?
Me: Having a wank. Anyway, I’m trying not to at the moment.
Her: Sometimes you need it. And [she laughed] I don’t think I’m ever going to keep up with you.
Voice in AM’s head: You could try?

We snuggled up.

Me: Do you have any sense of whether having your implant taken out is making any difference yet?
I didn’t think it would be possible to tell so soon, and suspected this most recent renaissance was more likely to do with the fact She has had two weeks of work and something like an extra two hours sleep every morning.
Her: Not yet. I guess the test will come next week when I go back to work and I find out if I’m just too tired all the time.
Me: Indeed.

She adjusted how She was lying and rested Her head on my chest. It felt nice.

Her: I was thinking I might go through to Townsville next weekend when the rest of you go to Toyland for the day.
[Editor: If the name Townsville doesn’t ring any bells, it’s where Luxurios Designer Lingerie Emporium are based, where AM bought his Wife some ill fated blue underwear two Xmases ago and The Infamous Red Lingerie three Xmases ago.]
Me: If you want to.
Her: There’s no point in wasting the vouchers.
Voice in AM’s head: Too late for that. Maybe I’m being petty or device by letting you find out the hard way, but after yesterday I doubt you’ll actually go anyway.
Her: It’s just that that if you look at all the pictures, of the models, it’s all about objectifying them for men.
Voice in AM’s head: Oh for fuck sakes! Here we go again. Models are there to make things look good, whether they’re wearing lingerie, sweaters or Wellington boots. An advertising photo of Wellington boots doesn’t objectify women. And even if you dress to look sexy for me, so what? When you told me recently I’m one of the biggest feminists you know, do you think I’m objectifying you? Fuck!!!
Me: I’m not sure I agree with you, but I don’t think there’s any point in debating it.
Her: No.
There was silence. I had nothing else to say. I turned away a bit and my hug loosened.
Her: I’ve said the wrong thing.
Voice in AM’s head: No you’ve thought the wrong thing.
Me: It’s how you feel.
More silence. Again there was something palpable in the air, though something more unpalatable.
Her: Maybe it’s something I need to work out … and make it about us.
Voice in AM’s head: Amen to that!
Me: That’s up to you.
Voice in AM’s head: Shit. Does that sound like I’m blaming Her? I don’t want to sound like I think it’s all down to Her. I know where She’s coming from, even if I don’t entirely agree with Her. There’s nothing to be gained from making Her feel crap. Nothing to be gained from apportioning blame. Shit. How do I reword that?
Me: By which I mean that’s your choice , not your responsibility.

By now, the hug was almost unilateral – I was a huggee, not a hugger – but She snuggled a little closer.
I wanted out. To be anywhere but there. I was already planning how I could spend the day away from Her. The woman that I married, but who doesn’t want to be … oh fuck I don’t know!

I leant over and kissed Her on the top of the head. She moved to wrap Herself round me, but I was already half way out of bed. I pcicked up the discarded prophylactic, turned it in my hands: its soiled limpness juxtaposed against its emptiness, testament to its redundancy.

————–
Post Script

This was all some 24hrs ago.
This morning my Wife has gone back to work and I have returned to full time domestic duties. Including the laundry.
When I went to laundry basket, what should I find on top, but the lingerie She was wearing yesterday, after all the above had passed. And I say lingerie rather than underwear because it was the red lingerie I bought from Luxurious Designer Lingerie Emporium three Xmases ago. The red lingerie that She doesn’t wear to work. The red lingerie that She has worn on birthday nights out and to parties. The red lingerie She knows I like to see Her in but I almost never know She’s wearing. Except on the (literally) two or three occasions when She’s walked up to me wearing just the red lingerie and wanting sex. Is it now the red lingerie She now wears to protest about the objectification of women.

4 Responses to “Expect the unexpected”

  1. Maybe you already have, but I’ll ask anyway – do you ever share the thoughts in your head with her?

    • I recently read this, and found myself empathising: “I don’t worry about the voices in my head. It’s when they escape through my mouth that they cause trouble.”
      In all seriousness, naturally I share some of the thoughts in my head, but I try to presume what their impact might be and censor them accordingly.

      • I can definitely understand the urge – I spent my entire marriage doing that. It wasn’t until later that I learned how freeing full disclosure (edited to save feelings when possible) can be.

        I know you’re both working on things right now – so maybe this isn’t the best time for my question, but even if the impact of your thoughts was negative, could it truly be worse than what you have now? (I don’t presume to know the answer to that…simply my own food for thought kind of question.)

        • Oh I have no diubt the situation could be infinitely worse.
          That said She’s learned I’m a regular wanker and doesn’t seem at all perturbed by that. And I think I may be prepared to ask Her to tug on my balls or finger my hole the next time the moment is right.
          Considering Her aversion to lingerie, I dont hold out much hope right now for ever seeing Her in rubber, so I see no merit in Her ever seeing me wearing it. Which is the sort of area, at the moment, where I think self censorship has a great deal of value.

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