Fuck you, 2016. (Or fuck me?)

Hands up who’s had a good year?
Nope. Didn’t think so.
But maybe that’s just perception. Maybe we all think 2916 has been worse than it has and that has been self-fulfilling.
Anyway …

It turned out yesterday was New Year’s Eve. I’d genuinely forgotten.
Over the last few years Her spirits for celebration of anything, let alone New Year … or even celebrating life …has dwindled. Why spend an evening getting drunk in a pub? She’s said? Why go out and be sociable and have fun? I’ve thought? But anyway …

I really had forgotten it was NYE. A  contributory factor was probably the major familial shit storm that had kicked off in the morning. But that’s another story. I’d woken up with the raging-est of raging hard-ons. I played with it beneath the duvet. Nothing unusual for the last month. I didn’t care if She knew. Ok, I did. But I didn’t. But I di… oh fuck it.
She stirred.
We acknowledged each other verbally.
She checked her iPad to see if the gym was open.
It was.
She went to the gym. I sulked.
She came home. I sulked some more.
Out of relentlessly perverse curiosity and swathed in my sexually frustrated gloom, after She’d showered and got dressed, I checked her underwear drawer. The infamous Red was exactly where it should have been –  buried under puritanical, monochrome mediocrity.

For entirely unrelated reasons, the aforementioned shit hit the familial fan.
We rowed.
She ran away.
I fixed things.
We salvaged the day and had a trip into the big smoke.
I was still sulking, but for more than celibate reasons now.

On returning home, for no good reason, I checked Her underwear drawer again.
Her Infamous Red?
Still buried.

Some hours later, I watched a movie on the TV, whilst She ensconced herself on the other sofa with a book. Well away from me.
The movie ended at 11:30pm.
New Year’s Eve.
In previous years, assuming we’d not actually been sociable and had fun, on NYE we’d usually watch the Great modern British tradition of Jools’ Annual Hootenanny. This year I couldn’t be arsed and was ready for bed.
She wasn’t.
I excused myself.
She queried whether I was going to stay up for the next 27min. I mocked the idea with even greater disdain than She had over th past few Years

11:34 I was tucked up in bed, alone.

Just for a laugh, I switched the bedside light back on, rolled over to Her side of the bed and opened Her underwear drawer. Infamous Red was absent.

I had to laugh.

23:59 passed …

It turned out I wasn’t quite as tired as I thought, and half an hour into 2017 She came to bed. As soon as She was under the covers She cautiously spooned up behind me, and rested a hand on my thigh.
Yes, I was awake, but I was still smarting from the rest of the day, and being just a few days away from the anniversary of our last fuck, I had no interest in venturing back into that battlefield

We lay there.
Motionless.
I watched the clock tick through the next 30min.
She moved Her hand.
I didn’t respond.
She rolled away.
I was relieved.
She rolled back and snuggled up closer and whispered in the quietest tones …
Her: Are you awake?
I wasn’t.
Well obviously I was, but not obviously to Her. I wanted to be left alone to sleep.
I didn’t respond.
And there we lay, paralysed, for another hour.

At around 1:30am, barely audibly …
Her: Can we talk?
How could we talk when I was asleep.
Obviously I wasn’t, but there was nothing to indicate otherwise.
She moved Her hand towards my waste.
Then round towards my stomach.
Intriguing.
She reached around my thigh and stretched Her fingers towards my cock.
Ok.
Enough.
Time to either knock this on the head or throw the dog a bone.
She stroked my semi.
It twitched.
I twitched.
She stroked.
I shifted against Her.
Her hand moved to massage my balls.
I woke up and grabbed Her wrist.
She pulled it away.
I feighned a confused, waking state.
Her: Sorry. I thought you were awake.
I don’t know whether She did, whether She was just hopeful, or whether She actually intended to wank me awake. But it didn’t matter.
Me: What …?
The conversation started.

Why now?
She didn’t know. Couldn’t we just go with it?
Why?
She couldn’t explain? She’d been thinking about what I’d said the other day, about men needing to have sex to feel engaged and women needing to feel emotionally secure before they’d have sex.
I didn’t really have anything significant to say. This was Her show.
Wasn’t I interested any more? She knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but could it make everything … us … better?
No sex has made everything else worse, but it was a painfully long way back. No sex for a year, and almost none in the last 4 years. I withdrew that comment. Why now?
She didn’t know. She’d found a second-hand libido down the back of the sofa and was trying it on. Couldn’t we just go with it and see what happened? If I wanted to?

I put an arm around Her. An olive branch.
She sat up, took off Her pajamas, got out of bed and crossed to the dresser, from which She extracted a condom.
Returning to bed, She put the foil square on the bedside table and snuggled into me.
She draped a leg across me, Her mound nuzzling up against my hip bone.
Her hand reached for my cock and She kissed my neck.

It was hard not to grab a handful of Her arse.
No it wasn’t hard. It was impossible.
Her: I’ve missed you.

If I’ve ever been harsh about my Wife’s sexual efforts, I couldn’t criticise Her now.
She knew we were at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to what we want from sex, and recalled how I’d said something about not just wanting to stick my dick in a hole, but She likes my dick in Her. And She wanted me to touch Her breasts, and I could put my fingers in Her pussy.
And in my head fireworks were being let off in celebration of 2017, and in my hands Her tits and arse were warm, soft and willing.
And then She said something. Something crap. I can’t remember what it was, but it halted me.
Her: What? Sorry? That was meant to be encouragement.
Me: One second you’re asking me to put my fingers in your pussy, and the next … “No” … The word that sums up sex for me. Sex for us. It’s summed up by the word “No”.
She apologised. That wasn’t what She’d intended.
But the tenuous thread of unbridled lust that tied me to the moment had broken.
Was this just a one off? What about tomorrow? Or the day after. Or in a week? A month? Another year?
She didn’t know. But She knew She wanted me now.
I knew I wanted Her every day. No, twice a day. No. All the fucking time!!! I couldn’t not want Her.

And at some point, faced with my turmoil, She slid down my body and licked my cock.
It was a devious tactic in the circumstance, but an effective one.
We groped and fumbled.
I firmly squeezed Her tit, gently squeezing Her nipple.
She responded like someone else, pushing Herself up so I could lick and suck it.
I stroked Her face and She sucked my finger into Her mouth.
I reached for Her pussy and Her thighs parted.
I ran my fingers along the silken ripples of Her slit and She writhed like someone else.
I slid a finger into Her slippery warmth and She bucked against me.
I slid a  second finger into Her cunt. She’d said fingers, so despite never having been permitted to penetrated Her with more than an individual digit, I eased a second in, pushing a deep as my contorted wrist would permit. Her muscles contracted and spasmed around my knuckles. I wasn’t sure who was getting more pleasure from this.
Her: Leave my clitoris. I don’t want this to be quick.
I could go with that. I extracted my fingers from Her grip and licked Her juices from them. She tasted exquisite.

We fumbled, groped, kissed, and stroked some more.
She broke away to go to the bathroom.
In the half light I inspected the condom She’d put on the bedside table, curious to see which thickness of inner-tube She’d managed to retrieve. As I’d feared, it was Durex Thin Feel, one of the least thin feeling rubbers I’d selected 2 years ago. (Yes, two whole years, and almost all of the 24 sheaths remain sheathed in foil. I’m not even sure the vibrating cock ring is still in the house!)
On Her return, we were back to awkwardness. She joked this was almost like a first night again. [Ed: How would She know what a typical first night with a lover is like? Her single such experience does not constitute a representative sample size!] I observed that first nights usually have a different kind of enthusiasm.
But somehow we found our way back to foreplay.
It was obvious She wanted to move on and fuck, so I reached for the jonnie and clad my member.

Sliding into Her cunt was good.

A year is too long to not experience your partners genitals exert such divine pressure on your own.

We fucked for a while.
It wasn’t dramatic, but She seemed to enjoy having my dick in Her.
And then, probably inevitably, (if you’ll excuse the pun) we ground to a halt.
Me: Do you want to cum?
Her: I don’t know.
Me: If you turn over I think I can do that for you.
I may be out of practice, but I remember explicitly what it takes to move the earth for Her, and it is easiest if She’s on Her back so I can bear down on Her clit and mound.
Her: I don’t know.
So I extracted my still rigid cock from Her, and unsheathed it.
We cuddled up.
It was around 3:30am. 2 hours since She had reached for my tool.

As the clocked ticked on towards 6:30am, I barely slept. When it got there, I knew I wouldn’t sleep any more, so I took my erection downstairs and made a cup of tea.

7 Responses to “Fuck you, 2016. (Or fuck me?)”

  1. little one Says:

    i can’t like this… i am in pain for you, AM. 💜

    • Really? I’m confused. I see this as a good result- the end of a year of celibacy. Maybe not the perfect night, and certainly one that not only is metered by mutual caution, and exemplifies our dysfunction, but one that was Her doing and hints at potential.
      Which bit pains you?

      • little one Says:

        i think what has pained me since i began following you is her seemingly profound disrespect for your needs as a man and husband. Unless i’ve misread, you aren’t a submissive to her Domme, and i find the control that she tries to exercise by her ignorance of you, painful. Then again, i don’t live inside your walls. i hope this is the first step you’ve been waiting for. 💜

        • Haha!!! Definitely not Ds!!!!!!!!
          It maybe a subtlety of phrasing, but I don’t think disrespect is the right word, and don’t believe there is anything conscious that could be described as control.
          This does feel like a first step, but equally a familiar one: we’ve been here before on more than one occasion. So optimism is still metered by caution.

  2. For what it’s worth, I too feel for you.
    I wish things could be easier for you both.
    Wishing you all the best for 2017, hoping it was, indeed, a good first step.

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