What to expect?

As I waited for the kettle to boil it occurred to me that in only around 12hrs my cock would be enveloped in cunt. An odd thought that years ago might have been commonplace if I was expecting to be staying the night at a girlfriend’s. But now, after around a decade of marriage, and sex being rare for around half of that, it was almost without president and one I struggled to rationalise.

Significantly less than 12hrs later, it was still early, yet we had both fallen asleep in front of some TV documentary. The previous night had been long, and energetic, and in my case excessively soaked in alcohol.
She suggested we go to bed.
Did She just mean we should go to be because we were both so knackered? Whatever Her intention, I had to hope She wanted to sex, or at least proposed it.
We went upstairs.

It’s possible we didn’t even speak to each other as we both got ready for bed. Were we both just too tired to engage in discourse, or were we falling prey to the awkwardness of self-imposed expectation? Is this how scheduled sex works?
I was in bed first.
When She joined me She was wearing Her baggy, threadbare, monumentally un-sexy nightshirt.
She turned out the light.
Nothing like the previous night when She had been enthusiastic for sex, naked, and had asked if I’d wanted the lights on.
She snuggled up to me. Well at least that wasn’t entirely hopeless. Maybe we were still on schedule.

Back when we used to shag slightly more than once in a blue moon, foreplay was formulaic, and fraught with danger. Not the good kind of danger that might risk an embarrassing trip to A&E, but the kind that would end with no sex and a heap of stress.
As She curled up against me, my erection twitched against Her stomach.
She stroked my arm.
I stroked her back.
She vaguely stoked around my balls.
I stoked Her thigh and She tensed. I retreated.
Too soon. OK.
I stroked Her flank and aimed for Her tit. Her arm clamped protectively against Her side.
We fell back into old habits.
I backed off.

There seemed to be two options.
1. As discussed in the wake of watching Chasing Amy, sex isn’t always about fucking. Sometimes it’s just about being intimate, however we chose to define that.
2. In days of yore, She has occasionally commented that if She’s not getting easily aroused, a good option is for me to back off and let Her concentrate on me. That approach has rarely resulted in a good fuck, but at least it has usually resulted in a fuck.

I backed off and let Her concentrate on me.
She wrapped Her fingers around my cock and stroked it. Much like all the erections I’d had in the last 48hrs, my dick was uncommonly hard. I usually have boners that apparently belie my age, but for some reason the last couple of days have been populated by achingly turgid hard-ons.
Her touch felt good.
I let Her play, occasionally trying to reciprocate, but was silently denied access.

Without comment She turned away. Was She calling it a day or did She intend to disrobe? She reached for a condom, opened the packet, and rolled it onto my dick, before lying back and puling me on top of Her.

Her cunt was resistant and even through the sheath, clearly not wet. But She pulled me down, encouraging me to force myself into Her.

It doesn’t make for a good fuck – a dry pussy – any more than a flaccid cock would. The psychology of knowing your partner is not as aroused as you are notwithstanding, a dry pussy doesn’t feel remotely as good as one that is slick with pleasure.
I did as I was bid and pushed onwards.

I fucked Her.
I suspect Her intention was more that I would fuck me, but I struggle to stick my dick in someone and not strive to make them cum.
As an avid observer, I know what makes Her cum – when I put as much pressure as possible on Her mound. Whilst we have never discussed this, my guess is that it comes from pressing down on Her clit. It works best when I don’t withdraw my dick – I bury it as deep as I can in Her snatch, and pulse my hips against Her.
It seemed to work. She seemed to cum. Though the earth would certainly not have been shattered by Her earthquake. And it took not inconsiderable effort on my part; not because either I or my tool were flagging, but rather that it seemed difficult to read exactly what was driving Her up Her hill, and then maintaining Her momentum.

Once She seemed to have had some semblance of orgasm, and showed to great desire for me to keep fucking Her, I dismounted, striped off the prophylactic and lay back. This moment was as familiar as all those that had preceded it. I felt no great urge to cum myself – there are circumstances when all I want to do is empty my balls in Her quim, but this was not one – yet without request, She again curled up next to me and again curled Her fingers around my still throbbing member.

It is too long since I regularly had someone else jerk me off. Maybe the familiarity with my own hand was what made such a significant difference, and it was only a few minutes before She unloaded several volleys of jizz over my shoulder and across my chest.
A couple of times in the past, when she has given me a hand-job, I have requested that She not stop as soon as my cock first erupts. That She keep stroking and slow as my orgasm diminishes. To Her credit, She has obviously taken some heed, but convulsions of ecstasy were still rippling  through my body, and my ejaculations had not yet entirely subsided before She was already mopping up with tissues. We need to have that conversation again.

Less than a week ago She had been too tired to fuck, and reviving our sex life was too much like hard work. Then three days later, out of the blue, She wanted to schedule sex twice a week. If this night’s … not begrudging fuck … but a self imposed dutiful fuck … was anything to go by, it would be difficult to see it as a seismic change when it comes to when She’d be in the mood. And it would be a desperate man who would cling to the hope that riding his cock would make Her any less tired.

It would be easy to foresee this resurrection as yet another brief period of good sex being followed by the same protraction of celibacy. Would it be overly optimistic to expect this latest chapter to be anything more than a repeated footnote, rather than the turning of a new page?

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