Not for me

I wouldn’t say we flirted during the day. There was noticeably a little more physical contact than usual … ie more than none … and nothing much more than a passing hand on the shoulder, but that, in combination with Her wearing The Infamous Red Underwear (not that there is any reason to think She knew I knew She was wearing it) gave me considerable hope for a fuck last night.

10:30pm came.
We had both snoozed off in front of the TV.
Me: I’m off to bed.
Her:

News Flash (of red)

If you’ve been around for a while, Dear Reader, you will know I have some bad habits. I can think of at least a handful of you who have called me out on one or more of them. One in particular is my habit of

… and … analysis

Y’know those posts for which you struggle to come up with a title?
Considering this was expected to be an analysis of various points in my last post  this started out titled as just Analysis. But that briefly turned into Analysis Mr Spock? … and then Analysis Mr Spunk? … and when I found the following  picture, it so nearly turned into Anal sex, Mr Spock? But that was starting to get away from the point. A whole galaxy away! So before I disapear up my own wormhole, back to yesterday …

… and finishing and …

… and unusually we went to bed at roughly the same time – my Wife just a couple of minutes before me. I already had a semi before I went into the bathroom, and as I brushed my teeth I encouraged it with my free hand. I wanted to fuck, and it might as well be obvious.
As I walked into the bedroom and undressed, my cock raised its salute.
I got into bed and

Pelude and …

I’d met a client in London earlier in the day. My Wife was taking a day of leave and schools had broken up for the summer, so we made a family day of it with all of us meeting up and hitting a museum after my meeting.
Relations had been strained over the last week.
On the way home we discussed supper. She offered to pick up something from the supermarket on our way home from the station. It would mean Her walking in one direction, and the rest of us going the other. Not a huge detour for Her, but not the direct route.

When She got home She proffered a

Finally She mentions the underwear drawer

She was ironing.
I was watching TV.
And out of the blue She said …

What’s all this about?

I was drunk again. Happy drunk again. It had got me through an intense afternoon of school-holiday-child-care.  [Ed: Don’t worry, Concerned Reader. No children were at risk during the production of this blog post.] 

My Wife got home, I cooked supper and we sat down as a family to eat. Everyone was friends and all was going well, but at some point She decided to start waxing on about the down sides of alcohol and how it impairs judgement and lubricated tongues and how this is all undesirable. This was all pitched for