Archive for A good hand job

Maybe I just don’t like pussy

Posted in Fixing a broken marriage, Sex with my wife with tags , , , , , , , , on December 3, 2012 by Accidental Masturbator

We’re both awake at 5am, and my Wife rolls over, wrapping Her arms around me.
Her : I got woken by strange dreams.
Me : What were yours about?
Her : I can’t remember. How about yours?
Me : This is going to sound weird …
Her : OK.
Me : … anxiety about forgetting keyboard shortcuts [on the software I use for work] and trying to convince you that the cheese counter of the supermarket isn’t the right place to buy sex toys …

I have a confession, Dear Reader.
I
was having an anxiety dream about QWERTY keyboards, but the bit about my Wife trying to buy a vibrator instead of large, ripe, blue veined Stilton … That was based on a dream I had ages ago, and I’ve wanted to tell Her about it ever since. But as we don’t casually chat about sex over lunch, and have never talked about sex toys, it wasn’t going to be easy to drop into conversation. Until now.

She strokes my chest, and we both know we’re going to fuck. I’ve not had a wank in something like a fortnight – maybe it’s more – it certainly feels like it. Because I know She wants to me to cum when we fuck, rather than needing Her to finish me off with Her hands, I’ve been hoarding my sperm, and trying to remind my genitals what they were designed for. And you know what, Dear Reader? I think it just might work, this time.

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Masochists tango

Posted in Sex with my wife with tags , , , , on November 15, 2012 by Accidental Masturbator

7:30pm, as I’m cooking okonomiyaki, She walks into the kitchen. For various minor reasons, I’m not in the cheeriest of moods, so She walks over to give me a hug. That’s cool, though no big deal. But the way She looks up at me, with a pause and doeful eyes that ask for a kiss, tell me in the subtlest of ways that She wants sex. I expect it will be the next morning. I don’t know whether the subtle signs are supposed to be as blatant as they are, I imagine not, but to me they display my Wife’s intent about as obviously as if you, Dear Reader, had walked into the room with riding crop, a strap-on, and a can of squirty cream.

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