**’I think I’m over sex now.’ – 11/07/2020**
I’ve become more and more paranoid that there is something going on. Our sex life has taken a real dive now. We rarely have sex and when we do Sarah is clearly not into it. She just wants it over with as quickly as possible.
She is messaging a lot more than usual.
She is out a lot at odd times. To run, or to walk with a friend. I never see these friends. Sometimes after returning, she is flushed, red faced, and elated. She will schedule a time for a run, or walk, and then change it, and change it again, or even cancel it. When they are cancelled her moods are appalling.
I tell myself that her behavior, mood changes, and lack of interest in sex are due to the stresses and strains of life in lock down. My paranoia says different. It relentlessly pesters me. Its even got me picking her panties out of the wash basket to inspect them for evidence of infidelity. I’ve noticed that she often runs in her sexiest panties. On those occasions the panties always get scurried straight into the wash on her return home.
My paranoia competes with my desire to share her as if I am two different people. Recently she came back from a run and told me a funny story. About how she had got so hot that, as she was running back over some fields, she had taken her top off to cool down.
There she was, in the corner of a field, in her bra and leggings, with no top on, when a family that lives nearby appeared from an adjoining track. Oh how they all laughed. And so did I as she told me the tale. And all the while my paranoia was ranting;
‘What the fuck is this bullshit?… Too hot so she took her top off… It was a slim fit t-shirt for fuck sake!… How much cooler would she be without that on?… She probably got sprung, half dressed, by the neighbors, and now she has to pre-empt them mentioning something to you!… Open your eyes man!’
I ignored my paranoia and I continued to laugh at her story. I commented that the husband probably thought it was a shame that she hadn’t got her bra off as well. She joked that maybe she would do that next time.
Yesterday, when I woke, she was up and dressing for work. She had on a pair of standard plain black panties. She was facing the dresser, her back to me. I quietly watched her put her bra on and pick out a pair of black trousers. Trousers in hand, she turned to face me, and seeing that I was awake, she hesitated.
‘Nah… I’m not the mood for these today.’
She put them away and took out a short summer skirt. After pulling on the skirt she lifted it and pulled off her panties.
‘Nor these…’
She placed them back in the draw and took out a slutty thong in black and red. (I bought her the skirt and the thong. So I felt a giddy rush of excitement.) I said nothing because I didn’t want to put her off. Inside I was congratulating myself on a watershed moment in gradually getting her to dress sexier. After all she was dressing for work.
I was so pleased that she went to work dressed that way that I didn’t read any more into it. Not until the early evening, when she arrived home from work late, went straight upstairs, and into the shower. She’s never showered straight after work before.
I stuck my head around the bathroom door to welcome her home and to tell her that the dinner was ready. I noticed the slutty thong, on the bathroom floor, in a pile with her clothes. My paranoia came rushing. Urging me:
‘Pick them up! Look at the crotch. What did she go to work dressed like that for? Why has she come home and got straight into the shower? You fool! You have to get your hands on those panties! Check them for staining.’
But obviously I couldn’t. Not with her right there, standing in the shower, with just the glass screen between us. I decided that I would take a look at them later, in the wash basket. Transfixed by the panties, I wondered how I have become so distrustful of her that I’m desperate to inspect her panties as soon as she walks through the door?
‘I don’t need an audience! Fuck off!’ She’d commanded from behind the glass shower screen, snapping me out of my trance.
I quietly went back downstairs, to the kitchen, where I dished out the dinner. A little time later she appeared with a load of white and light colored washing in her arms. She put it into the washing machine and set a wash going.
‘Dinner’s ready. It’s on the table.’ I told her.
‘Yeah ok! I just want to get this wash on. Pour me a glass of wine, I’ll be right there.’
As I went to the cupboard, for a wine glass, I sidled past her. I reached for a glass and something caught my eye in the washing machine. The red/black slutty thong, dropping across the window, as the barrel started to turn and the foamy water rose. I’ve never known Sarah accidentally put darks in with a light load before.
Today we spend the afternoon with the k**s walking in the grounds of a Stately Home. Sarah and I stroll. The k**s run and play. Sarah joins in with them occasionally whilst I hobble along on my walking stick. This is classy Sarah. Wholesome Boden and Joules clad Sarah. The lady that the elderly villagers refer to as ‘the beautiful one.’ Hair tied back, laughing and frolicking, amongst the trees, in the dappled sunshine, with her young c***dren.
Leaving them and returning to the path she takes my hand.
‘Isn’t it beautiful? It’s so much nicer when there’s nobody here.’
‘Yeah they should limit numbers like this all the time.’
‘Then they wouldn’t make enough money to maintain the place silly.’
‘I know… I wasn’t serious.’
‘I never know whether you are being serious or not.’
‘Mostly I’m not.’
‘God… It’s like a trick that you play! You make out everything is a joke. I swear it’s so that when somebody takes something that you said seriously, if it all goes wrong, you can deny any responsibility… saying that it’s not your fault… because you weren’t being serious.’
‘I’m always serious when it comes to you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?
‘I’m seriously in love with you. Honestly.. nothing could stop me loving you.’
I stop her an kiss her tenderly. The c***dren catch us up.
‘Ughhh gross! Get a room!’ Brandon complains and they both turn away laughing.
She uncouples her lips from mine.
‘Where ever would I find anyone who loves me as much as you do?’ She plants one last kiss on my lips. ‘You strange man.’
Then she turns to the c***dren. ‘Come on everybody!…. Family Hug!’
After a lovely family afternoon, a typically mouth-watering, home cooked, evening meal, and a few glasses of wine whilst entwined on the sofa, I’m aching to make love with her. We’ve not had good sex for a month.
At bedtime I take her in my arms. I have a hard on. She puts a hand upon it.
‘Really?’
‘I can’t help wanting to make love with you.’
‘I’m tired…. I think I’m over sex now. I’m too old for it. I’d rather just sleep. I could easily live without it.’
‘You can’t be over sex… that’s ridiculous.’
She rolls onto her back. She says ‘Just do it if you have to.’
I start working nu cock into her dry pussy slowly and gently. She isn’t even moving. I kiss her neck. She flips at me.
‘Don’t do that! I hate that! Don’t I always tell you that I hate that?’
‘Ok sorry… I’ll be more careful.’
I gently stroke her breast. She pushes my hand away.
‘Just get on with it.’ She sighs.
I stop. I tell her, ‘I want to make you cum.’
‘What? Really?…’
‘I don’t want to do it if you’re not into it.’
‘Oh for fucks sake! Do I have to?’
I roll off her and lay on my side next to her. ‘I love making you cum. I like it more than my own orgasms. Your orgasms are what sex is all about for me.’
She pulls me back onto her and sighs ‘Come on then. Get on with it.’.
I place my hand between her legs as I begin to work my cock into her again.
‘I don’t want that.’ She pushes my hand away.
I kiss her.
‘Not like that.’ She pulls her head away. ‘If you must kiss me do it like this.’ She demonstrates some very specific kissing which involves gently biting the bottom lip. I try to do it.
‘For fucks sake. Not like that. Like this!’ She demonstrates again.
By now I’ve stopped fucking her. (If that’s what you could call it.) I’m getting a lesson in some sort of, very specific, new form of kissing. When I finally get it right she closes her eyes and gradually becomes wet enough for me to fully penetrate her. Although it feels like she is having to make an effort to set her mind somewhere else.
Eventually she starts to half hardheartedly work her hips. After a while she comes but without any real interest, feeling, or effort. It’s not faked. It isn’t good enough to be faked. No woman would fake like this. It’s so short and unenthusiastic that it’s practically sarcastic. I morosely blow my load into her, trying to imagine that I’m Steve, but somehow I can’t even imagine that. Not with her like this. I’m stuck in reality. I’m her slightly flabby, Dad bod, husband and this is the worst sex we’ve ever had. It’s not enjoyable for either of us.
Afterwards she rolls away from me and I hold her. But not tightly. She doesn’t want to be held tightly tonight, she doesn’t want me close. I try to fall asleep but I lay thinking that the sex was so unpleasant that, perhaps it’s better that she does live without it, perhaps I ought not to have sex with her any more.
**’We ran’ – 21-07-20**
I wake up around 8:00 am. I reach across the bed to take Sarah into my arms. I can’t feel her. I run my hand over the cold bed sheet. Where her taught body should be, opening my eyes in the dim light, as I realize that she is not there. It’s not unusual for her to rise before me. Although I usually get a hug and a kiss.
I get up and sleepily, pull on some shorts and a t shirt,go to the bathroom, still half asleep and, after washing, I make my way down stairs. The k**s are sat watching TV in the living room. I ask Brendon:
‘Where’s mum?’
‘Dunno… I thought she was still in bed with you.’
I make a pot of coffee and look about for her. There is no sign of her. I take my coffee outside to the greenhouse where I start to water some plants. The sun shines warmly through the glass roof. Whilst watering a Chili Pepper plant I notice a spider wrestling with a butterfly in a web. The butterfly flaps and wriggles. I think about freeing it but the spider takes a tight hold of it and sinks in it’s fangs. The flapping slows. The spider begins to wrap it’s prize in a casket of silk. The butterfly wriggles. The spider pauses to apply another bite. The butterfly relaxes while the spider slowly encases it in thread.
Sarah appears in the doorway from around the back gate. She’s in her running gear. Red faced and breathing hard. She’s all smiles.
‘Hi gay boy!’ She bounces into the greenhouse, gently pinches my cheek and wiggles it. ‘Aw is he watering his little planty wanties?’
‘Have you been running already?’
‘Sure have!’ She’s bouncing on her feet, flushed, red faced, grinning.
‘Surely not an eight miler again? I don’t know how you can do that at this time in the morning.’
‘You know me Paul, I go like a rabbit! I’m like the Duracell bunny.’
I wonder if she has any idea what the expression ‘go like a rabbit’ generally refers to. I expect that she doesn’t. She often innocently uses suggestive or lewd phrases. Seemingly unaware of their meaning.
‘I woke up and you weren’t there.’ I feign melancholy disappointment, exaggerating a sad expression.
She grins. ‘Yeah, well you’re not the first!’
She squeezes my cock through my shorts. ‘Poor flaccid thing…’ She pulls away, ‘I’m off to get a shower! Then I want to make the k**s some pancakes.’ She’s stepping backwards across the patio. ‘Make sure the kitchen is clear and clean!’ She turns and trots off into the house, calling over her shoulder ‘Oh and my car needs washing!’ Then louder, from inside the house, comes, ‘Anytime before tomorrow!’
I go back to my watering. I hate washing cars. I never bother washing my own. Later I spend the morning cleaning the house and washing her car. Sarah takes the k**s to the lake.
It’s a lovely summer day so, after I’ve wolfed down something for lunch, I go to meet them at the lake. I know just where they will be. Our favorite spot.
When I arrive there are quite a few people around. Families laughing and playing in the sun. As I approach I can pick out Sarah from long distance. Without my glasses, I’m seeing everyone out of focus, in matchstick form.But her taught athletic body stands out from the others nevertheless. Especially so with her blonde hair and in the red bikini swim wear that I bought for her. I like to get her into red. It’s a color associated with power, strength and dominance. It also supposedly makes men more amorous towards women. I expect that’s all bullshit but hey… who knows? Either way she looks amazing. Spotting me she walks to meet me.
‘Wow!’ I greet her. ‘I spotted you from a distance and I thought Jesus.. who is that! She’s stunning.’
‘Oh so you do look at other women then?’
‘Well… If I I did… It was you… So that doesn’t count.’
‘Oh doesn’t it now?’
‘As you got closer I realized… Oh… That’s my wife.’
‘And I bet that was disappointing.’
‘No way! You’ve got the hottest body of all the women here. I love you in this bikini. I couldn’t be more proud to be your husband.’
She lays her arms around my shoulders and sidles in close. ‘And have you washed my car?’
‘Fuck yeah!’
Her lips are practically touching mine. ‘Inside as well?’
‘Yes, hoovered out and polished…’
‘Windows?’
‘Yes.’
‘Door sills?’
‘Yes.’
She slides her tongue into my mouth and reaches around like she is exploring it. She raises a leg and wraps it around mine. We kiss passionately. Then she pulls away.
‘Aw I was enjoying that.’
‘Well behave yourself and if you’re lucky it might happen again one day.’ She turns and walks back towards the spot where she’s picnicked with the k**s. I follow close behind, watching her ass as she walks. I love watching her ass.
The afternoon is idyllic. Beneath the backdrop of the rugged peaks against the deep blue sky we swim and play, at the edge of the lake, with the k**s. Sarah and I chat and joke about family, friends, past, and future. Sarah is excited with some plans that she has for final renovations to our now not so run down house. Sarah’s friend Karen is there with her k**s. They are a similar age to ours The k**s play together in the water. Karen comes to sit with us. I end up getting sent away by Sarah so that she and Karen can do ‘girl talk’.
Walking back, through the wooded valley, towards home, we’ve separated out. The k**s have run on ahead. I’m close behind them. Sarah and Karen are some way behind me, chatting as they walk. Around a bend, under the shade of trees and bushes, arching over the path, I meet Steve. He’s headed the other way, bare chested, in shorts and running shoes. His body is lean, taught, and tanned. A model of muscle definition.
‘Hey there! How’s it going?’ I greet him.
‘Yeah.. yeah… good. You guys been at the lake all day have you? I passed your two just earlier.’
‘Yeah it’s been great! This weather’s amazing. The waters not even cold.’
Sarah and Karen amble around the bend.
‘I’m just off for a swim now.’ Steve says, still facing and addressing me. ‘I reckon I’ll swim down to Buttermere and then run back over Grasmoor peak…’
Sarah reaches us. On seeing Steve she lights up like a bulb seeming to suddenly grow slightly taller, literally bouncing, as she captures his attention, excitedly interrupting:
‘Oh my god! You’re so fit! Are you going wild swimming and running?’
Having turned his gaze to Sarah, Steve looks suddenly back to me, his eyes widened. It’s an odd expression. I feel like he’s checking my reaction. Perhaps looking for some indication that I’m ok with this interaction. I smile.
‘I better catch those k**s up.’ I turn and walk on alone. Leaving the three of them chatting. Well… (from what I can hear, fading as I walk further away,) mainly Sarah chatting. And laughing.
My paranoia is angry at me, berating me as I limp along:
‘What the fuck are you doing? Why are you walking off and leaving them? What was that look he gave you? What was that about? Why didn’t you stay there?’
I ignore the admonishments and carry on walking.
Later in the afternoon, the k**s fed, they play in the garden. Sarah and I eat, on a patio table for two, besides the wood burner. We make conversation and then fall silent for a little while enjoying the evening sunshine and the warmth of the fire while our c***dren play happily. It’s blissful. I’m just taking a swing of red wine when Sarah, gazing into the fire, says out of nowhere:
‘Steve’s hilarious isn’t he?’
I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know what is hilarious about him. Next she’s smiling, looking at me, like a c***d waiting for a response to something that they are not sure they ought to have said. I smile back and calmly say:
‘Yeah he’s a funny guy.’
‘He’s literally done a triathlon today!’
I want to point out that going for a swim and then a run is only two things. Whereas a triathlon would be three. But I figure it best not to. She continues to talk.
‘What do you think he does with his shoes?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘He must put them in that little rucksack… maybe in a plastic bag… I bet he swims with that on his back…’
My paranoia quietly remarks:
‘If a girl likes a guy… then she can’t help but talk about him.’
‘He hasn’t got a care in the world has he?……’ She continues.
I quietly listen to her talking about him. I respond sporadically with an agreement, a chuckle, or an inane question. Hopefully just enough to give the impression that I’m actually interested in the conversation.
Later in the evening, near to bedtime, we are in the living room. I’m slouched on the sofa. Sarah comes over and sits down next to me. She tells me about her morning run. The furthest she has done yet she says. She wants to show me the route on her fitness tracker app. She excitedly tells me:
“First we ran to Croasdale…’ Then, after glancing up at me as if looking for a sign that I’ve noticed something amiss, she continues. ‘Then from there I ran out towards Lamplugh and then off over Blake Fell…’
I try not to give any indication that I have noticed. I listen calmly, to the rest of her description, which is all ‘I’, whilst inside my mind my paranoia flies into hysterics:
‘We!…. She fucking said We! She said we ran!… clear as day she said it… Tell her! Tell her she said We. See how she reacts. Ask her who fucking We is for fucks sake!’
I give nothing away.
For the rest of the evening my paranoia will not let it go:
‘What more do you need? All the messaging… the chopping and changing running times… being gone for ages and even the k**s notice… the panties going straight into the wash… that fact that you fucking told her, that people could still have affairs during lock down, by coordinating the times of their daily exercise!… And now she says We ran…. As clear as fucking day! And the look she gave you… She knew she’d said it!… She knew as soon as it slipped out…’
My paranoia rants on and on and on… Fortunately it’s near bedtime and I don’t need to interact with anyone. I’m so distracted and distant that I wouldn’t be capable of engaging. Sarah notices. As we prepare for bed she affectionately comments:
‘You’re very distant… You’re such a dreamer… Always wrapped up in your own mind with whatever goes on in there… Most usually nonsense.’ She smiles and she kisses my cheek.
In bed I hold her. Spooning, I push my hard cock between her legs beneath her ass.
‘What the fuck?’ She says. ‘Have you taken Viagra?’
‘I thought you might want to ride cock?’
‘All I want to do right now is go to sleep!’
‘Well I’ll just dream about you riding cock then.’
She falls silent for a while and then, just as I think she has fallen asleep, she asks:
‘Is there anyone else in these dreams of yours or is it just you?’
‘No…. It’s but always you’.
‘Well lets go to sleep dreaming the same dream then.’
I drift into sleep feeling quite proud of my ambiguous suggestive answer. Even with my head spinning, and paranoia gnawing ferociously at me, I can’t stop trying to slyly get messages though to her inner slut.
As I settle to sleep my paranoia keeps reminding me that Sarah went running before I awoke. It fixates on the thought that…If she ran with someone else then that must be Steve. Slowly it sets my mind on fire. Two words spark the flames. ‘Triathlon’ and ‘We’.
If ‘we ran’ in the morning then… by swimming and running in the afternoon… he would have (in her words) ‘..literally done a Triathlon today’.
And then there is the way she lit up when she saw him. The look that he gave me. The pointless chatter about him by the wood burner…. Sleep will not come to me.
I get up and I put a dressing gown on. I go and sit in the dark in the living room. Presently Sarah appears in her nightie. She kneels in front of the chair that I’m sat in and puts her hands on my thighs.
‘What’s going on?… Why are you sat out here?’
‘I can’t sleep.’
‘Well sitting her stewing won’t help will it?… Come on silly.’ She takes my hands in hers and stands. ‘Come on!… back to bed.’
‘I won’t sleep. I’ll just keep you awake.’
‘Then I’ll be awake too. At least we’ll both be in bed. Come on. You need to rest.’ She pulls me to my feet and leads me back to the bedroom.
‘Get this off.’ She takes the dressing gown from me and lays it on the floor. ‘Now get into bed… Face that way.’
I do as I’m told. She climbs into bed behind me. Spooning, she takes me into her arms. She places one arm under my shoulder and with her other she takes my hand in hers, wraps her arm around my body and holds me tightly.
‘Men are supposed to do the holding…’ I feebly mutter. (I’ve never been held like this by her before. She has tried it occasionally but I’ve always rejected it as unmanly.)
‘Shhh… I’m holding you now…. Lay still… Be quiet… Let go of whatever is going on in that mind of yours…’
Somehow, nestled in the warmth of her body and in the tight grip of her arms, there is a peace and a silence. Even my paranoia has shut the hell up. As if it has been shut out and not allowed in.
‘I love you… Sleep now… I’ll never let you go… ’ She whispers.
My mind empties. I think nothing. I just feel: The lush warmth of her body; The soothing refuge of her tight embrace; The calming rhythm of her breath on the back of my neck, I fall soundly asleep. I sleep all through the night in her arms.
Still with that hard cock.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/l2m8lh/lighting_her_fire_the_real_life_experience_of_a