I heard her keys unlock the deadbolt and her foot kick the front door open. There was a rustling of bags and I hoped she had gone to the grocery store as I left my tiny home office, our second bedroom converted into a space for my desk and the overflow of her clothing, to greet her.
“Honey I’m home!” she called, playfully. She did this every time she came home, and it never got old. I loved hearing her voice.
“Hi!” I said, walking into the kitchen, delighted at the vision of her setting the grocery bags down on the counter next to the fridge.
“My love you’re here!” she exclaimed and threw her arms around me.
I laughed, hugging her, replying with, “Of course, where would I be?”
She slid her hands, over my shoulders, then back up again, fingers tracing my collarbone before slipping down to the tops of my breasts, a big grin spreading across her face. “Oh I don’t know, maybe you also had some sexy grocery plans.”
“My grocery plans were I hoped you’d go, so thank you. I’ll put them away.” I said, kissing her neck.
“I’ll do the cold things.” she replied, stepping back from me. She was very particular about how our fridge was set up. Everything had a specific place, one she designated to a point where I felt nervous taking anything out.
She told me about her coffee date with our friend Matt, and about how shitty the drivers were on her way to the store, and about how we should really try cooking more from home.
I listened as she talked and swirled around me while I put cereal and her favorite crackers in the cabinets. She was a hurricane of energy, talking faster than I could think half the time and I loved her for it, but it was hard for me to keep up.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, what?” I hadn’t heard her because I was feeling overwhelmed with all her words.
Matt and Kells want us to have dinner with them next Sunday. Are you available?”
“Oh. Yeah, that would be great.” I nodded, placing the box of trash bags she bought under the sink. “What should we bring?”
“He said dessert and if we want it, wine. Probably something red.”
“Sounds good. I can go out and get it on Saturday.” I replied.
“Thank you.” She leaned in to kiss me and sauntered off to our bedroom, leaving me with a few more items to put away.
We had a mostly serene relationship. I loved her more than I loved anyone. She was bright, sometimes loud, deeply caring, affectionate, warm, and stunningly beautiful. Her hair was a glorious mess of loose brown curls, her eyes like cat eyes, amber with flecks of gold and green. Freckles sprinkled her nose, and her big smile could light up our entire block.
She was also sharp. Her anger could slice open the toughest of skin. Her controlling tendencies when they surfaced felt like a tidal wave crashing onto the shore of my being and threatened to swallow me whole.
I’ve sat back for a while now, going along with it, going along with her making plans, and agreeing to accompany her. It’s not like I don’t want to, I do, I’m just slower at making them.
This has bothered her before. She’s asked me countless times to tell her what I want, to plan dates, to initiate sex more, to grab her and make out with her at some random point in the day, to touch her more, to say sweet things to her.
It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I don’t have the space to. I don’t know how to tell her without making her feel like she has to dim her light. The very thing I love so much about her is the thing that makes me feel engulfed, smothered, like I can’t breathe, so I don’t go near her. Well, not in the way she wants.
I respond to her though. I don’t push her away, I just don’t come towards her because it feels like too much to me. Like in my responding to her, I’m giving all I can. If I come towards her it feels like giving more than I can even though I know she wants it, it would make her feel good. There’s this needy energy that happens when she’s initiating, like if I don’t give her what she wants she’ll combust, or be mad, or disappointed.
Later that night we made dinner and watched a movie, her legs draped over mine, both of us in leggings and sweatshirts. I was pretty sure the ones she had on were mine and I’d steal them back later when I did the laundry.
When the movie ended, she reached for the remote, turned off the television, and leaned in towards me. I expected her to kiss me like usual, but she stopped, her face so close to mine I could feel her breath on my skin.
Tension moved through my body mixed with mild confusion. This wasn’t our usual dance. Then the tension shifted into something else, something that felt warm, and curious. It felt like desire.
I leaned in, closing the gap she had created and pressed my lips to hers. She returned my kisses in the same way I was delivering them. I felt my pussy ask for more. I kissed her harder and she responded briefly before pulling back just a little, creating a tiny bit of space between us, waiting, her breath on my mouth, the desire I had for her heating up more.
Something else was here as well. Something else was spreading open for me in a way I hadn’t felt before. As we went back to kissing, and I pushed my hand through her hair, it came to me. It was that she was creating space. She was making it so that I was aware of what she wanted, but letting me come towards her in the way I desired. She was allowing me to respond in a way that was authentic for me.
Seeing this, feeling and sensing the solidness of her inside of herself, inside of her own experience while desiring me was exactly what I needed to experience my own feelings of attraction to her.
She didn’t push to take anything further, she just responded to me. So when I went to pull off her sweatshirt, and heard her giggle, and saw the light in her eyes it filled me with so much joy at getting to be here in this moment with her, and feel myself inside of it as well as the pleasure I was receiving from her.
I pushed her onto to her back and kissed my way from her neck, just behind her ear down to her nipples. I heard a little sigh escape her lips as she pulled my sweatshirt up and off of me. My own nipples were hard and I leaned forward, placing one on her mouth. I watched her lick, and then suck it while squeezing my other breast with her hand, her eyes holding mine.
I wanted her like I did when we first got together and we were both brimming with lust, interest, and curiosity. It made me remember all the times we’d make plans to go out, but end up in bed, drunk on skin, our own and each other’s wetness, and desire. I remembered how I had to have her, had to be enveloped in that sparkle of hers.
When she stopped teasing my nipples she laid back onto the couch pillows and observed me in a way that made me feel she was beckoning me to invent something else, creating something new inside the space she was making.
I stared at her, letting my eyes drink her in, admiring the curve of her ribcage, the tiny mole just above her belly button, and the small roll of flesh that peeked over the top of her (my) leggings, the part of herself she called her “pastries” because of her soft spot for cookies and doughnuts with a side of croissants.
It turned me on to feel her anticipation of what I was going to do next, to feel that myself, to listen to my body and feel into what I wanted. I placed my hand between her legs, and leaned in to kiss her again bringing the depth of my love, care and interest to my actions.
She responded in kind, tilting her hips up pushing into my hand and I pressed harder. Her tongue pushed against mine as I felt her grabbing my hips before taking handfuls of my ass.
I sat up and pulled her (my) leggings off along with her underwear and devoured her pussy, finding her soaked and probably just as eager as I was. I couldn’t remember the last time I did this. She was always giving to me and usually wanted penetration from our strap on, but I wondered how much she was wanting this and not asking for it.
Especially because her reaction felt like it was brimming with the feeling of “finally!”
I pushed my tongue against her clit while she rocked her hips back and forth against it. I hooked my arms under her thighs to pull her to me, my lips and chin wet with her.
When her thighs began to twitch I knew she was about to come. I kept up with the same pressure and speed, until her voice punctuated the silence with the sound of her orgasm.
As her legs relaxed, and she let her foot fall to the floor, a sleepy, relaxed giggle escaped her as I perched on my hands and knees, also giggling with her.
“That was incredible.” she sighed.
“I know.” I kissed her forehead.
“It felt different for some reason.” She pushed herself up so her back was against the arm rest.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her what I felt, but I also wanted it to happen again, so I perched on my heels, placed my hand on her thigh and said, “I felt I had space to come toward you, space to meet you, to be invited into you instead of feeling like I was having to always respond to you.”
“Wait, are you saying you feel forced or pushed into having sex with me?” her question took a mild tone of defensiveness to it and I had to work to breathe through my own defensive reaction in order to reply.
“I’m not saying that. I love having sex with you, it’s just that I need a little more space to feel turned on. Sometimes, and I love that you’re such a passionate person, I feel like I don’t have the space to tap into my own desire for you.” I squeezed her thigh.
“Ok, so what I’m hearing you say is that you just need more space to be in the mood right?”
“Exactly.” I nodded.
“I can do that.” She pulled me to her and wrapped her arms around me. I melted, placing my head on her chest, feeling it’s rise and fall with her breath becoming slower and deeper.
“Thank you.” I whispered.
She kissed the top of my head. “You’re welcome.”
“May I ask you something?” I perked up, resting my chin on her sternum.
“Always.”
“Will you grab our favorite vibrator and fuck me?” I laughed.
“On it!” She exclaimed, wiggling out from underneath me to run into our room to get it.
I turned over onto my back feeling a sense of lightness and ease in my body for the first time in a long time.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/101fobk/ff_both_late_30s_oral_on_a_couch